HastyWords's Blog, page 27

IN A ROOM

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I forget how depression feels sometimes.  That’s dangerous.  To forget isn’t an option.  I have to remind myself how sneaky and insidious it is.  I must remember what it felt like to be its prisoner.  Depression as a room and me held captive against my will.  I am so grateful to have escaped this room… I don’t ever want to stop being grateful.

I was…

The lamp

Flickering

Shining

Buzzing

The table

Flimsy

Swaying

Silent

The chair

Splintering

Imprisoning

Creaking

The fan

Swishing

Cutting

Screaming

I was…

The person

Fracturing

Alone

Broken

KEEP CALM AND BE BRAVE

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Because I don’t feel brave.
Because I want to be brave.
Because I need to be brave.
Because, when it counts…
I am brave.


~Hastywords

 

 

10 WAYS TO BE BRAVE

Love yourself.  This is one of the hardest things to do for many, many reasons.  Sometimes, in order to love yourself you have to change your surroundings, the people in your life, and/or the messages you are used to listening to via media outputs.

Challenge yourself.  Do something you would love to do and stop saying if only.  If only I was prettier, was skinnier, was smarter.  Be brave and go for it.

Dare to dream.  Nobody is stopping you.  Most realities start with a simple dream.

Take charge of life.  Don’t let anyone derail you.  Your parents want you to be a doctor?  Your husband wants you to get breast implants?  What do you want?  There is always room for negotiating but don’t ever forget who the ultimate master of your life is.

Use your words, your voice….SPEAK.  Don’t let anyone steal your voice.  If someone hurts you, hurts someone else then use your voice.  Sometimes justice can be delivered without the use of any names. Sometimes just using your words in the right way can save a life, save your life, right a wrong, or change someone’s heart for the better.  We have seen from past experience that words can change nations and impact generations of people.

Know the difference between sacrifice and abuse.  Relationships are hard and it doesn’t matter what kind it is.  All relationships require some sacrifice but there is a point where it becomes abusive.  Know the difference.  Don’t fight for a relationship that has turned toxic.

Break a few rules.  Have wild and crazy fun now and then.  Skinny dip, eat too much pie before you ride a roller coaster, go sky diving when your 85, wear white after Labor Day…

Forgive.  Don’t let the past chain you up and steal your future.  Forgive the past for the damage it did and continues to try to do and grab hold of the promises waiting for you.

Be Passionate.  Be an activist, find a love and nurture it. The world is a better place when we harness our passions and use them for the good of all mankind.

Don’t give up.  Fight for what you believe in and never give in.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. ~ Maya Angelou.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. ~ Maya Angelou.

“Even to me the issue of “stay small, sweet, quiet, and modest” sounds like an outdated problem, but the truth is that women still run into those demands whenever we find and use our voices.”

~Brené Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

 

BRAVE ~ Sara Bareilles

 

ACROSS THE SLEEPING

I wish we didn’t need sleep but we do. I’m starting to feel age creeping into my bones and my brain and now more than ever I’m realizing how important a clear and stable mind sleep is.

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Brittle bones

Trapped

In a bag of flesh

Fat dissolving

Organs hardening

Brain short

Short

Short-circuiting

Life deteriorating

Screaming protest

As fires sweep

Absolution

Across the sleeping

THE ROOK – A TALE OF BIRACIAL BULLYING

Racism is just another reason to be a bully… and it needs to stop. A true story written by Byron Hamel

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THE ROOK by Byron Hamel

Did I ever tell you about the time I protected two black children from a Neo-Nazi skinhead who was crazy angry and getting violent because their mother was white? No? Well sit back and get ready for a good story.

But first I want to make something clear. I’m not some douche bag here trying to take credit for merely doing what is right. Just because I came to the rescue of two kids and a mom in harm’s way doesn’t make me a hero. Yes, I would, and have, put my life on the line to protect strangers. Sometimes I take private credit as a hero for something I do. You’ll never know those stories, because they’re mine and mine alone. I’m also no stranger to the absurdity of litigation. But this time, I was not a hero. For this story, I fucking owed this to the world. Here are three detailed reasons why:

1. A long time ago, before I understood the world and myself, I was a racist scum bag. As a pale skinned person, that meant I developed a very misdirected sense of white privilege, and even a white supremacist mind-set. I had a racist mother too. And her parents before her, and so on. We were damn ignorant. We were hurting the world. My mother is still unforgivably racist. But for my part, I’m so absolutely sorry I was a person actively engaged in dividing people by race. I do feel terrible about this. I continue to let it cut me deep, so that I never forget my responsibility to destroy racism in all of its forms. But my history is my history. I’m not going to deny it because it’s ugly. And now it’s my job to not only repair the damage I caused every single day I spent as a racist, but also to push further. To fight hard for the ideals of equality, unity, and love across the board.

2. In California, where I grew up, the social climate was extremely racist. Shoot on sight type stuff. Very territorial. In the late 1980’s, for about two years, we lived in the projects in San Bernardino. This is basically where many of the city’s poor find themselves. The slums. Drugs, drive-by shootings, gang wars. And I mean wars. Fully automatics, and bombs exploding, and innocent casualties. I never met a single kid there who hadn’t seen a dead body. Still, nothing that happened in our hood ever even made the news because the news didn’t give a shit about black people. By social design and social circumstance, it’s no surprise that in California many of the poor people in the 80’s were black. In that place, I was a white minority. One of three white kids in a year-round school of (the way I remember it) 3000 students. But dude, these were the best friends I EVER had in school. White people never treated me that good. White kids always beat the shit out of me constantly. But my black friends and I got along famously. The first girl ever to crush on me, Ayisha, was black. The first friend to ever promise to protect me with his life, Kenny, was black. The first kid ever to stand up for me and defend me from a bully, Mondel, was black. So yes, I have an extraordinary love on for black people. I was part of that world and part of that culture. They took me in. Imagine the sting then, how it hurts my heart, when I consider that I ever held up the frame of hatred in front of my black brothers and sisters.

3. And this is the kicker: I’m multiracial. Even though I once abused my white privilege, I was hiding the fact that I myself am not all “white”. My heritage at large is French, Irish, German, and Inuit. (For anybody wondering, Inuit are the people typically called “Eskimo” throughout the English speaking world, though many Inuit find the term “Eskimo” to be insulting, as it’s attached to so much history of oppression at the hands of white settlers) There are other ethnic origins in the mix too, but suffice it to say that even though I’m more pale than anybody I know, I’m about a quarter brown person. And upon meeting so much of my family when I moved to Labrador Canada, the place of my birth, I came to realize that a huge part of my family are brown people. Oh the irony! What I’m saying here is that I owe it to myself to fight racism. I was literally racist… against myself. Because I’m a fucking rainbow. Some of my ancestors were oppressors. Some of them were oppressed. Me? I kneel to no one. And in return, I refuse to let anybody kneel before me, my kind, or any oppressive force. I want to end it all. I want to bring it down. I owe it to all my people, from all sides.

I’m not looking for forgiveness or fame or good graces. I’ll accept the insults and the reprimands. I have it coming. But I know what I’m doing now is good. And I do this for me. The world is better when anybody and everybody can be accepted and loved by anybody and everybody else. This is about care, justice, and reparation. But it’s mostly about improving the world so that my own personal life will be better.

Now on to the story.

It was April of 2008 that I found myself in Montreal, Quebec. I was there to attend the very first UFC event held in Canada. Two days before that event took place, I was browsing the bargain DVD bin at a Futureshop when I heard a man violently screaming “Fuckin dumb n**gers! Shut the fuck up you little monkeys!”

It was coming from the front of the store. I dropped everything and focused intently on the sound. I felt my eyes narrow and my ears tune. I felt my blood harden. My adrenaline racing. I smelled danger, if that makes sense to you. So I approached it. (That probably makes less sense.) Whatever was happening up by the checkout, it wasn’t good. I walked calmly to the source of the disturbance, which was at first hidden by a divider at the front of the store.

Rounding the divider, I emerged onto a scene of a white woman kneeling on the floor in shock, wide-eyed. She was holding two black children in her arms. They were both boys, probably around 5 and 7. They didn’t look frightened, but definitely confused. I think they were brave little kids who were going to protect their mom if they needed to.

Across from them was a red-faced angry looking man in his twenties. His head was shaved, a large Nazi swastika tattoo proudly emblazoned on the side of his head, emphasizing the popping veins on his temples. He was dressed in leather with urban steel toe shit-kicker boots, and looked like he could possibly be armed. “Fuckin’ monkeys!” He yelled again.

The mother was terrified and trying to cover all four of her two kids’ ears by sort of wrapping her forearms around their heads. I’d seen enough. I knew what this was about. This piece of shit Neo-Nazi couldn’t stand the fact that a white woman had black kids.

SIDE NOTE if you’re a Neo-Nazi and you’re reading this:

Fuck you. Stop being a shithead and become a better person. You’re only doing this because you can’t think of a single thing about yourself -or your friends- to be proud of. Why can’t you think of anything? Because there isn’t anything! There is not one solitary detail worth loving. All you have is skin color, which wasn’t even your doing! That’s right, the thing about yourself you’re most proud of has absolutely dick-all to do with anything you’ve actually done. It was an accident of nature. The whole core of your pride is an accident. Think about that. It’s not a real point of pride at all. It’s a whoopsie. You sold your whole being to a ridiculously shallow idea which I’d be amazed if even you can believe with your whole heart. Proud of your skin color? Really? That’s the thing that matters to you? Newsflash: Your skin looks like hell since you started using meth! But enough about appearances. Let’s talk about your character. You’re a predictable, generic, stupid and angry ball of hate with no individual purpose. There is nothing good about you. And there won’t be until you give up the bullshit. So seriously, turn your life around. Because you’re worthless right now. And you could be so much more. Find something actual and worthwhile to be proud of. Make something. Be something. Do ONE fucking thing right. Because right now you’re just a tool. You’re part of a cult, idiot. You drank the Kool-Aid. And now you’re just an advertisement for shitty beer, leather clothes, crotch rot, and the dumbest organization in the universe.

Sorry to the rest of you. That needed to be said. I know I feel better. Now on with the story…

I watched the children’s mother flinch backward as he yelled at them again, spitting this time. He was tweeking on some drug or another. Agitated. I saw his fingers tapping rapidly on the counter as he waited for the check out lady. Confused and very nervous, she fumbled with the register, eyes on the floor and struggling to continue processing his purchase. It was something small in a bag. Maybe batteries. He looked down at the mother and children again, staring hatefully.

And that’s when I stepped in front of him. I placed myself between him and the children. My arms were folded and I flexed what I could. His body was lean and muscular. At the time, mine was not. This was also before I started learning Judo. I don’t think I realized, before moving in to defend, what I was getting into.

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But then it hit me. In a fight, this guy would win. My strategy then became to try to occupy him as much as possible if he moved at the kids or the mom. I knew I’d lose the fight. But I could buy those kids some time to run. Or at least they would know this asshole and the unresponsive crowd gathering around us didn’t represent the face of all white people outside of their family.

I felt scared. He was fucking terrifying. But I stood my ground. He looked me up and down. I looked him straight in the eye. I had tunnel vision. I channeled my will to kill, and I felt like a predator. I slowly shook my head back and forth, saying nothing. My message was “I won’t let you do this.” I really didn’t want to humiliate the Neo-Nazi, or challenge him verbally, because I knew his ego couldn’t take it. I was sure he’d attack.

My will to kill was fading as the adrenaline wore. The angry stare I’d managed to fake through my fear was beginning to break. He was a rock. I felt so much like backing down. I did not. But before I broke, all of the sudden, he did! I watched his eyes widen in terror. He grabbed his stuff and ran from the store like the devil was on his heels.

I stood there, surprised. Baffled. He ran from me!? At the time I didn’t look threatening like I sometimes can now with all the weights and martial arts and stuff. Back then I was a doughboy for crying out loud! What the hell just happened? I turned to the kids and knelt. “That guy was messed up. Nothing he said was true, okay? I’m going to make sure he can’t hurt you.” The older kid nodded and buried his head into his mom’s shoulder. Both the children hugged her silently. More to comfort her than to receive comfort.

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked her. Her eyes were glass. She was shaking. She nodded yes. “You’re safe now. I’ll make sure he’s not hanging around outside” I said. She nodded again, letting her tears roll over her narrow cheeks this time. People around us were whispering. I stood up from the scene.

I felt pride. I felt a sense like people were adoring me. I was getting ready to give some sort of silent acceptance speech. I let my eyes wander over the crowd to take in who had witnessed this amazing feat. This triumphant victory! And that’s when I saw him. The Rook.

He stood, a solid cast iron golem of a man. An absolute towering giant. Biceps as big as my head. Black and beautiful. I remember him as 8 feet tall. I’m sure I must be exaggerating that part. His eyes shined silver, like there was light behind them. He was as broad as three of me. His body was everything every boy in my generation wanted to be when he grew up. A black He-Man. An ebony god. He was so perfect, I nearly cried. I call him “The Rook” because he was the sturdiest piece on the chess board. Like, the whole chess board. That and I can’t bear the thought of him having an unheroic name like Marvin or something (sorry Marvin). The Rook! He wore a tight red polo shirt with “Futureshop” embroidered on the chest pocket. His shirt struggled hard to not rip.

“Oh” I said.

This entirely unlikely and angelic security guard was who the Neo-Nazi was afraid of. Not even close to me. If I wasn’t so utterly relieved by this man’s presence, I would have been embarrassed for trying to take credit. He looked down at me, gave me a once over, smiled the tiniest smirk, and then nodded approval.

[image error] I grew up hard and severely abused by a father figure who was convicted of infanticide, and is currently on death row. Left with a legacy of traumatic stress and an eating disorder, I’m determined to be the best dad I can possibly be to my two girls.

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THE SHADOWS

There is this little shadow that lurks inside the light. Like an impossible shadow that shouldn’t exist because of all the light.

It carries with it energy and it looks for thoughts it can eat so it can grow. It likes negative thoughts the most but it can sustain itself on little frustrating or nagging thoughts long enough to find something more satisfying. Mostly it loves fear. Fear is good because it can be turned into anger, insecurities, and hatred.

That shadow… it exists inside all of us. And while it’s hard to control our inner voice. What kind of information, news, conversations we feed ourselves is important. It’s like an exercise in self control.

Don’t participate in conversations with people who intentionally make you feel small. Don’t be with someone who does things to make you feel less than or less important than everyone else.

You don’t have to care about everything and you can’t battle everyone.

I have been off my meds for well over a year and I worried about feeling small and left out. That shadow was giddy with excitement that I’d soon be searching for ways to hate myself and my contribution to the world. It happens but I’ve learned enough to go to war with it so it isn’t as all consuming these days.

Now I know the shadow is lurking and that the light I feed myself won’t dissolve it. But I’m sure as hell not going to intentionally feed it.

Here is a cute picture of mushrooms my daughter drew at work. Everyone has been adding to it as they see fit. The shadow hates this picture because it makes me so happy!

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DAY12: LIGHT – THE SHADOWS

There is this little shadow that lurks inside the light. Like an impossible shadow that shouldn’t exist because of all the light.

It carries with it energy and it looks for thoughts it can eat so it can grow. It likes negative thoughts the most but it can sustain itself on little frustrating or nagging thoughts long enough to find something more satisfying. Mostly it loves fear. Fear is good because it can be turned into anger, insecurities, and hatred.

That shadow… it exists inside all of us. And while it’s hard to control our inner voice. What kind of information, news, conversations we feed ourselves is important. It’s like an exercise in self control.

Don’t participate in conversations with people who intentionally make you feel small. Don’t be with someone who does things to make you feel less than or less important than everyone else.

You don’t have to care about everything and you can’t battle everyone.

I have been off my meds for well over a year and I worried about feeling small and left out. That shadow was giddy with excitement that I’d soon be searching for ways to hate myself and my contribution to the world. It happens but I’ve learned enough to go to war with it so it isn’t as all consuming these days.

Now I know the shadow is lurking and that the light I feed myself won’t dissolve it. But I’m sure as hell not going to intentionally feed it.

Here is a cute picture of mushrooms my daughter drew at work. Everyone has been adding to it as they see fit. The shadow hates this picture because it makes me so happy!

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ORCHESTRATE KINDNESS

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People work hard at orchestrating how other people feel. Their need to be loved and liked is powerful.

I wasn’t very old the first time I realized not everyone liked me. I met a woman who was in her late 20’s before she realized not everyone liked her. She remembers the revelation as traumatic because she was always going out of her way to make sure everyone felt loved. She was amazing and, if I had to guess, not many people didn’t like her. She passed away a few years ago and I think about her often.

I used to care when I found out people didn’t like me. It would gnaw on me for days and I’d waste energy trying to figure out what I did wrong and how I could fix it.

I had someone (unnamed) say… they aren’t nice to you behind your back so why do you continue being nice to them?

Because that is who I am. I am who you see me to be. I think people who are nice to people and then turn around and make fun of them maybe don’t understand how it makes them look. It’s ugly.

I told my friend she should always just be the best version of herself. You waste kindness on people because you believe no kindness is a waste. You love those who can’t or wont’t ever care about you because who you are isn’t dependent on who they are.

Does it hurt to find out people you go out of your way for turn around and laugh at your expense…

It used to but it stops hurting when you realize you are in control of who you are and you are superior to them

DAY 10: ORCHESTRATE – MY KINDNESS

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People work hard to orchestrating how other people feel. Their need to be loved and liked is powerful.

I wasn’t very old the first time I realized not everyone liked me. I met a woman who was in her late 20’s before she realized not everyone liked her. She remembers the revelation as traumatic because she was always going out of her way to make sure everyone felt loved. She was amazing and, if I had to guess, not many people didn’t like her. She passed away a few years ago and I think about her often.

I used to care when I found out people didn’t like me. It would gnaw on me for days and I’d waste energy trying to figure out what I did wrong and how I could fix it.

I had someone (unnamed) say… they aren’t nice to you behind your back so why do you continue being nice to them?

Because that is who I am. I am who you see me to be. I think people who are nice to people and then turn around and make fun of them maybe don’t understand how it makes them look. It’s ugly.

I told my friend she should always just be the best version of herself. You waste kindness on people because you believe no kindness is a waste. You love those who can’t or wont’t ever care about you because who you are isn’t dependent on who they are.

Does it hurt to find out people you go out of your way for turn around and laugh at your expense…

It used to but it stops hurting when you realize you are in control of who you are and you are superior to them

IN THE PALM

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The world is speeding

A blurry comet streaking

A surface full of ghosts

Wondering dazed in a fog

Give me this day our…

What are the words?

The prayer we used to say

When all went wrong?

He’s got the whole world

In the palm of his hand

And he’s bouncing it

Banking it off stars

And now for the final shot

The world is spinning

All of us submitting

Our free will was always

In the hands of God

DAY 6: HANDS – IN THE PALM

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The world is speeding

A blurry comet streaking

A surface full of ghosts

Wondering dazed in a fog

Give me this day our…

What are the words?

The prayer we used to say

When all went wrong?

He’s got the whole world

In the palm of his hand

And he’s bouncing it

Banking it off stars

And now for the final shot

The world is spinning

All of us submitting

Our free will was always

In the hands of God