Poor Taste and Hypocrisy.

Recently, in my area, a pair of young adults had to make a public apology.
They had been blasted online after going to a Halloween party dressed as two infamous figures of our town. One, a mentally delayed man, the other a homeless, drug addicted female. Everyone agrees this costume choice was in poor taste, including the couple. It’s all concise. Shame, shame, shame.

Here’s my unpopular POV:
It was kinda funny. In a terrible, horrible, cards agaisnt humanity, dead babies and Hitler tone, it was a bit funny. Yes, poor taste, it was over the line, but it was still kinda funny.

Before you start typing me angry emails let me at least explain why.

I grew up on welfare in downtown Toronto, and I was less then “well off”. I watched metal illness and drug additctions cripple my family. I went threw puberty, well pan-handling for drug money and stealing food  daily to get by. I hung out with homeless youth and spent many dangerous nights outside alone and high out of my mind, I was young, fucked up, female and very venerable.

But I wasn’t a household name in my community, and neither were my homeless youth and adult peers. We were overlooked and ignored. No one cared what our backstories were. We weren’t infamous, we were invisible.

See, to me what makes this funny is that here in Belleville Ontario Canada, we have two people on the fringes of society, in need, ( most of the time) alone, venerable and 90%  of people in our town know them by (nick) name.

Not only do most people know them, but we speak fable like stories of the fall from grace the female known as (Slashed)Pam had. Most people know someone who is related to her, because her family has long standing roots in our society. Anyone who has spent any time in the highly sought after, beautiful East Hill neighbourhood, has come across  (Pylon)Paul, as he is always in (his) uniform of reflector construction gear, friendly and inviting he is mentally delayed and intimidatingly large, but commonly regarded as harmless,
he is constantly roaming the neighbourhood, alone.

So, what’s so funny about people dressing up as theses two? These are known people in need. Known, and spoken about, and seen, and yet nothing. People don’t ignore them and go in with their lives, Nope, they acknowledge them and don’t help.

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That’s why the costumes funny.
Oh, I’m not laughing at Pam and Paul, goodness no, I’m laughing at the sad state of my town. Stop accepting and waving the drug addicted girl who picks scabs on her track marks in front of the bank steps. That’s not OK! It’s not right that I have to explain to my kids why the lady is bleeding and crying and laughing all at the same time.

We need to have a conversation about what we can do to fill up the time these people have with positive action. We need to change what we think of them and thier ability. As a community we need to rally and help, not stand and stare.

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My Pro Moral Compass

Something you may not know about it me. I’m not the mom you think I am. I almost ended my life before I had children, actually, they are what saved me.

When I was 21, I was always drunk, deep in depression, practically homeless, sleeping on foam mattress pad in a borrowed storage room, and that’s when I got pregnant.

I had nothing to offer a child. I hated myself so much. I had been trying to end my life for years. I was a habitual cutter. I now know,  I was suffering ptsd from a rape that a “friend” had enflicted on me. I had lost most of my close friends in the denial my rapist made, the rest followed suit when my boyfriend and I broke up a few years later. I had developed borderline personality disorder.

I was a lost soul, and a waste of society. As punishment to myself, I had a lot of unmeaningfull sexual encounters. And, in caring not at all for myself, did not use protection. I was more afraid of aids then an abortion, but that didn’t stop me playing Russian roulette with my sex life, and the lives of any partners I had.

Yeah, then I got the pink plus sign.

It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. My mind told me to abort, so did a lot of people. But when I felt my morning sickness, knowing I was not sick but hosting another life, all the peices of bullshit I had surrounded myself with fell down.

Que internal argument.>

Who the hell am I to deny a life I was to careless to prevent creating? 

But I have nothing to offer a child!

While it’s here now, time to get up and start making those changes.

But what about the dad, he may not even want it?

I might have to do this alone.

I don’t know anything about babies

I’m a terrible person, I’m not mentally healthy enough to be a mom

But it’s already here.
Time to make a change.

To me, it wasn’t my body anymore, my body was serving this baby, this life that had not existed before my bad choices. This baby needed me to stand up and take responsibility for it, because it had not requested life. It simply became alive when I didn’t prevent its creation. I was a grown ass woman I wasn’t a kid, I wasn’t raped during the conception, I simply was not careful.

My baby didn’t come from a rape, if I had become pregnant with my rapist baby I maybe I would have aborted it. Because that life conception was not an accident, because that act was never mine. A rape is a thieft of intimacy. A rape is a crime that burns the soul. A rape was NOT a choice of the victim. When I did find myself pregnant it was because of my consent. My bad choice was mine.

She blessed my life and lit my path. She’s gorgeous and wonderful, beautiful and bright. And she has brought so many people so much joy.

She knows, even now she wasn’t “planned”,  she also knows she saved my life with her existence.
I’m not anti abortion. I’m pro moral compass, human compassion and respect for life.

The Weeds of Our Life

I feel like I got grounded.

Yeah, it’s not what you think. It’s not the new age, spiritual-awakened, open to life but connected to earth feeling.

Nope, I feel grounded, like my dad found my diary.

I recently dashed in and out of the fancy restaurant, to drop my server husband his forgotten lunch, and it was an eye opener.

As I sat back down, buckled myself in and re-counted my four kids in the back of our caravan, before heading back to the dreaded bedtime witching hour, I realized something horrific.

See, the ambiance of my husbands work place is that of a grown-ups playground. The air alone is filled with kid-free scents. The lighting, the music, the conversations, it’s all adult; and it’s sadly, become very foreign to me.

The last time we ventured out, the husband and I, (sans kids) was planned for 3 months prior, lasted 16 hours, cost too much money and was my husbands birthday.

Today I was day dreaming of waking up with just my husband. Spending our day-off together, having enough uninterrupted time too make love on the couch, eat copious amount a food, get bored, be lazy, and being intimately close, just us, for a whole day.

I absolutely love my husband, but we do not have any time, these days, for any of that.

Like most families, our kids are our reason, our motivation, our purpose, and we have four of them. Four little people, four whole lives, almost completely dependent on us for everything. Presently, only two are school-age, so we’ve got a long way off until we have time to be that lazy, lustful couple of days past. Knowledge of this fact does not seem to lesson the longing.

Nope, I think the idea that our youngest is not even a year, makes the “second honeymoon” seem even further away.

I know what you’re thinking, why in earth did they have four kids? It’s obviously brutal on thier marriage! And yeah, you’re right, for the most part it is. It’s exhausting and tiring, and beautiful and bonding.

You see what I did there?

No, we don’t get lazy days anymore. “Netflix and chill” is the two hours between the kids bedtime and ours. We rarely have adult time, and none of that lately involves any ambiance, aside from the scent of clean laundry as we fold and sort together.

I know we will get there. I know we could make more time now. I’m betting on the future. I’m holding on for our now. We are in the “weeds” of our life together, and when our babies are old enough, we can relax and count our tips, together.

Here’s hoping.

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