It astounds me that being silent and hardly responding somehow translates to "I need to talk to you more. If I just keep at it long enough, you'll open up! Like a piñata," for my dad.

I'm sick of being assumed that I'm wrong or that I don't know what I'm doing. When I'm successful, this shouldn't be surprising to you.

I also don't appreciate my opinions about things being pushed aside or being considered invalid. Those are rejections of me, in turn labeling me invalid. Assume I actually know what I'm talking about, or, at the very least, grant me the respect to acknowledge my differing.

 

My brother and I were discussing who was the favorite child for each parent today (despite constant repudiations from our mother). We both mutually agreed that Nathan was her favorite, Natasha second, I last, without question. When it came to my father, we both agreed Natasha was first. Both of us thought we were the least favorite child.

I have no doubt that they love all three of us equally. But it's telling that both of us felt so utterly rejected by his actions as to think we were the least liked. Perhaps it's more we're all equally loved, he just respects Natasha more (though I still kind of want to contend that I'm the least respected: he finds Nathan somewhat selfish and hot-headed, I think (which is humorously ironic given his own anger), but he finds me incompetent. I may be the oldest, but I couldn't do anything on my own (four years of college away from them didn't really have anything trying for me; after all, I can't wake up in the morning for anything, so I must've had someone else help me; and one instance of oversleeping in four years proves the precedence)).

 

I've always insisted that, in most cases, what was intended is more important than the result. However, my parents provide ample example, that the result can outweigh the intention. I just don't know how to justify a good deal of the actions my father partakes in. They so frequently go against any reasonable logical assessment of how to treat fellow humans, that I'd be tempted to guess he were mentally impaired. However, if he were mentally impaired, he'd have an excuse and reason. He's not, which makes him unjustifiable.

My sister came out to me as bi!

O frabjous day!

My sister recently got a new dog (it's been...two weeks now?). Thought I'd share with y'all:

And, of course, the most important picture:

--Quote of the Day--
*My younger sister and I are picking out movies*
Me: Have you ever seen The Man In the Iron Mask?
Sister: *points at Leonardo Decaprio* He's cute.
Me: Tasha, we've been over this before – you're too young to have a sexuality!

 

It's not denial if I'm knowingly denying it. :{D

 

Day of just playing pool with the siblings while listening to music? Best way to spend a day ever. Though the little bastards' taste in music is going to ruin the quality of mine.

 

We should start a campaign against those with piercings. Or those who choose to wear all black. And those with high cholesterol.

One of the things I try to keep in mind when I write my public minded entries (in other words, generally, those which aren't directly about myself) is what voice I use. No one wants to listen to someone yell at them (completely understandably). Should I choose a more sympathetic tone? Couch the post in "we" pronouns rather than talk, visibly, from my point of view? Or should I not even use my words - just a picture to make the point; I'll let the rest of you take what you will from it.

I always thought that there were certain topics and ideas that we as a society (or, at the very least, we as a generation) had already discussed and settled. Example? Racism. We've been through that argument, all of our schools taught us it's evil. If you are a rational and non-past-bound individual, this is not an issue. We may discuss the slighter nuances of it, but I shouldn't find, one day, the majority of people engaged in the discussion of whether those of Japanese descent are inferior to those of Greek descent. It just shouldn't happen. Really.

Well, Xanga seems content on proving me otherwise. Now - when I'm talking about something I believe in, I get passionate. I admit this. My favorite thing I've written on here (with the exception of my last post) is that Mommy Dearest post I did a bit back about my mom. Logical and calculated, it backs up the points it makes while imbued by enough appropriate and justified anger. Now, I'm not advocating for anger, I assure you. But I do think it's appropriate to get passionate about what you feel strongly in. So long as you can back the reasoning, mind you.

However, as I said before - does that get people to listen? Even if justified, if I'm trying to get others to see something, will I make them listen in my passion about the subject? Or is there something I'm missing. Someone "rec"ed this Xanga entry that I then happened to read: http://manstration.xanga.com/716572761/take-a-good-look-at-yourselves/. While there are a lot of things I like about it, you may notice one continual theme through out it. It points out our flaws. We. You. Ironic.

One of the things they tell you in advertising (even advertising about civil rights, etc.) is to make it about those watching. Seems a little off, in a way. I should talk about you to get you to do something for them? And, it seems, it doesn't even matter which arguments you use. As far as it goes, if people don't already have an investment in the subject and it isn't about them, they're not likely to care.

A week ago I came across a "brilliantly" titled entry called Since When is Being Overweight Being "Real"?

To be honest, I'm old school (and by old school, I mean largely influenced by the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s that so dominates our society to this day). I expect that I simply have to state the wrongs that a certain people suffer and I'm going to be able to motivate people. Change things? Start making the problem aware so that other caring people converge together to get a large enough movement to change things.

As far as I can understand, the arguments of the before mentioned Xanga entry is that obese people don't deserve the same respect as others because

• It's unhealthy
• That being obese should be normalized is a travesty worth a busted blood vessel
• There's no reason to be obese and therefore any explanation there after is an excuse

Well, for one, a lot of health concerns are valid when it comes to being obese. There are those who are very actively fit, qualify as healthy as far as stats go - and still are massively overweight. I remember reading an article where a person constantly exercised yet didn't decrease in size - and was called a fat ass as they rode pass a restaurant on their bicycle.

Alright, fine, you seem to think it unhealthy? I ask you if there would be the same type of outcry for someone who happened to be thin and yet have high cholesterol. Would we, as complete strangers to this person, demand that they become more healthy because their unhealthy habits disgust us?

To be honest? I think the complaint stems from the fact that for many it just comes from that they don't like the visual. It doesn't agree with them - so change it. And yet - once again to be honest, I cannot how a personal choice like weight (for those who just don't exercise and happen to weigh a lot) seems to give you the idea that you can tell a person whether or not they should be it. Once again from some article I read, the writer had been getting stuff for a party and another woman just walked up to her and started putting the stuff back on the shelf from her hands, saying, "This stuff really isn't good for you." What?? Where do you think you get the right? Why do you get the specialized freedom to usurp my own autonomy in this pluralistic society?

Alright, once again, I probably haven't convinced you. So let me put it this way - would you take personal action towards another person and treat them differently for having piercings or for the way they dress? It may be a generational thing for me, but I grew up with that. Wearing all black or having a tattoo was a normal thing for me - though just a generation back, they would find it unacceptable. They would have treated the person differently. Far too many conversations I've had to have with my mother over not thinking of a boy as utter dirt for simply having long hair; oh, what a crime, no? I would like to think that most of us would find that ridiculous just for what clothing a person wears.

So how is that so different than the obesity of another person? Well, the thing that made the difference for those before mentioned groups was that the number of people who also did that or didn't mind it or found people with those traits appealing became more visible, more in number.

And, believe it or not, there are those who find "big women" attractive.

Is that still not enough to convince you why these ideas and behaviors toward the obese should be dropped? How about the effect it has on people, on our way of thinking?

I'm sure you've heard it before - we place too much on appearance (which is really far more complex than just what we weigh), etc. etc. blah blah blah. I'll save you it.

Instead, I'll introduce my sister Natasha. Natasha is 13-years-old. She's in eighth grade. She's got the usual worries - school, our mother, doing your daily tasks. Natasha also thinks she's fat; you see, she has large legs.

She spent most of this summer using my laptop's camera so she could take photos of herself for Facebook, making sure she got the right one just to make sure she has the right one. She wants to wear make up to beautify herself. She's been asked out by two boys just last year. And she happens to think she's ugly.

Have a sibling or someone you care about that you'd do anything for? Imagine my emotions as she's telling me she feels she's overweight.

Honestly, I think the issue goes further than just weight, as I've said and explained many times on here, but is it so bad that someone who you might not find attractive be thought of as alright? Hell, maybe even attractive?

Because the right thing would be to just not care. Instead, we demand to say that being overweight is ugly. But then it goes beyond that, into what we joke about and how we think and what our pop culture centers around and so much, much more. Or is Natasha's visions of how important her self worth is tied to her being photogenic not enough to convince you. For as superficial as my mom is, she always said Natasha was beautiful.

And I could end it there. But notice how the focus is away from the subject? It's on the girl who actually happens to not be obese. It allows you to sympathize because it doesn't cross the line of what so many seem to not want to hear.

And I'd like to say it's just the posters who happen to put forth these ideas, but I look down the comments and see far too many agreements.

Why is it so difficult for us to hear about people who we have no tie to, no need to defend, and still find that we should?
I should not have to listen to people trivialize rape.
I should not have to defend the equality of the female sex to the male sex.
I should not have to listen to people call anorexics selfish.
I should not have to do the same for those who self-injure.

These are things that should be second nature to us people! Call it being politically correct, call it being sensitive, I don't care. It's not something I should have to defend. There are so many bigger issues to fight. When is the last time you've been taught in school (in your health class, for starters) about self-injury? When is the last time you heard of a teacher stopping a student for saying a self-harm joke?

Those are the battles we should be fighting. I should not be having to deal with finding a comment on Facebook saying that they think that "cutters" do it for attention. To be honest, that type of ignorance shocks me because even when I made self-injury jokes back in 7th grade, no one had to explain to me the gravety or seriousness of that situation. When I noticed that 10 or so people below in the thread agreed with him - it scared me.

I mean, is it just me? Hearing something like that angers me. Such apathy infuriates me.

So what voice does it take to grab someone's attention? Is indignant preaching grating? How about a personal story from my perspective about someone I know and the pain it caused me? Is reason and logical points enough? Or does it have to relate back to you; "what does it do for you"?

Despite my own tone in this piece, I honestly don't know. But I can only operate under what's wrong. I honestly don't know how else to try to rally people without feeling dirty in the end (and if I have to coach a human rights concept in terms of advertising, I will feel just absolutely filthy). There are a good many passionate enough people on Xanga and (I'd imagine) the world; I'll let them make their own decisions. I pray that's enough.

 

 

I hate how fucking unstable emotions are. There's a reason I prefer logic. Suddenly I'm back to instability and not knowing what the Hell I seem to vaguely feel I'm missing.

It's 4 in the morning. Would someone tell me to go to sleep (though, I swear, I tried at first)? Thanks. I don't think I will.

It always struck me as odd that for someone who can be bothered by hardly anything, has no real issue with stripping himself open (granted, for certain people, though not that specific a group, for the most part), and gives barely a damn (at least outwardly) what others think can suddenly just shut down, wants to recoil into his own mind, and wants no human contact (physical or otherwise) for a good portion of time. Suppose it's a healing mechanism, but I've never entirely and wholly been a fan of isolation.

What it reminds me of is my last depression again when I had more emotional instability than I would like to ever live through again; not only because it's eerily reminiscent of that awkward feeling of wanting human contact and yet being irritated by the effort of managing and dealing with that contact. But, more principally, because I've always hated taking out my own mood on others. No, I'd much rather deal with it myself than risk that. And that, ultimately, is pointless. Because who wants to deal with anything alone? But I'd rather not depress you as well with my own issues; I wouldn't want to put you through that.

There is something raw and, really, real about a person baring themselves emotionally, their problems. For one, it's not easy; so go bravery. But it's cuts through the usual façade (I don't mean that in the usual derivative manner) that we naturally put on, to some extent, every day, depending on the situation, person we deal with, etc.

Yesterday, while trying to close the door to my room so we could go to sleep (it was basically pitch black), my mom scared my sister. Shaken, she runs back and curls up in a ball on the floor, crying. She covers herself entirely.

Now, I'll admit, why she started crying I don't entirely get. Being 12 years old and being perfectly happy just seconds before, it doesn't make entire sense to me. But we often get triggered in very random and pointless ways.

While the logical step is to apologize and check if the person is alright, my mother (being my mother) decides to just ignore her. The rest of us don't really do anything (since, granted, at 12 there's no logical reason to start crying over being scared. And, while it's rude of my mom not to check why her daughter is randomly bawling her eyes out, it was not rude, really, to have scared her). But, really, you can't just let her lay there, entirely covered, crying. There's just something inhumane about that. Too much comfort sends the wrong message; she is slightly over-reacting. But pain is still pain. And it needs to be fixed, always.

So I lay on top of her, hugging her as lays there. Now, there's a blanket between us. This physical barrier ought to be evidence enough there isn't this profound connection being made or that, at least, a direct connection is being made. But this physical touch, which allows me to feel every gasped breath she takes and every sob and the heat radiate from her and the crying slowly stop, is very profound. Just remembering the feeling it evoked is incredible; one of the many moments in life I wish I could better share with you. It's very important; and gives so much to another person.

I was looking through some of my old entries and I came upon this one. Not entirely accurate (or so it feels now). As it says, my life seems so much to work in circles. Nonetheless, it's an interesting aspect of myself I had forgotten. Even if I don't quite feel that emotional detachment any more, it has been there before and says a bit about myself. Depressing, though. You have been warned. Hmm, I feel like I ought to do a few more uplifting entries. Can't say I haven't, though, lately. Nice change of pace. I need an entry with a bit more importance, though. I will sign to that. From May 16ᵗʰ of last year:

I'm seein' demons, hittin' weed
Got me hearing screams
Scared to go to sleep, watch the scene like a dope-fiend
Probably be punished for it - though you can't ignore it
I live the life of a thug, nigga, and die for it
Niggaz pass the cush and watch me bring 'em to the floor
I got some shit that they ain't ready for
{What you got?} I got the Secrets of War...
-2Pac

There is a connection.

In a random section, I came across this story online which is a poem about the view of life from a vampire's view point. The first line I saw was, "All I feel is pain," and my immediate thought was, "Great, it's Emo." Word of advice to the author - go gothic. Totally a better subculture. Take a goth's word for it.

Now, onto what I did today. Piano lessons. They went quickly I need to practice a bit more, but 15 min. a night ought to suffice. So, afterwards, I go for a walk, as I always do. I think I hurt my feet during it all, but oh well. There's this great park, not far out of downtown Evanston (or at least as downtown as Evanston can get). You always get to see kids and parents around there. It's nice to observe it all. I've always loved kids. And something about parks always just gets me.

So I'm swinging as I always do, listening to 'Pac songs. For some reason, I had this sudden resurgence of interest in him. Nonetheless, I'm thinking about lyric and song ideas, going over theories, beats, messages, etc. for future use for the eventual concept album I've talked about before. Hmm, how do I do this now.

Well, I'll start with, as I've said before, I dislike emotions. Me and my emotions are on tolerating terms. Without them, life looses all meaning. Yet they are so faulty and impure, they just irritate me. Emotions aren't the exact opposite of logic, but they are no where near it either. They're confusing, often mixed, not always right, and unrestrained (other than, surprise, by logic). Probably partially because I am an incredibly logical thinker, I've sort of distanced myself from them. They're no use to me unless (often but not always) in extremes. So, I tend to find, I'm kinda estranged from them. Which can, obviously, be kinda problematic.

I'm a logical thinker. Someone's hurt. You comfort them. Why? Because that's the right thing to do. In fact, if emotions ever factor into that, it'd be you comfort them so they aren't hurt, because that's when my emotions kick in and I feel terrible. Otherwise, it's purely logic thought process.

So, generally when it comes to pets I worry if I actually felt anything for them or if they just amused for the time being. I know I didn't shed a tear or feel all too remourseful when the family's second hamster, Pudgey, died. Don't get me wrong - I loved Pudgey. But maybe I just didn't have the emotional energy for remourse. I liked him, but things die. Let's move on with life.

So, shifting focus to my amazing guinea pig, Almond Joey, it did kinda catch me off guard for my reaction to him. He was moving around his cage one time and I happened to notice there's this crap growing around his eye. Now, Almo's rarely sick. And my immediate reaction (because he is old and getting kinda thin, for a guinea pig) is, "Somthing is wrong." And I flip. Not loudly or making a big scene, but I immediately start mutter, "No, no, no, no..." and take him out, pull him close, kinda just cradle him for a while. I then immediately move to taking the crap out of his eye as I almost silently pray that nothing is wrong with him, possibly (if I never stopped myself from crying nearly every time) able to be moved to tears. That was a while ago. I do think he's going blind, but he's still kicking so far, thankfully.

Point of all that? Well, there was a thought process I came upon sitting on those swings which was, well, extreme, but that would explain why I felt it. It was towards one of our old dogs, Lady Rose. We got the dog as a baby, a female golden retriever. I liked the dog. She was nice enough. So, naturally, my mother took responsibility of training her.

Now, for those who don't know my mom. She's not a patient person. And, no matter what else she may do, she's not someone who's willing to sacrifice, all too often, things that give her comfort or benefit for the sake of anyone else. Leading to many, sometimes violent, arguments between my parents.

So, obviously, potty training a dog is not easy. It's difficult and takes work. My genius mother gets very frustrated. And, as she did on me and my siblings some years ago, she took this out through anger.

I remember waking up one morning, kinda out of it, wanting to sleep further (as usual). And as I'm slowly zoning back into my surroundings, I notice there's some noise in the background. And I realize, it's yelping. The dog had a habit of barking when in the cage. My mother had headed down to there and was beating the dog. Lady Rose, God bless her sole, was always a stoic dog. Maybe due to receiving an abuse from a young age. Either way, she's just taking it, only making noises when she's hit. After my mom's done, she just tells her, "You piece of shit," as she closes the cage.

I think the best was when she tries this in the middle of the day in the garage and me and my brother sneak to there and slowly open the door. She notices and immediately is smiling like there's nothing wrong. We ask why she has this stick in her hand and she just says she was playing fetch with the dog. Right.

And those entire times, I just kinda blocked it out. I was infuriated. It doesn't take much reason to not see there's a serious problem here. But other than that, I just took it. I really couldn't do much, nothing that would disrupt everything in our lives and that moment and may have fucked over more than just Lady Rose.

And that was probably due to the fact, we were raised not to care. If you cared, you wouldn't survive. You'd tear yourself apart watching the injustices in that household. You had to learn to block it out and just deal with it. Accept what was wrong.

And as I'm swinging there, I just start to think what that was like for her, knowing partially what it had been for me when younger. And I can imagine her, still just a kid, crammed in this confined place, no where to run (and probably wouldn't even know to run if she could), just getting layed into, ribs smashed over and over again, and having no clue as to why - just knowing it was happening. And, probably for the first time since having that dog (or at least since relistening to the tape I recorded. It's a recording of my mom yelling at the dog, threatening to kick my dad out of the house, and my sisters just bawling and begging my mother while my mom just ignores her, shoving her off to the side, at some point) I feel this utter remorse and actually want to release these emotions. I don't, obviously. I'm in a public area.

      Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
      "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
-Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)? 

But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

What the Hell do you say to an 11-year-old girl who thinks she has too much of a stomach, her legs too hairy, and her hair not good enough?

 

It's childish, immature, and pointless, but Fuck You world. She wasn't enough as she damn came out?