Second picture of my dragon scale.
Second picture of my dragon scale.
I was wondering if anyone could help me figure out what exactly this thing is. It’s all black and has little grooves in it. It’s not really sharp and doesn’t feel very strong. I’ve just been calling it my “dragon scale.” By the way, I found it somewhere on the easy coast, somewhere near New Jersey.
First off, I have to apologize for any typos or such things because my laptop is completely refusing to cooperate with WordPress, so I’m using my iPod, which hates my guts.
Anyway, I’m not going to spew out facts about Christianity or the Wiccan faith because in truth, I barely know anything about either religion. Ha, and I call myself a Christian. Non-denominational/progressive. I’m willing to bet my lack of knowledge plays tsp me role in all my confusion.
I’ve always been in love with the idea of magic and fantastical things, but Christianity just throws that right out the door. None, nada, zilch. Yet, it also throws my bisexuality right out too and that I can’t help and believe me that I tried, and still try sometimes. I have my wonderful Boo and I wouldn’t dream of having another mate, but when I see those pretty, half-naked girls on TV, that tingly feelings bubbles up. And like my being bi, I can’t help that I’m fascinated with magic and believing in the impossible.
Years ago, I was sooo into Wicca when I started learning about other religions. I was so tempted to try a spell, but remembering that it was a huge sin, I turned away from Wicca altogether. I love the idea of respecting and do no evil (it felt so right for me) and even enchanting things to benefit other people. But God was, and still is, more important.
Then why would God make it possible for us to use white magic. Yeah, He gave us free will and wants us to be good to Him and turn away from sorcery and all that, but what if He is changing just as we, humans, are? The Bible was written, physically, by man. Man is not perfect (neither is woman). Do we misinterpret what the Bible says? Was the Bible written inaccurately?
Other questions rise up, like, is magic even real? couldn’t magic all be in our heads, like the placebo effect? A spell may be said but the only thing that happened may be our brains tricking us into believing it so much that we think something happened.
Herbs. Herbs can be arranged to make medicine. Is medicine then a form of a potion and so then that be magic? Gah, this is all so confusing. What counts as magic and what doesn’t? What does God really mean and say, especially in this day and age?
What I want is to believe in the Holy Trinity and everything that God has taught me so far as well as what the Bible says. However, when I read about children who should be stoned for disobeying their parents, what I interpret it to be is children should be healthily punished for disobeying. I want to believe that everything has respect that I shouldn’t harm. I want to enchant gems to help those who can’t help themselves. Spells, well, those are still kind of a no since I don’t want an accident that may involve evil or the paranormal (I’ve had enough with evil and ghosts and stuff). I want to heal and help.
I was born from a woman who, in a way, practiced black magic. Black magic loves her. It wanted me to love it for a long time. Evil and corrupt, I stayed away and now I fend it off much easier these days. Yet I know with all that experience, something still touches me. I don’t know if empathy is anything evil in the Bible, but I’m an empath. And boy, oh, boy! Spirits just love me, especially since I radiate positive energy most of the time rather than soak in and again emit it.
Being an empath is going to take me down a path of healing as it does even today. I know how it feels to be at the very bottom. To be unloved and alone with no hope in sight. Hopeless. If I could enchant an object and tell someone it was enchanted to bring you joy, that could cause a spark of hope ignite into something brilliant and they could begin their journey of healing. I could lie. But I don’t believe in lying.
I planned this post much better and shorter in my head, but if anyone was able to understand this, then I really do hope that you understand that my mind is so boggled that I have no idea what I’m even typing anymore…
With that, I’m just going to leave off here…
My boyfriend, or rather my unofficial fiancé, gave me his class ring last night. Partly because he felt bad for not being able to afford a class ring and partly because I was in a lot of pain last night.
Does your class ring count as an unofficial engagement ring?
11:07 AM Mon, Dec 9
To me. Yes. Idk if you do
11:10 AM Mon Dec 9
Of course I as my agreement text, I sent a smiley face 🙂 . We consider one another to be the love of our lives, which I would never say that if I didn’t believe it to be true. And while he can be dramatic, controlling, and obsessive, I know he means well and that he does love me. I know, I know, we’re just teenagers and that’s the only kind of love this could be– teenage love. But really, if this is all that this is, it’ll be worth the risk.
I’ve survived things in amazing ways that most people would crumble and cry over. I’ve had someone that I thought was meant for me. Know what happened? Things didn’t work out and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. The heartache I went through was tragic. Yet I took it like a champ and moved on. Cold hearted? Maybe. Probably. At times.
In any case, we’re officially unofficially engaged!
Everyone feels like they’re alone and scared at some point in their life, I know, but I more than others. Most of the experiences I’ve faced were not problems that I instigated. No, I was the innocent victim in the blood splash zone of life as one traumatic memory or another butchered everything I held dear around me. Sometimes it was like someone I loved was tying me down to a straight jacket just to torture me mentally, physically, or worse than both of those– emotionally.
I’m no stranger to loneliness and fear. In fear there is caution and I use caution quite well. In loneliness there is solitude to be a philosopher and to think about life-changing decisions. I’ve learned, from those malicious memories, how to manipulate everything bad into something good, or at least into something that can make something else that’s good.
But now that the Big Bad Wolf gave up huffing and puffing and I’m finally free to explore my world (under my mother’s strict supervision, that is), I find that every day problems can be just as daunting as fires and the psychotic.
This problem I face now isn’t an every day thing, but it still happens more often than it should. I actually put myself in this position, though. It was my choice. My decision. That alone makes it all the more scary and thrilling.
What is this dilemma I stand against?
I prefer not to say. But my boyfriend, which may surprise you, is more upset than I am, and this problem is usually one most boys would hate, or, in this case, be relieved. Nope, not my man. He and I are androgynous, although he is seemingly more on the feminine side and I appear to be on the more masculine. My mental strength? It’s like dragon armor in Skyrim. Emotional strength? Eh, more like Elven armor, but that’s still pretty good. His mental strength? Less than mine. Emotional? Still less than mine.
I feel alone. I write about my problems because I have no one to talk to, releasing my anger without hurting or insulting anyone or anything.
I feel scared. I’m taking extra precaution from now on. Also, I will be telling Boo (that’s a family-given nickname, not a nickname I use because he’s my boyfriend/fiancé), how I’m feeling now that I’m a bit more calmed down.
This post? Vague; as it should be.
Mom starts texting me saying it’s ten and I just say okay? And she said I’m gonna get her in trouble because I’m not home. So I walk out to the living room and confront her then she brings me into my room and says how grammy told her that I still wasn’t home or whatever and I told her that I came in and talked to her and Jessica AND my gram. She kept saying how she didn’t trust her own memory or whatever but then she wouldn’t let me ask my gram about it and starts crying asking if her brains messed up and I told her how I sometimes don’t remember what I eat in the morning and she cried and gave me a hug. So I walk out to get a glass of water and look at my gram and she looked away and didn’t say anything. Now mom is crying more saying she doesn’t want us to get like that sitting on my bed ._.
10:33PM Wed, Dec 4
A few things you should know:
My sister, mom, and I all live with my grandmother. However, I go to my boyfriend’s a lot. I do go over as much as possible, but I always come home at 8 or 8:30 on a school night. My mom is very much like my grandmother, and yes, her brain is messed up. She has epilepsy and has a lot of trouble with her memory now because of that. Both my grandmother and my mom like to start fires every once in a while so I have no idea who to believe this time because the look on my gram’s face kind of said she was guilty, but did my mother have part in it? Only God knows.
Around 7:30 p.m.:
Mom starts yelling at my 10-year-old sister for lying (for the 50 millionth time) and telling her the truth about her dad (we don’t have the same dad). How he took my older brother by the ankle, held him upside down, and dropped him on his head– almost breaking his neck. How he took him by the neck and slammed his face into a metal fence pole. How he called me a f* retard when I was, what, 6? I know some of the stories, like how he kicked my brother in the a* the one time he stood up to him and gave me $20 for “being the good kid.” God, I felt horrible. Not knowing what to do, I told him as we climbed the stairs that I’d give him ten of it.
But those first three things, I didn’t remember at all. Wow. I felt miserable and like I wanted to cry. So I had my boyfriend come pick me up for an hour.
Around 8:30 p.m.:
I get home, talk to mom. Threaten Jessica because she was threatening me (not seriously threatening, duh). Pig out on chocolate we’re supposed to be using for a gingerbread house.
My gram gets home and goes into the kitchen and I follow. I see that she’s making a PB&J sandwich (which is racist, you know. Look it up) so I say that I like the seeds in the jelly and she agrees. I get my glass of milk and leave. Then I get a shower and get to bed.
Around 10 p.m.:
All that wonderful BS mentioned in the text goes on. YAY.
My boobs have been sore, I’ve been having cramps, and my usually high level of tolerance for annoying things and people had been unusually low. My phone is about to expire. I have midterms coming up. And, it was the first day back to school from Thanksgiving break. Plus the exhaustion from not sleeping. Great day, right?
Is there anybody out there who understands what this is like?
I walk out into the living room for my iPod charger and she acts like everything is f* fine.
My double Thanksgiving dinner dilemma went alright yesterday. I ate at mom’s house and after we finished eating, I was able to escape the yelling and violence that my cousins brought along with them. Not a pie to pitch in to the dinner, or the turkey my aunt was supposed to bring. Instead, they only brought their trouble and themselves.
Anyway, I got away from it all by running to my boyfriend’s dad’s house. It was awkward to sit and wait ’til everyone finished, watching football (I don’t like watching football), and only eat some pie from the entire meal. It was nice, though, hearing the small children babble nonstop, their mother telling them to stop doing this and that, and eating two types of pie.
I love pie 🙂
Now I’m off to eat this last piece of pumpkin pie with extra whip cream and then get ready for a holiday weekend at my boyfriend’s dad’s house.
BTW: No black friday shopping for this girl 😉