We Wear the Mask

Sister Paterson really went and did it this time. She delivered that final knife in my chest and proceeded to twist it, but I didn't cry out in pain. I've learned to carefully disguise my emotions. She'll see just enough to think something is going on, but will never know the true extent. I won't give her the satisfaction.
As Paul Laurence Dunbar says, I Wear The Mask.

We Wear the Mask
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,­- This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream other-wise, We wear the mask!

Dear Sister Paterson pt.2

You must hate yourself.
Trying to make me feel lower than dirt must make you feel great.

I held back in the first letter. The truth is, I wasn't able to come to grips with how I truly feel about you. In the first letter I focused on what you've done to me. Every bone in my body wanted to call you out of your name and say I hated you, but I resisted. How could you hate someone that always kept a roof over your head, food in your belly, and clothes on your back? The real question should have been, how could you not hate someone for putting me through everything I have endured on account of you. The fact is, I hate you. I hate everything you stand for. I hate your thoughts. Your voice makes my skin crawl. Your footsteps make my fist want to put a hole in the wall to match the one I made back in high school.

Ending up in the hospital was one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. I was kept away from you and I finally had proof I wasn't crazy like you would like people to believe. You never physically abused me, but I learned that there's a such thing as mental abuse. Somehow it was clear to the doctors that I was a victim.

All that glitters isn't gold. You did just enough for me so the state would never take me away. I'll go ahead and say it. You are an unfit parent. You should have never been allowed to give birth. You treat me like you scraped up enough money for an abortion, got to the clinic, and the doctor told you it was to late. My mentor actually asked me if I was an "Oops Baby."

At times I actually sit and try to figure it out. I wonder what I did to you. I wonder what I did to make you hate me. Then I realize, it's not me...it's you. If it was me then everyone around me would also treat me like shit. No one would love me. No one would find me beautiful or smart. No one would want me as a daughter. The fact of the matter is, I'm loved by everyone but you. Countless parents have "adopted" me. Countless wise and highly respected adults have seen something in me that they have fallen in love with. That's how I know the love you give me isn't love at all. It's not healthy, and you don't have the heart of a parent.

For once, I'm going to be honest with myself. I envy my friend who is a child of the state. I know he's had it rough, but he made it through and doesn't have to have contact with his mother if he doesn't want to. I wish that were me. I finally realized that it can be me. Enjoy these last days of putting me through hell. I'm done. I don't want you in my life, and for the first time in my life, I'm realizing that you don't have to be there. Let me outline this for you:

• I don't have to give you my address.
• I don't have to give you my phone number.
• I can block your email address or label it as spam.
• I can make it so the only way you'll even know I'm still alive is if you were to search for me on myspace.
  
• I can delete you from my life.
  

I'm enduring these last days with you. When you belittle me, I laugh. You should see yourself. You look so dumb with all your corporate parenting n shit. This isn't a business meeting, I'm your daughter in case you forgot. It's like you sense the end is near so you are trying to milk this situation for every drop of satisfaction you get. At the beginning of this letter I was crying. Now I'm smiling. I'm that crazy competitor that gets beaten shitless but still manages to talk shit as you walk away. That's a sign of a person who is just crazy enough to be a survivor. I'm a fuckin survivor. Thanks for making me stronger.

Is Ignorance Bliss or Simply Ign'Nt?

bliss |blis|
noun
perfect happiness; great joy : she gave a sigh of bliss. See note at rapture .
• something providing such happiness : the steam room was bliss.
• a state of spiritual blessedness, typically that reached after death.

Sister Paterson came home today after a day of grocery shopping. Here, we have a discount grocery store called Aldi's. Good quality food, Rock bottom prices. The well off shop there to be economically savvy, and well...everybody else shops there because they are trying to stretch their funds. Whatever the reason, I give it my thumbs up.

Over the years, several things my mother has said have raised my brows. Although, my feelings usually get hurt, her comment today was just down right offensive. What did she say?...

With two Aldi's bags in hand she says while smiling, "Look at me, I'm fashionable just like those people on the bus stop." I immediately took offense for several reasons.

1. Although you may feel cute carrying a Burberrry shopping bag, Plastic grocery bags will never make you fashionable.
2. Unlike larger cities, public transportation carries a negative connotation in Kansas City. People often assume that those on the bus stops are often poor.
   
3. Ignoring the trend of destroyed jeans, saying it is fashionable to look poor is idiotic. Why would anyone aspire to look poor.
4. Though many white people shop at the "Upscale" Aldi's, the majority don't. The typical Aldi's customer is low-income and qualifies for food stamps. Many people are happy to be on food stamps, but would prefer not to be in a situation where they need them. In other words, most people would prefer to make $100,000/yr even if they have to pay out of pocket for their groceries.
   
5. Not realizing the err in her words was even more offensive. She might as well have been a white person dressed in black face declaring she was beautiful just like niggers.
   

Now maybe, I'm reading to deeply into this but her statement was just plain up mean. As an upper middle class citizen, she needs to watch what she says. Although, I often feel like I am speaking to an alien when talking to her, this time felt like I was speaking to a white person. How she was acting was the same way some white people act when it comes to racist statements. They don't see the harm and when you point it out they still don't see the harm so they go on living their lives unaffected. They are blissfully ignorant. Thinking "Ignorance is Bliss" is just straight up Ign'Nt as far as I'm concerned.

Dear Sister Paterson

I can't put up with your shit any longer. You are condescending, rude, and you search for ways to belittle me and make me feel like I am less than nothing. You rub it in my face that you are holier than thou and such a good Christian. You may read the Bible and go to church, but sitting in a garage all day doesn't turn you into a car. This is the only time in my life I have needed you since I was child. You take every opportunity to rub that in my face. It's funny to me how you can label me as a "squatter," yet your face lights up with delight when you look at the brand new stove I gave you or while sitting down in front of the 32" flat screen TV that I gifted you for your troubles. You make me sick.

The last time I lived with you, I ended up in a mental hospital. Do you want to know the real reason why the doctors denied your visits? They said you were the major source of all my stress. You were the reason my body broke down. It was you. I resent you for everything you've put me through. I feel rage when thinking of you. I cry tears of hate when I remember how you've treated me.

When I was very overweight you turned your back on me. You looked at me with pure disgust. You made fun of how I walked, the clothing I wore, and even told me that looking at me made you want to faint. You told me I would die. I peeked inside your journal. You actually thanked God that I finally lost some weight. Why couldn't you just love me how I was? Why is it that you only respect me when I weigh 163lbs and wear a size 10? Why do I have to starve myself just to receive your love? If that's how shallow your love is, I don't want it.

Would you like to know why none of my friends ever come by to see you? Do you want to know why none of them ever tell me to tell you hello? They hate you. They hate you because they see how you make me feel. They are the ones comforting me and wiping away my tears. You put on a good front around people, but there's a little invention called the speaker. They've heard first hand how you speak to me. They have seen your disapproving stares. They don't like you.

I may live with you temporarily, but you can't control me. Stop telling me what to sleep in, what clothing I am allowed to wear, what time I have to wake up, what foods I'm not allowed to eat, and how to wear my hair. Contrary to your unpopular beliefs, I don't have to do things your way. You can't dictate what method I should use to put away the dishes, how late I can talk on MY cell phone, what ringtones I use or what rooms in the house I choose not to occupy. I am perfectly within my God given rights as an adult to read in the dark, sleep in my bra, close my door, and hang my clothes up rather than fold them. You are an overbearingly controlling nut job. FUCK OFF.

I find it amusingly frustrating how every time I express my heart, you flip everything and make it seem like you are a victim. Just because you are older than me and can quote Bible verses does not make you right. You are dead wrong. You smile and act like you are taking the high road, but I see past your facade. I'm done allowing you to make me feel like I am the bad person. I'm done feeling like I'm the one that's doing wrong. I refuse to keep believing that I am the reason I feel this way. It is you. It is all you and nobody but you.

It's wrong to hate a person, but I hate your actions. I hate how you've made me feel. I hate that I knew about dieting in elementary school. I hate that you taught me to be uncomfortable about my body then condemned me for not being ashamed in my adulthood. I hate that you can't see me as beautiful just the way I am. I hate that you never listened to me. I hate that you tell me daily how ignorant I am. If I was not a spiritual person, my next sentence would be: I hate you.

I still have a lot to say, but I'm choosing to end this letter now. You'll never actually read it and even if you did you would ignore its message. You are so stuck in your "spiritual realm" that you are out of touch with reality. I know you'll never change so I have completely emotionally disconnected from you. In my heart, you are nothing to me. I'm tired of being hurt, angry & confused. I am tired of knowing you. I wish we had never met.

Your Daughter,
Jaz

Big Woman, Skinny House

The title is a bit exaggerated. I'm not classified as a "big" woman anymore since I dropped some of the weight, but I'm still on the larger side of thick. As you know, I recently moved in with my condescending mother (referred to as "Sister Paterson"). I'm a size 14, she's a size 10. She won't let me forget. Instead of loving me no matter what size I am, she makes comments that would make a person feel horrible. She monitors everything I eat and criticizes the clothing I wear. Whenever you get done, I'm a 36DD...whatever top I put on shows cleavage! I'm 22 years old, I refuse to walk around this god forsaken city looking like a granny.

I'm young, flyy & sassy. I enjoy my curves and I flaunt them proudly.

Sister Paterson:
FUCK OFF!!!

Name Droppin' my Troubles Away

I woke up this morning in a "Crime Mobb" mood to say the least. Could I be disgruntled because I'm unemployed? Away from the majority of my friends? Living a celibate life? I have no idea what the root cause of it all is. It may just be a side effect from being stuck in the house all day with a 75yr old granny with dementia and a 52yr old clone of Sister Paterson. 1000 Thank You's to whoever invented the door.

As I sit back and listen to Miss Rap Supreme's: Ms Cherry talk about never being caught without her tool, I can't help but wish I had one. In reality, I highly doubt I need one because then I'd really be quoting her "It's wheneva bitch, It's whateva hoe!" chorus. I'm really wishing I could blaze up right now. That way whatever is bothering me, I'd just say "fuck it" and move on. Unfortunately, that is no longer an option.

What options does that leave Her Royal Flyness? Hell, I don't know. I'm actually asking you. Misery loves company so I'd love to bitch n moan with another disgruntled individual. (Random thought: We call Missouri, Mizery, meaning I live in a state of Mizery, does that give me the right to feel this way??) In the words of Bart Simpson in the Simpson's Movie as he downed a pint of Jack Daniels: "I'm Troubled."