Not Only Surviving but Recovering

Trusting people, males particularly, is something that I have never been good at. In my almost 19 years of life I can probably tell you about two guys that I have fully trusted and four women (including family). I know that I am young but this number seems small. I mean I am sure that there are reasons for it, if fact I know the main few reasons, at least for trusting guys. But for girls, I am past clueless.

I have attachment issues with men, my Father is a reoccurring alcoholic and any physiologist I have ever talked to says that he more than likely has aspergers syndrome. My first memory of my father talking directly to me is at around age 13 when my Mother was about to leave him. For a very long time I thought they almost broke up because of me, my freak out is what kept my Mother with him, even though there was far more going on than the way my father treated me. I just hope that my reaction didn’t trap my mother in a loveless marriage.

Before that time period I do remember my father, I would ask him a question and he wouldn’t so much as look at me, much less respond to what I had to say. This sounds slightly spoiled of me to say, but it did hurt me in unbelievable ways. Whenever my father would get me gifts it would be things like the new HALO game that came out. You have to understand one thing about me, I have really never touched a game counsel, nor do I plan to. The gift, even though it was wrapped and my name was on it, it was not for me rather an indirect way to give a gift to my brother. It hurt that my father would not only not talk to me, but insisted on giving gifts to me really meant for someone else. During points of my life I dived into my Fathers interests, tying to allow him to be interested in me as well, every attempt failed. I am to the point in my life that I know that I will never be close to my Father, as well as the Father figure in my life doesn’t have to be my Father.

I expect every male to treat me the way my Father did and often still does. If he doesn’t it makes me uncomfortable. I think the only way a man can look at me is as a sex object, something to use and abuse, then once he is done to abandon. With this logic it is hard to trust any guy obviously, but in some ways it just gets harder. The last guy I trusted probably left the worst scares on me, both emotionally and physically, that any man has ever left.

It started as a blind date and led to a whirlwind romance, the kind that nocks you off your feet and steals the breath right before it hits your lungs. He was in one word, well, perfect. Or maybe more accurately was perfect. He was too driven by his sexual desires and I was naive and easy to control. I remember the first time he had carried me up to his room for what I believed to be yet another innocent make out session, but he was ready for more and I wasn’t. He told me what he wanted to do and I couldn’t move, anytime I tried to scream nothing came out. It was like a nightmare I was powerless to stop. I remember crying for hours afterword, not because it hurt or that I was bleeding but rather because I had trusted him. After a little while this young man became infuriated at my tears and told me to essentially buck up and to expect more and more. He told me that my body reacted just as much as his did, so I wanted it. I spent the longest time trying to convince myself that I didn’t freeze and this was how a relationship was supposed to work. For a long time it worked. A guy I trusted and who said he loved me wouldn’t do anything to me that was bad… right? It took an experience that was petrifying and violent to finally get though that, no, no, in fact this is not how a relationship is supposed to work.

The wounds that these two experiences left on me still hurt. But I have survived, I am alive even though at times even that was questionable. I will tell you that I drag baggage around with me, that things set me off. But all the same I have survived. My goals for this year is to have a relationship with a male that is healthy, that brings me up. To work through all the crap that I don’t in fact need to drag with me, to maybe even get a full nights sleep and not wake up screaming, fighting, hyperventilating, clawing at my neck, being overcome with fear and having no idea why. To be able to believe that men can see me as more than a sex object. To not only just survive but in fact recover.


My Music

Music is one of my best outlets for any mood, maybe that is why I love I love music so much. My tastes range from mash-ups, pop, country, dub-step, alternative, punk, rap, screamo, really anything. I am always looking for new covers and artists. I am constantly exploring the dark depths of youtube looking for that one song that is a diamond among the rubble. You never know exactly what might pop up. In fact that is another thing that makes this one of my favorite down time activities.

It is amazing how music can take my crappy mood and make me into an actual likeable person, or can do the exact opposite to my volatile mood. It can put me to sleep, or ramp me up with enough energy to exercise.

A Way of Thinking?

I was reading Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, it’s a really interesting novel and if you haven’t read it I suggest it. It looks at a school shooting from every angle, and even if you do not agree with her option it is still eye opening. Who is the victim? In any situation where something truly bad happens, the perpetrator in some way was forced to that point. I love this book it starts with

“You cant undo something that happened; you can’t take back a word that’s already been said out loud. You’ll think about me and wish you were able to talk me out of this. You’ll try to figure out what would have been the one right thing to say, to do. I guess I should tell you, don’t blame yourself; this isn’t your fault, but that would be a lie. We both know that I didn’t get here by myself.”(Picoult 4)

I sometimes have a very sick mind when it comes to protecting the ones that I love, even if I shouldn’t love them. I was assaulted by my boyfriend many times. He did things to me that I will never forgive, and some of which I can’t so much as remember. I am not sure if the reason I protect him and his actions is because of the way I felt for him or if it is protecting myself and my reasons on staying with him. I can’t tell you, maybe because I don’t want to know which reason it truly is.

I guess my question is if others think the way in which I do?

The Meaning of Art

Late night blog writing, oh how I love thee. So I was asked today why I love Shakespeare, apparently no one my age in fact reads his plays—or at the least not for fun. As the conversation persisted I was asked, “well are you artsy? You have to be artsy to like Shakespeare.” Well I would have argued, but the thing is I am artsy and love my art. In all reality the conversation was mindless, at least during the time, but it did get me thinking. Why do I love my art in the way that I do? I don’t think it’s just because I made it, saw it or in some rare cases even wrote it. But its where I can just be me, I don’t need to explain myself, the interpretation is up to the viewer.

The viewer can not judge me, at least not harshly, for what I create for that reason. My past is bright in many areas, but just as everyone else I have those dark spots. My art lets out that pain, sometimes the hate that I turn inwardly and this is safe for me because they see what they want, not what I wrote (in most cases).

I show people with my art things that I would never be able to say, not because I don’t want to as many people have misinterpreted it to mean, but because I can not find the words. The words do nothing but evade me. It leaves me alone, depressed, and often spiraling. My art is what saves me. This is why I love art, not just my art. For the simple reason of being reminded that I am not alone, everyone feels the way that I do at least at times. 

Zombie Land is not Somewhere I Want to Be

This post is probably going to be a bit different then my previous ones, saying it’s the first one I have written in who knows how long. More personal and kept more like a journal. MyTwoCents, my mind in a nutshell.

I was just recently dumped, twice, which of course any breakup is hard but one of these boys I thought I was honestly going to marry. He was ‘the one’. I obviously was not. Which now looking back on everything I can see two things. One the relationship was unhealthy, two I have turned into something that I never thought I would be. I have learned that taking direction was the only way to get along with this said male. I have become a mindless zombie that can’t think for herself. How disgusting is that? I would spend hours thinking about the next comment or request he would make, most of which he would not actually make. But I would spend hours cross-legged in front of my laptop freaking out. What a waste of time.

It has been a long time since I have been single, I have either been in a committed or non-exclusive relationship for 5 years. Being single is something that I have never done well, for several reasons. I am a flirt, I think its fun and often don’t recognize I am flirting. This by itself would not be that bad but compiled with my ‘why the hell not?’ logic, nothing good ever happens. I attract the people that have major problems (probably because I have some stuff I deal with too and feel that is all I deserve—but this is another tangent). I have put so much time into these relationships—which were often abusive—yet put no time into the thing that I truly have to live with. I can move on with the people in my life, if they dump me or if it is the other way. I can run as fast and as far as I want. But I can never get away with myself, I have to live with myself. Therefore I need to put time into myself. Nothing is more important.


My name is Alexa. I am just an average teenage girl, who as everyone in this world has an opinion,my two cents. This is a public blog and I am not sure where this blog will lead but I am excited just to share my opinion and place with this.