on disappearing

i'm disappearing.

'tell my love to wreck it all / cut out all the ropes and let me fall' sort of disappearing.

i'll be back in three weeks. i'll be back in a month.. if i'm back at all.

i make no promises.

there's so many reasons, but i'm realizing they all collide in one main reason, one primary heartbreak, which has been building for months, compelling me to this

because i am such a mess, i am such a wreck, still, even after all this time, and i am convinced that my friends would be so much better off without me, and i can no longer handle the stress of my life, and i am hyper sensitive which convinces me that people are withdrawing from me - whether they are or are not - and i feel that it is unfair to burden them with the sorry pathetic mess that i consistently am and have been.

and this may be wrong, but i look around, and what i see in my friends is....normalcy.

people who love and are loved by their family

people who do not fall apart at the touch of a hand

people who can smile and laugh and it doesn't exhaust their entire self to do so

people who do not walk away from a hug without looking back, because their eyes are streaming with tears, because for the first time in years, they felt...safe

people who can love and be loved without running in panic from past traumas translated into present day terrors 

and i have spent so many years frantically grasping at love, dying for the assurance that someone genuinely cared and wouldn't just walk out on me as soon as i let down my guard.

for too many years, that has been the irrational driver of my existence

but now? now that i have friends who do care, friends who i know love me?

now i am convinced that i need to prove myself worthy of that love.

because after all, who constantly and consistently sticks around, if they don't see improvement? .... hint: no one.

maybe God, but that's different. even God insists that we keep moving forward

but when i'm still a mess, it doesn't make sense to me to expect my friends to keep up with that, to be ok with that, to not grow fed up and walk out.

so before they get frustrated with my inability to get better, i'll leave. i'll leave first, and learn how to live without them, to cut out all the ropes and still not fall, so that when they leave, i won't be devastated.

and if i cannot do that, then at least, i will come back whole. i will come back normal. i will come back as beautiful and effortless and confident and clean and deserving of the love that they've given to me.

i will wipe away all the stains and i will make my heart clean, and i can just see God looking down on me like, 'you know this is not the way', so fine God, you do it, but i don't need other people yet, do i?

i can't depend on them, i can't let myself care what they think...i cannot give away my heart to something that could be gone tomorrow, without so much as a backwards glance.

i refuse to let myself depend on them. and i am growing to do just that - depend on them. let myself be swayed by their opinions and concerns, and i can't afford to do that 

i can't afford to know the things they tell me - to know how dysfunctional my family can be, to know that there is not something fundamentally flawed with me, to know that i do not have to prove myself worthy of love because i have always had to. 

i need to sort out the panic attacks, to sort out my life, to sort out becoming better and who i am and what i am and oh God how do i make peace with the things in my past that have destroyed me yet at the same time have made me who i am today?

i also need to learn how to be a woman - to revisit concepts i disregarded a long time ago, like emotional purity and femininity and purity and courtship and submission and my role as a woman in a conflicted world

i need to learn to handle the demons on my own, with nothing but the God of heaven beside me. i need to hide away for a really long time with nothing between me and destruction but God and my own soul. 

i need to give the love and nurture to my family that they deserve, and if they insist on piling more than these small shoulders can hold, then i will carve more shelves, and pray to atlas for the strength to succeed. 

and yes i realize that this is a risk, it's not safe, it will hurt, and i risk losing my identity completely to who my parents wish me to be. 

i realize that my friends could absolutely forget me, stop caring, walk away, in the meantime, and i will be genuinely shocked if anyone actually cares enough to check in or make sure that i'm only disappearing and haven't disappeared. 

and i don't say that because i don't think they care. i know they do. i just also know how life works, and that it's utterly possible that i will come out my self-imposed seclusion to discover that all my friends are no more. and i would sooner think of holding something as ridiculous as their gender against them, than of holding that against them. 

and in all brutal honesty, i don't know for sure if this will work, or if i will accidentally drown myself - even though i am supposed to text someone if i need help, i doubt i truly will. too independently stubborn, i guess. 

i don't honestly know. i don't know that i'm making the right decision, but i have to try. 

it's better than going insane, it's better than continuing on the way we've been.

and the only thing i know for sure is that i must try. 

i have to. 

for when the struggle naught availeth

A friend posted a poem on Facebook today.. it's rather old, and the language somewhat antiquated, but it happened to be the reminder I needed, and it got me thinking. I'll subject you to my thoughts in a moment,

But first....the poem. 

Say Not The Struggle Nought Availeth by Arthur Clough.

"Say not the struggle nought availeth

The labor and the wounds are vain

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been, they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.

It may be, in yon smoke concealed,

Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,

And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves vainly breaking

Seem here no painful inch to gain,

Far back, through creeks and inlets making,

Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only

When daylight comes, comes in the light.

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,

But westward, look, the land is bright."

Lately I have caught myself adopting the very attitude which the poem decrys - that the struggle nought availeth. After all, even though occasionally I catch glimpses of how I've changed, sometimes it doesn't feel as drastic as it is. In the moment, in the day-to-day, the mundane, I don't see the struggle availing at all! All i see is the darkness. And if anything, life seems to get more and more difficult. And what does one do when 'the sun climbs slow, how slowly'?

The phrase 'if hopes were dupes, fears may be liars', has always grabbed me, though. It may be my favorite line in the entire poem. Disappointment has taught me to be wary of hope, for it seems that every time I hope, I am hurt by it......Hope is said to be the most addicting drug of them all, yet the most fatal. It has the greatest power to hurt me, to crush me. Consequently, I'm afraid I don't quite believe in hope. 

(which, is strangely ironic, considering that my name means hope)

But, that line reminds me that, if I distrust hope, why do I trust fear? Why am I so often prone to believe my fears, yet write off my hopes as impossible? I can't live my whole life letting my hopes be duped by fear, held captive to the invariable 'what if?'. 

But, if I actually follow the advice given in this poem, and remind myself that the struggle does avail much, then.....when does the struggle end?

Does it end? Or is it interminable? It frequently seems so, especially in the moment?

The answer I found in yet another poem, this time by Christina Rosetti.

"Does the road wind uphill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the journey take the whole long day?

From morn til night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting place?

A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you waiting at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour shall you find the sum.

Will be there beds for me, and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come."

No matter how long the road, how hard the journey, how slow the climb, how fierce the fight, there will be - there must be - rest at last. Rest when the war is won, and the summit reached.

As John Buchanan is reported to have said, "You have chosen the roughest road, but it goes straight to the hilltop".

On that hilltop is victory. And on the hilltop we will finally be free.

Quite frankly, I can't wait for that. It's the mountain that's currently daunting me. Because right now, on the ground, I can't even see the summit. All I can glimpse, from my vantage point, is the slope stretching ever higher.

And I guess that's where faith comes in. Not only the faith to believe that the summit exists, but that it is possible to reach it. There are those who have gone before, who prove that it can indeed be done, but can it be done by me?

I hope so.

I hope so with all my heart.

On Idols

"The answer came to him slowly, with the changing of the seasons.
You shall have no other Gods before me.That couldn't be right.
Michael's anger grew. 'When have I worshipped anyone but You?'
He raged again, 'I've followed you all my life. I've never put anyone before you'. Hands fisted, he wept. 'I love her, but I've never made her my god.'
In the calm that followed his angry torrent of words, Michael heard - and finally understood. 
You became hers."

"She thought she had been saved by his love for her, and in part she had been. It had cleansed her, never casting blame. But that had been only the beginning. It was loving him in return that had brought her out of the darkness"
- Francine Rivers (Redeeming Love)

I read somewhere that the best kind of books aren't the ones that you merely read, the best kind of books are the ones that read you. And it's true.

Because thanks to this crazy book which I've been wanting to read for years but only finally read now - now that I understand it, now that I've lived it - funny how God works, huh? - I was brought face to face with the painful realities of my own soul.

See, when you've been there, when you've been Gomer, and God grabs a Hosea to bring you home, it's not as easy as you might think to remember who actually saved you. You end up crediting it to Hosea, and while you sort of realize that it was God, it hasn't really sunk in yet.

You look at him and you see 'the man who saved me', 'the one who was different', 'nothing like anyone I've ever known', 'the only person who never gave up on me', and fail to recognize that his love that saved you wasn't the end at all... it was merely the beginning. The doorway, if you will, to all the love God has for you.

Because if you just leave it there, as the end, then you grow dangerously close to substituting him for God. And, while reading (and, incidentally, sobbing my eyes out), I realize that I've unwittingly done just that.

Over the past weeks and months since camp, I've slowly but surely supplanted God in my mind, setting him up instead. Not deliberately. Not even consciously. I didn't realize it until this book made it painfully clear just what was happening without even my awareness.

Because anyone I go to before God, anyone I seek counsel from before I've sought it from God - no matter how wise and God fearing they might be - is an idol. Anything or anyone which comes first in my life, anything or anyone I depend on more than I depend on God is an idol.

And I had accidentally done just that. Because, after all, when someone saves your life, it's so easy to pass idolatry off as just 'gratitude' or 'well sure I adore him, but I have good reason'. And there's nothing wrong with a deep bond, but there is something very wrong when I go to him (or anyone else for that matter) for counsel and advice before consulting God on the matter.

"She thought she had been saved by his love for her, and in part she had been"...but, see, that's not all. Because in reality, every time he loved me and kept on loving me even when I was being awful, it wasn't really him loving me. It was God loving me through him.

It was all God all along.

And I thought I understood that, but apparently not, since now I finally see why he refused to take credit for saving my life. Because, really, God saved my life. He was just the tool God used. Just as Hosea was the tool God used. Just as any of us are ever the tools God uses - the vessels of His love.

And it isn't in loving him in return that I am free from the darkness. My freedom comes when I realize and start living on the truth that it was God all along. It was God who's been calling me to himself, it was God who used him to save me, it was God who showed me His heart through him, and who orchestrated it all.

Because it wasn't really loving him back that will bring you back from the darkness. It's when you see how much God loves you, and love Him back.

And I finally get what I should have gotten all along - that being saved by someone's love isn't the end. It can't be the end, because if it is, it sours and turns into an idol. It has to be a pathway to something bigger, something more. Something God.

It's supposed to be a reflection of God - when you look at the selfless love of a friend and see something greater, see the heart of God for you and it brings you closer to Him. It isn't supposed to be an end in and of itself, since his love was never really his love, it was His love through him.

And I finally get it, I finally understand. And it's beautiful, and it finally feels free.

"Love the Lord your God and love one another. Love one another as He loves...That's the way back to Eden, that's the way back to life". 

Love. God's love. Shown through us, but His nonetheless.

Always, only, first, and forever, His.

To Listen to the Voice of Truth

I have a confession to make.

I am terrible with song lyrics. And by terrible, I mean...my siblings have even told me I'm terrible. I have a fantastic memory, so it's not forgetting the lyrics that I have trouble with.

It's hearing them in the first place!

I can listen to a song for years, and just remember it for one phrase, or the tune, and completely miss the entire rest of the song. I simply won't hear it. Or, the words won't connect in my head, and I miss the meaning entirely.... it's pretty bad.

The only benefit is that it quite frequently works in God's favor, because I'll turn on a song and not realize what the rest of the lyrics are, because I never bothered to listen in the first place, and God will start laughing.

Which, incidentally, happened today at work, and I bring this up because I've a feeling it will set the tone for the rest of this year's posts, or at least, a good majority of them.

A friend sent me a blog post today, during some down time at work, and I blithely clicked and began to read....and was immediately blown away and rendered speechless.

The post (here), centered around how this is the year to face your demons, to confront your fears, to go back into the pain and the hurt, with the God of the universe beside you, and drag all the old trunks full of wounds out into the light, and finally let them go and begin to heal. The author talked about the monsters hidden in the depths, the waves and wind of the storms we've walked through...the things we don't want to revisit, even if the hurt can only be healed by going back and facing them.

The closing phrases hit me hard.

"When you face your monster, the one that accuses you with the slimy voice of shame, the one that tempts you to arm yourself so that you are invincible, the God who created the birds in the sky and that which inhabits the deep waters is with you...it's time to face your monster". 

To be honest, that was the last thing I wanted to hear. It is still the last thing I want to hear. But it seems to be all I've been hearing from God in this new year... This is the year to go back and make peace with the past. This is the year He wants me to drag the wounds into His light, and finally let them go.

But i don't want to. I still don't want to. I've created one subterfuge after another over the past few weeks, slipping back into old habits in order to avoid having to confront the monsters that terrorize me. I don't want to have anything to do with them.

why? because, I realize, they terrify me. I have tried and tried to beat them, but when they come around, I am the one who ends up on the ground almost every time. I am not strong enough to beat them,

...and then the radio comes on. and it plays a song that I could sing backwards in my sleep, and yet somehow never actually heard.

'oh, what I would do to have the kind of faith it takes to climb out of this boat I'm in
onto the crashing waves
to step out of my comfort zone into the realm of the unknown where Jesus is
and He's holding out His hand'

(and He is...He has been...and I'm huddling in the corner of my little lifeboat, scared of monsters in the deep, as He crosses the waves on foot and holds out His hand.....)

'oh what I would do to have the kind of strength it takes to stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
surrounded by the sound of a thousand warriors shaking in their armor
wishing they'd have had the strength to stand'

(i know this song....backwards and forwards...how did I not know the lyrics!?)

'but the giant's calling out my name and he laughs at me,reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed.the giant keeps on telling me, time and time again, boy, you'll never win -you'll never win'. 

(and this is why I'm running away. because my giants - my monsters - assure me that no matter how hard I may fight, I will never win. I will never truly be free. i will always be the same pathetic loser trapped in the same cycle of pain, bound by the chains of my past)

'but the voice of truth tells me a different story. the voice of truth says 'do not be afraid'and the voice of truth says 'this is for My glory - out of all the voices calling out to me,
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth'

And right then and there, I decide. I will choose to listen to the God of the universe, who swears that 'when you pass through the waters, I will be with you'. I will choose to listen to Him, and I will choose not to listen to the waves - listen to the monsters - listen to the demons - listen to the giants. I will do what He asks, and I will go back, and I will stand tall because He is beside me, and together we'll fight, and the giants will fall.

I take a shaky breath as the song ends, wipe my tears, and smile back at God...and the radio continues...with a new song, one that I always tune out...

'i face a giant, in over my head. help me to look up.
I take a deep breath and take the next step. though I may be weak, I know who is with me.and greater is He living in me than he who is living in the world
whatever may come, His strength is enough. my heart is at peace, for greater is He.'

( and God laughed as I gasped. )

'i face an ocean, the waves are raging. help me to look up.
You'll do what I can't, and I'll walk on dry land, I'll step out on the sea for I know who is with me.
and in His name, giants will fall, and in His name oceans will partand in His name, there's nothing we can't overcome'

.......I stood there, speechless, in the middle of the office, just astonished at God.

then i threw up my hands and started singing along, because what else do you do when God pulls out all the stops like that, but praise Him?

and I'm still not keen on the journey He's got me on, the path He's marked out for me this year. I'm not sure I can do it, I'm not sure I want to. 

But, as I was reminded recently by a favorite author of mine, "you have whatever strength God has given you, and it will be enough to carry out His good purpose in you. Trust in Him"

Trust in Him, indeed.. 

and so I shall. 

{change?}

I'm gonna be honest. 2016 has been less than fantastic so far.

Partly due to things I had no control over, partly due God trying to teach me lessons and me ignoring them, and partly just due to the fact that life rarely goes according to plan. And, partly, because eating disorders are hard to shake, and even though you may think you've recovered, it's not always that simple.

And it's all fine and well to say 'fall seven times, stand up eight', but what do you do when you've tried everything in your power to get better, and yet, somehow, keep falling down?

So, between one thing and another, I wound up in church this morning nursing my coffee and a splitting headache, along with a profound sense of 'utterly hopeless'.

The sermon this morning, though, grabbed my attention from the beginning.

See, it was on the life of Paul, and how God often uses the biggest messes for His greatest glory. Because your past doesn't make you hopeless, and there is always redemption at the feet of Jesus. The bigger the mess before Christ, the more amazing His grace.

"Can anyone, regardless of their past, experience the life change and power of the Grace of God?", my pastor asked. "The answer of the Bible", he continued, "is a resounding YES".

And I desperately needed that reminder....because just that morning, I'd worried aloud to a friend, 'what if I never get better?' What if i struggle with this eating disorder my whole life long?

I was truthfully reminded that whether or not I get 'better', God will use the things I've gone through for His glory, but....that's small consolation when you look down the tunneled years and all you see is darkness.

But, then the sermon started hitting closer to home...if that was even possible.

He went on to say that not only are we never to write off anyone as 'unreachable' (along the lines of the story of Paul), because God can change anyone...but... God also wants to change us, too... change is possible... but we can't change ourselves.

"Everyone wants to change something about themselves"

....i know I do. thinner, taller, prettier, smarter...the list goes on endlessly.

"Jesus wants to change you from within. He's fine with your outside. He wants to change you inside"

.......oh......because i've been feverishly trying to change the outside, make it all look good, even if perhaps i'm not fully healed on the inside.

"We can work all we want on trying to get the outside in shape, but He wants to get the inside in shape, and He promises to change you if you'll only let him"

the phrase, I believe he used, and I'm not sure where he got it, but it struck a chord with me, was "surrender your rebel will to His amazing love"...perhaps it hit me because I'm just about that stubborn.

rebel will, indeed.

He beautifully pointed out exactly what was wrong, and what I keep forgetting.

I can't do it in my own strength. 

I can't recover alone. 

Which, to be honest, I hate, because of how fiercely independent I am, but if this is gonna work, and if this is gonna last, then I need God to change me. I need Him to do His work in me, and stop trying so hard on my own.

I need to learn to ask for help - both from Him and others.

Because, it's true. I keep trying and trying and falling down because I keep trying to do it all in my own strength. But....I'm not the one who can change me. I can make it all look good on the outside, but in order to truly heal, God has to change me on the inside.

And I'm not naive enough to think that it will happen in a bolt of lightening flash and I'll never struggle again, but...He is the one who began His good work in me, after all, and He has promised that He will complete it - in His timing. Not mine.

Never mine.

But then again, perhaps the burden of trying to be better was never mine to begin with either. Maybe that can go to Him, and I can just live in His power not my own....

even that'd be a change.

of Atlas at last

This is slightly embarrassing, but, when I was little, some of my favorite heroes were the Greek gods and goddesses and titans - the heroes of the ancients.

(I still haven't quite outgrown them...nor do I think I ever will)

Never mind that I knew they weren't real. They were mesmerizing, and I loved them. I love them still. I love the lessons I've learned from them, and the hours of companionship they provided..

Artemis.... Athena.... Theseus.... Achilles..... Persephone ....Hades.....

...Atlas.

Oh, Atlas. I particularly adored Atlas....Atlas, the titan....Atlas, the one who had no choice but to be strong....the one who silently carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders...

An old teacher of mine once looked into my soul and told me that I had the eyes of Atlas. The eyes of one too young too strong, who carries more than is her load to bear, and insists on bearing it alone.

And I have spent years dying to know his secret.

What is the secret of Atlas? How does one carry the weight of so much pain and sorrow and not drown - not break?

"Teach me how to be strong", I have begged God in vain, night after night, staring up at the stars, unable again to cope with the burdens I bear, both my own and others'. 

It sounds kind of silly to ask that of Him, 'teach me how to be strong on my own', but then again, depending on anyone - even God - has never been something I've been particularly good at. 

Atlas carried the weight of all that he had to, and he was strong. Why cannot I be the same way? Why can't I be stronger than breaking?  Because I am not strong, and I regularly break, and I will drain myself beyond the point of utter and absolute breaking, on no food and no sleep in order to prove to myself that I can handle it. 

I will be strong or die trying, and why, oh, why, can't I be strong on my own without coming apart at the seams?

I don't want to - I refuse to - be a burden, so I will bear others', hoping to find in them expiation for all the times I have unwittingly, needlessly, thoughtlessly burdened others with my own woes.

Sometimes I can manage it. But over the past few weeks, I've felt myself drowning. Between cyber bullying, my eating disorder flaring up, street harassment, fights both at work and at home, people telling me I was fat, and endless other drama coupled with people I felt responsible to support, I was trying to be strong for everyone else, and, as usually happens, there was no one to be strong for me.

And as for the ones who wanted to be there for me, I refused to let them, slipping back into old habits, lulling myself into numbness just to cope.

And Atlas, my role model of so many years, suddenly appeared in a song I had never heard before - a song that comes around and arrests me from line one.

'I will be strong, said Atlas to the earth'

(yes. yes. I will be strong, and I will not break, even when I am breaking, I will not break...)

but the song then takes a drastic turn.

'Atlas tried to carry all the weight of the world but it broke him like he knew it would.'

(oh)

'We're not gods of the universe, we are only human.
We're not gods of the universe, we are only human'

(i am still convinced that little bit is because God knew I needed to hear that twice)

'So let's stop trying to be superheroes now,
And freedom will come when you lay it down'

(lay it down? lay what down?.....lay.....wait...Atlas...lay it down.)

And it suddenly hits me, along with the tears.

Lay it down.

Lay down trying to be strong for everyone else all the time. Lay down the weight of the pain of all the worlds inside and around me. Lay down the mask, having to keep it all together.

Lay down starving into numbness beyond exhaustion so that their pain doesn't become yours - instead, take their pain and their burdens and all of your own, and lay them down at the feet of Jesus.

Because otherwise, I'll just keep repeating this cycle of overwhelming myself with other people's struggles, in addition to my own, and forgetting that Atlas' secret isn't that he stayed strong all the time - Atlas' secret is that he couldn't.

Atlas' secret is that he broke. 

And when Hercules came, he was beyond endurance

And the hero took pity on the Titan and built the Pillars of Hercules.*

And Atlas folded up his cloak.

And together they walked down the mountain of God.

'We could be glorious if we'd just give up being gods'

Freedom will come when you lay it down.

Lay it down.

<3

(*a small note: yes, I'm aware that most variations of the story of Hercules and Atlas depict Hercules as either having: a. built the pillars of Hercules on the way to fight Geryon in a different labor altogether.. or b. splitting the mountain Atlas, who has by this time been turned to stone by Perseus, thereby creating the pillars... but I stumbled across this version in an old old book many years ago, and it's my favorite)

A Day in the Life of a Girl...

If you'd seen me open the door to the bathroom today, you would have thought nothing of it. Just another smiling college kid, working on your floor, fumbling with the keylock on the doorknob. Right? No biggie. You likely walked right past without a second thought, on your way to the elevator around the corner.

What you didn't see, however, but what you would have seen had you been able to look through the door, might have surprised you. You would have seen me close the door and sag against it, gripping the doorknob to keep it closed from the inside. You would have seen me crumple to the ground, tears spilling onto my cheeks, shaking, and on the verge of a panic attack.

It had been one of those mornings. The ones I dread, the ones that panic me, the ones I hate.... First, the corner store with mom, where I was, in succession: stripped bare and devoured by the gaze of two guys standing by the counter as they nudged each other and leered, startled and scared by another guy who'd snuck up behind me to make kissy noises in my ear, other various harassment, and finally, catcalled, whistled at, and called certain unprintable names as mom and I left and got into the car.

It didn't stop when I got into work, though. The guy who held the door eyed me with a "fuck, baby", and a nasty leer. Then, I got sent to the deli/newsstore where we get breakfast, and overheard the deli guy - who's been hitting on me for weeks, and who I told to stop last week - tell the lady who works with him, that if he was a millionaire, "I'd get out of here, and you know who I'd take with me?..I'd take her" (me). Sounds innocuous, right? You didn't see his face. You also haven't seen the way he looks at me on a regular basis, and you probably didn't know how much those looks scare me, either.

I made it back to work, only to realize that I had to go back to the store for creamer. So, I hid in the bathroom, fighting a panic attack, until I had composed myself enough to go, get the creamer, avoid the deli guy, and rush back to the safety of my office. And perhaps you will understand why, later that day, upon finding myself in an elevator with a stranger who looked at me funny, I glared at him, and informed him that, "you touch me, and I swear I'll kill you"...perhaps not the wisest course of action, but, hey.

Now, I wish I could say that this was a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of a thing that never happens, and is astonishing to me. But, if I'm honest, it happens. It happens a lot. Not always this degree in the course of a single morning, but, in the two and a half (or s0) months that I've been working there, I have yet to make a single errand run without at least one person hitting on me, catcalling me, or ogling and leering. And the events I've described are far from the worst that's ever happened.

And there's a pervading misconception which I've come across over the past few weeks and months, which is utterly and completely false.

Guys, hitting on someone is not a compliment.

Again. Say it with me.

Hitting. On. Someone. Is. Not. A. Compliment. Harassment. Is. Never. Okay.

Catcalling is not a compliment. Checking me out does not make me feel flattered. The guys who call me "slut" or "whore" or "cunt" or undress me with your eyes (yes, I can tell...) only make me loathe and fear them.

And any man who does that...actually, no. Scrap that. Because any male who catcalls a girl, ogles and leers at her, slaps her butt as she walks past, or anything else inappropriate is not a man. No true man would ever do that.... but anyone who does? I am fully convinced that that is a qualification for 'scum of the earth'.

I mean, imagine if the girl you were hitting on was your sister, your mother, your daughter. How would you feel about men looking at her the way you think it's okay to look at me? How would you feel about strangers calling her unspeakable names, touching her, following her around?

That is not flattering. It is violating. It is panic-inducing, and it is just wrong. It makes me feel vulnerable, violated, hurt, dirty, terrified, and it is oftentimes all I can do to keep from breaking into an all-out run to escape.

And it's not just me, either. Ask the girls you know. Heck, ask the LGBT kids you know! Most women know exactly what I'm talking about. I mean, for crying out loud, Uptown Funk, in real life, isn't cool. It's creepy!  And no, it doesn't depend on the kind of clothes you're wearing. I am never, repeat, never asking for it. I have literally worn everything from long skirts to baggy pants to glasses and no makeup, and it still happens.

Street harassment is still a thing. And, it mostly happens to women. Good gosh, I don't walk up to you and be like "nice dick". You wouldn't walk up to another man, a total stranger, and tell him he has a nice dick. Yet somehow it's perfectly acceptable in your mind to leer at me and tell me my "ass" is "fuckable". What the actual heck!? You don't go around grabbing other guys' junk. So why's it okay to grab my butt? Or touch my chest? *hint: it's not*

Be a man! If you like me, be nice to me, hold doors (without slapping my butt as I walk through!)...there are other ways to give a compliment. If you think I'm pretty, then, for goodness' sake, man up and tell me in an un-offensive way. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut! If you like me, then tell me that, and, if I say no, respect me enough to take 'no' for an answer

I met an man last weekend, who intrigued me. An elderly gentleman, he entertained me for quite a bit with stories of his country upbringing. But one story in particular delighted me, hence his designation as a 'man' in my mind. He mentioned that he used to get into fights at the bar all the time as a young man, but, not for the reasons I'd thought.

In his words, "I'd see a guy hitting on a lady, and if she didn't want to be bothered, I'd go over, tap him on the shoulder, and say 'buddy, why don't you leave the lady alone, finish your drink and go on home?', and he'd want to know, 'well, who's gonna make me?', so I'd ask him 'You wanna mess up the bar, or should we go out in the parking lot?' and I wound up in a fair number of fights because of it".

Honestly, that's where it's at. With that one little anecdote, he just made himself my hero.

And I really wish there were more like him.  

I mean, screw even respecting me as a woman.

How about just, at basic, respecting me as another human being?

Could we just get there? Because even that would be a huge accomplishment.