Caged and Deported

             I want you to take a moment and think about your child and let’s just say, for the sake of this story, that you have a daughter. I want you to think about all of the things that you love about your daughter. Maybe it’s the way that her face lights up when she sees you after a day of school, or how in the first grade she worked all day to draw you a pretty picture of a heart to express how much love that she had for you.

Now I want you to think of your lover. I want you to remember all of the things that make you love her. Maybe it’s how she comforts you after a hard day at work or how she is the one person in the world that you feel as though you can rely on. It was because of her that you believe that true love exists. She showed you what it means to feel whole. She makes you feel safe, like you are no longer alone in this world and you smile at the thought of growing old with her. I want you to think back to your first anniversary and the first time she told you that she loved you. Reminisce on how nervous you were right before she said it and how your heart melted as those words formed on her lips. Do you remember when you first fell in love with her? Do you remember how it felt like nothing in the world could take away from your love and the first moment that you thought to yourself, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 Now I want you to close your eyes and for a moment, imagine how it would feel if a gang with so much power that even their name made the police nervous, brutally murdered your loved one. Your heart would scream as you gaze upon pieces of her mutilated corpse lying on the ground covered in blood; her gaping mouth open in a silent scream. She is almost unrecognizable, with dismembered parts of her body scattered across the floor like the macabre painting from Théodore Géricault. With eyes still open, she gazes into the distance as if in the last moments of her life, she looked through the gates of hell itself and saw Lucifer staring back.

 “Is this real,” you wonder as the sound of your daughter sobbing behind you, melts your muscles. You fall to the ground, clutching onto your aching chest as the deafening sounds of your soul’s lamentations echo in your mind. “Please don’t let this be real.” But it is. Your eyes search your lover’s body. The men who murdered her showed her no mercy. They humiliated, raped, and tortured your beloved to death. They wanted her to feel the worst kind of pain possible and made sure that she remained alive for as long as they could manage to keep her heart beating.

Reaching out your quivering fingers, you pick up a note specked with dried blood found stabbed into her back.  You lift the letter to your eyes that are burning with tears and read words so cold that it sends shivers down your spine. "You and your child are next.”

Though everyone that you love is found in this country that you call home, you have no other choice but to run. You need to leave or they will track you down and slaughter you and your child in ways that you only thought were possible in your worst dreams. This nightmare is your reality.

In desperation, you grab the little bit of  clothing that you have and your papers. You don't have any money and hardly any food, but you will have to find a way to survive.  Leaning over, you kiss your loved one’s cheek and say goodbye. You long to give her the decent burial that she deserves but you know that every moment that you stay in this country, is a moment closer to facing death itself. You cannot risk that fate for your baby girl and you knew that your beloved would have understood and would have wanted you to leave without delay.

Running to your child, you grab her in your arms and run. There is only one country that you can think of where you know where you will be safe. It is a place where dreams come true and right now the only dream you have is to watch your baby grow up without ever having to go through this again. Yes, this journey will be hard and yes you will be risking both you and your child’s life but you are guaranteed death if you remain here or anywhere near here.  

After a long and dangerous journey, you finally arrive. Wiping the sweat off of your brow you look up and see several boarder officers in dark green uniforms approach you with glaring eyes. Quickly you pull out the papers that you have, proving your child is your own as well as a few other documents. This is your first step towards asylum. This is your first step towards freedom.

 “Are we there yet?” you child asks you with big brown eyes and dirt smudged on her cheek.   She reaches up and wraps her fingers between yours.

“Yes my love,” you say with a sad smile as your shoulders sink. You have heard this is a benevolent and gracious country that helps those in need. You have heard the glorious stories of people living a peaceful life without the fears that you lived with, in your home country. You long for that for you and your child.  

This relief only lasts for a day because shortly after you are taken in by the officers that you had run to for help, they take your child away from you and shove you in a cell. You are no criminal. You have never done anything wrong to anyone and you came to this country to run into the arms of shelter, only to be treated like an inconvenient infestation.  

“Where is my baby,” you cry out as your fingers wrap around the bars of the cell. “Please give me back my daughter!” Shivering from head to toe, you are not sure if your body is shaking from the cold or sheer emotional torment that you are in. You want nothing more than to wrap your arms around your child and reassure her that she is safe. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to her, when they lead her away, filling your head with a lie that she would be returned to you. Closing your eyes you try to calm your pounding heart. Does she think that you abandoned her? Does she cry out your name with hot tears streaming down her cheeks? What if she is hungry? Is she as cold as you are? How long will you remain in this prison? Will you ever see her again?

You feel betrayed. Is this really the country that you heard was so great; the country that you ran into the arms of for safety, only to be treated worse than a farm animal? The officers that walk around with chest puffed out, act as if you are less than human, while people wearing blood red hats cry out on the blaring television screen, “Get out of my country.” The president who sits on his throne of paranoia feeds the minds of those who eat up his words like a starving baby to a mother’s tit. They are so hungry for a change, that they consume his lies as if they were truth, as he preys upon their fears to maintain control. His supporters sit in the comfort of their warm home, surrounded by their family, only because they won the geological jackpot. Unfortunately, you did not, which is why you sit in a cold dark cell, wondering where your child is. You had no idea this country of dreamers had become your living nightmare. Where is the humanity?

“Why did you take my baby away? Please,” you beg with an aching heart as you look at the officer who looks back at you wearing an icy expression, “she is all I have left.”

Separation of family was the unfortunate reality for more than 2,600 children. Implementing this draconian policy was a cruel and deplorable act put in place by tyrannical megalomaniacs with a clear ethical deficit. While I understand that we cannot take care of the entire world, to separate families that pose no threat to their children or others, is an abominable act targeting minorities who often times come here because if they remained in their country, they would in fact be ruthlessly be murdered by gangs, who often times have a strong political pull within their country. The United States is ruled by a corrupt, racist, narcissistic, liar who uses fear as a way to control the minds of those who look to him for answers. The president spoon feeds the masses his poison, influencing the easily influenced, to blindly follow him while he tries to push this nation further away from compassion and a basic moral and ethical foundation.  Although Mr. Trump did sign an executive order on June 20^th to stop this heinous act, there are still children that have not been reunited with their families.

It is important to realize that this journey these families embark upon is not an easy one. It’s not like they are lounging around on their couch, watching TV, and randomly decide, “Do you want to take a little walk to the good old United States? I hear they have great burgers.” No, the journey can take sometimes as long as 20 days or more and getting there without being harmed or murdered is as likely as playing Russian roulette with an almost fully loaded gun and surviving. To die on this journey is not uncommon. A more merciful death would be through starvation or dehydration but unfortunately many of these innocent people are tortured and slaughtered when they walk through gang territory. In addition to that risk, a large portion of the women who partake on this journey are raped; sometimes even kidnapped and held for ransom or sold as sex slaves.

According to an article written by the Washington post on August 31 of this year, there were still almost 500 children that remained separated from their families ². These children were being held against their will at a government facility, going to sleep each night without a kiss goodnight from their loving parents, as they wonder to themselves if they will ever see their mother or father again. Separating families is an atrocity that should have never occurred but was put in place by an administration who clearly lacks even a loose understanding of the value of a family. We need to keep in mind the emotional impact that enforcing this policy had on the children.

A statement that the APA released by the president of the company regarding Trump's executive order states:

“Decades of psychological research show that children separated from their parents can suffer severe psychological distress, resulting in anxiety, loss of appetite, sleep disturbances, withdrawal, aggressive behavior and decline in educational achievement. The longer the parent and child are separated, the greater the child's symptoms of anxiety and depression become.¹”

We cannot do anything about damage done by this administration in the past, but we as a collective whole can stand up for the things happening in the present. I am speaking to all of you and I am including myself in this. We need to get more involved in politics. We need to stand up for those who this administration is oppressing. It is our moral obligation to not turn our backs on those who need us the most. So get involved and do everything in your power to help make a difference. This is not the time to be apathetic. This is the time to fight for what is just. This is the time to scream so loudly for what is right that even God himself can hear us. You might feel like nothing more than a ripple in an ocean, but trust me when I say that together we will become a tsunami. 

1.       https://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2018/06/family-separation-policy.aspx

2.       https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/immigration/still-separated-nearly-500-separated-migrant-children-remain-in-us-custody/2018/08/30/6dbd8278-aa09-11e8-8a0c-70b618c98d3c_story.html?utm_term=.9c7d9868783a

The moment I realized I made a mistake

                So a few days ago I was searching through amazon because I felt like spending my money on something that wasn’t groceries or bills. Since I love taking care of my skin and have a thing for facial supplies, I came across the biore deep cleansing strips for the face. Since I had tried the charcoal ones for my nose and liked seeing how my black heads were ripped out of my face like babies from a womb, with minimal discomfort, I decided to buy these items just to see if they worked for the rest of my skin. Now keep in mind I have very minimal blackheads on any area that is not my nose but my logic was simple, “What if they are like ninjas hiding on my skin and once I use these little sonofabitches I will be in a state of shock at the field of black heads that I pull forth?”

                Two days later my strips came in and I was so excited I could barely contain myself. The package contained a woman smiling pleasantly as these strips sat on her face. Quickly I washed my face and smacked these white strips on my cheeks and chin imagining all the good that I was doing for my skin. Throughout the ten minutes that I waited, I kept pushing down on these glory strips, waiting for them to harden.

                Finally, the endless ten minute wait was over and I was about to reveal my new fresh beautiful skin. Rushing to the bathroom I read the label on the side of the package that said, “Forceful removal of the strip should be avoided and may cause skin abrasions,” and directed that I should pull off the strips slowly. Oh this doesn’t sound like it will be sunshine and flowers but I didn’t think much of this warning until a few moments later.

With slight hesitation I began to gradually pull of the first strip and immediately I felt this demon cloth ripping out the facial hair that I never realized I had, follicle by follicle. I realized then that the smiling lady on the cover was only smiling because of her ignorant bliss to what would happen to her skin only moments later. Imagine covering your face in wax and then the wax specialist telling you, “We are going to do this as slowly as possible but don’t worry, your pores will be clean.” It was in the moment that the biore strip had barely left my cheek that I thought to myself with watering eyes, “What have I done?”

                I am pretty sure that these strips were created originally by the government to extract information from our enemies but when they realized that it gives a deep clean to our good old pores, they redistributed it to consumers. By the time the last strip had left my face I looked like the Floridian sun and my skin made a lobster love child. This is one of those “learning moments” in adulthood when you realize that the idea was better than the reality and it is an "experience" that I do not want to relive. As far as the outcome of the strips is concerned, it turns out that I have no blackheads on my face and I no longer have hair either.     

A Long Day

After another long day working, I got in my car and drove to my favorite grocery store. The air outside was bitter cold, as clouds covered the windy skies, blowing its icy breath upon my shivering skin. Quickly I hurried inside the store, my makeup wearing off and the dark circles underneath my eyes peaking through; a dreadful reminder of the long hours that I work, even when I am sick.

Walking through the aisles, I loaded my cart with an assortment of nuts, quinoa, and rice noodles, before briefly stopping by the flowers and admiring their delicate beauty. I was tempted to buy myself a small bouquet so that I can place it upon my desk. I have always loved the way fresh cut flowers look in my apartment and something about having them on a desk that I work long hours at, just makes me feel so good inside.  

“Not today,” I told myself, as I remembered that I had just spent far too much on Christmas gifts for my friends and family and I didn’t need to spend any unnecessary money on flowers.

I got in a line and looked up to see the cashier that I normally go to, was there. With her hair tied back into a low ponytail she wore a smile on her face and every time I have been in her line, I have heard her compliment every customer she interacts with. I’ve always liked being in her line. I like watching the faces of the people in front me light up as she finds something positive to say about them. By now I have seen her dozens of times and she always has such a refreshing attitude. I’ve always hoped that when I am her age that I will be just like her.

As I approached her with my full cart, she looked up at me with concern. I’m usually so chipper and happy but today I felt like I was 100 years old with a heavy weight on my shoulders.

“What’s wrong Angelika,” she asked as she began to scan my groceries.

“I’m sorry I am not myself today,” I said with a scratchy voice. “I’m so exhausted.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” she said, furrowing her wrinkled brow as her dark brown eyes stared into mine. She could tell it was not mere exhaustion that was wearing me down, but something else.

“You’re probably right,” I said with a weak smile, trying my best to muster up some energy even though I felt like a car running on “E.”

Suddenly her face lit up. “I know just the thing you need,” she exclaimed before rushing away for a few moments. I stood there in a state of confusion as the bagger quietly put my groceries in the shopping cart. When the woman finally came back around the corner, she had a fresh bouquet of pink roses in her hand.

“A pretty girl like you needs pretty flowers in her life. Here is something to cheer you up,” She said. “It’s on me.”

My mouth dropped open as I felt a wave of happiness sweep over me. I was taken aback by her kindness. “Thank you,” I stuttered out as I began to smile, looking at the beautiful roses in my cart.

As I walked away from her, I felt in my heart that I wished she could feel the impact that she just had on my day. That small gesture of kindness is one that I will never forget. So now as I write to you, these flowers are drying out in my closet. When they are done drying, I will put them in a vase so that every time I look at them I will remember the impact that a stranger can have in someone’s life.  

Groupon… making unforgettable memories

Lately everyone in my personal life has been telling me that I am working myself to death and that I need to take a break. I did what I usually do and completely disregarded their comments until I realized that I began to feel so overwhelmed that I began to cry. It was then, on a late Monday afternoon, when I decided that I needed a break. I needed to show myself love.

            Not wanting to spend an arm and a leg, I went onto Groupon and viewed the spa packages that they had for my area. I found an amazing deal for a basic facial and an hour long massage for only $59 dollars, so before I could talk myself out of spending money on myself, I clicked “buy.” Quickly I called the location and a kind woman with a thick accent answered the phone. Communicating with her was a bit of a challenge but after repeating myself three times, I was able to get an appointment at 4 pm the next day.  

            The next day, I realize that I didn’t actually check where this place was at or look at what the location’s name was. It was then that I realized that this was actually a nail salon and not the typical spa. Although a part of me wondered if it would be a relaxing experience, getting a massage at a nail salon, I reminded myself that the last time I got myself a massage was at the mall in a massage chair so really anything is a step up from that.

            I arrive at the nail salon 20 minutes early and immediately notice that I am the only car in the parking lot and I was in a very questionable part of town. Pausing, I look at the empty parking lot and wonder what I just signed myself up for and if I should be concerned. I could almost imagine a tumble weed skipping across the road as western music played in the background.

            “Well… Here I go,” I said to myself as I walked up to the clear glass doors and stepped inside. Immediately every nail technician’s head turned to look at me when I entered. They seemed almost upset that there was a customer walking through the door which should have been a giant red flag.

            “What you want?” A snappy woman in her 40’s with a thick Vietnamese accent called out angrily from a nail station as if I just trespassed on her property.

            “I have an appointment for a facial and massage.” I replied before turning to the receptionist with a slightly nervous look on my face.

            “WHAT YOU WANT?” She once again yelled out to me, this time with a bit more anger in her voice.

            “Oh yes, you have appointment,” the receptionist interrupted with a cheerful smile, looking down at the paper. At this point I was pretty sure she was the only nice one in here but I was relieved that at least there was one nice person. Suddenly the nail salon erupted in loud Vietnamese as they yelled at each other from across the room, trying to get the receptionist to tell them why I dared to enter their lair. The yelling came to an abrupt stop and ended with nods, shortly after she yelled back.

            “Come with me,” she said and took me to a back room that was eerily lit. She told me to take off all of my clothes but just leave my panties on and lay on the bed. I thanked her and watched her step out and close the door.

            Turning around, I faced the bed and realized that the massage table was covered in hospital paper and on the top of the table was a single white towel that was cheap and course.

            “Oh shit’s getting real now,” I muttered to myself as I undressed and got on the table, covering my back end with the towel.

            Shortly after I covered up, a man walked in the door and said hello in a very sweet voice with a very thick accent. He immediately walked over to the towel, threw it in the air, before placing it back on me with the towel now going from the top of my shoulders down to the middle of my legs. I thought that was odd and felt a little uneasy that he had just momentarily exposed my cheeky panties for God to see, but once again I shrugged it off.

            My first thought as soon as the massage began was, “Why is he massaging me over the towel without lotion?” Five minutes into the massage, I began to wonder if he even had lotion or if this was the ways of the nail salon. Six minutes in, I began to feel like my skin was being torn off of me and I began to wonder if I had just entered the torture room of a sadist.

            I am not sure if maybe I hurt this man in a past life or if he just got in a fight with his girlfriend, but about ten minutes in he began to push so hard on my muscles that his arms began to shake. He wasn’t even going in the right direction while doing this massage and at one point it seemed like he was trying to shove my spine over with both this elbows and his hands. I wanted to raise my finger and say, “I am pretty sure that sucker isn’t going to move over for you.” But since I can sometimes be slightly passive

            “Take it like a champ,” I thought to myself as my eyes bulged out of my head. “It’s just the deepest deep tissue massage in the history of ever.”

 I admit, after he almost dislocated my shoulder, I considered stopping the service but my cheap ass wouldn’t allow it. I kept my damn mouth shut and got all $59 dollars’ worth of that massage and not a second less.  I wasn’t about to waste that money because I couldn’t champ it out, so I took it like a woman, beefed up and shut up.

            Finally, when it was done, I handed him a 50% tip and was lead into the facial room with an expression on my face that resembled a prisoner about to be executed. The facial room was a little more well-lit and had a glass container at the side with a facials creams and then some. In curiosity I walked over and saw two hilarious labels that made me question my life’s decisions. The first box said, “Sweet warm Uterus Herbs.” The second box was equally amusing with a bright white label that said, “Nourishing Warm Ovary Herbs.” It then occurred to me that considering this was the facial room and this clear glass box was full of facial products, that I might end up with Uterus Herbs on my face.

            “Oh sweet God what have I done to myself?”

            Laying down on the facial table, that luckily this time had a bed sheet, I watched a young woman enter the room. The woman was adorable and looked like she was in her early to mid-twenties. She had a pleasant expression on her face and just a warm energy that made you feel comfortable.

“Hello,” she said in a cheery voice.

 “I’m sorry I have a ton of makeup on. I had a meeting that I needed to go to before this and I couldn’t go out in public without my face on,” I said quickly with a smile.

Immediately the woman’s face dropped as she frantically began to glance at the door and glance back at me. By how quickly she flung her head back and forth I was afraid that she might throw out her neck. My eyes began to get wide as she looked at me with an expression that resembled horror. Finally, her silence was broken.

“No English,” she said with an intense struggle.

            I immediately nodded my head and smiled saying enthusiastically, “It’s okay,” while giving her the thumbs up. She looked relieved and gave me a thumbs up signal back, quickly getting behind me and sitting down.

            The facial began as a relaxing experience, until about midway through when she began to poke her fingers deep into face like some strange form of a deep tissue massage gone wrong. I didn’t think much of it and just figured she had a unique way of doing things that I wasn’t aware of. That thought remained like that until she came to the top of my head and began pounding it with a closed fist. This head knocking quickly escalated to her grabbing onto my hair and pulling it as if we were in some sort of a strange cat fight, of which I was clearly losing. After a few moments she let go of my hair and went back to head knocking for another minute or so.

What did I do while this was happening? I played dead. I literally did not move. I did not open my eyes. I barely even breathed. All the while I am wondering if there was a collective decision to take all anger out on the Groupon customer for taking advantage of their discount services.

            So next time I think I might just stick with that good old massage chair in the middle of the mall. I don’t mind getting cat called by random shoppers as I am vibrating on a chair from head to toe. To be honest, anything would be better than what I just went through.

Oh I Just Can't...

So recently the universe has decided to teach me an important lesson on tolerance and patience. I am not too happy with the universe wanting to teach me this and I find myself often raising my middle finger to the sky in protest and imagining God shrugging his shoulders while drinking some tea. The most recent test of my patience began only a few weeks ago—but these few weeks have gone by as fast as a slug race. There is a woman in her mid-20’s who just recently moved into my apartment complex with her boyfriend. Although her boyfriend seems like a nice guy and proof that opposites attract, I am pretty sure that she is the spawn of Satan. I didn’t think this at first when she approached me while I was walking my dog outside. She seemed like a friendly girl with a fiery spirit and definitely was an open book, telling me far more information about her personal life than I cared to hear.

I began to notice that every time I was outside with my dog, she would show up as if she had some sort of an Angelika radar and follow me around, normally complaining about her own life and on the occasion asking for advice. Now although I don’t usually mind people talking to me and at first the conversations were not that bad, things quickly changed and the complaints shifted to her bragging about the terrible things that she has done. Now when I say terrible things, I am not talking about double parking in a handicap spot terrible, I am referring to sadistic horrible things that made my skin curl and teeth grind. When she would tell me about these things, a sick smile would cross her lips and she seemed almost excited to talk about it. I tried to guide her in hopes that maybe she would see that things like that were not okay, but she would just laugh and tell me that it wasn’t that big of a deal. The few times that she would ask for advice on a certain subject, she would come up with excuses as to why my advice just wouldn’t work. I’ll give you an example of one of our conversations that were not so bad, just so you have a general idea of what I am dealing with right now.

  “How come you have been single for so long? How do you do it?” She asked me with a blank expression.

“I had to learn to love myself and I spend time with friends when I need company,” I responded. “I would rather wait for a really good one instead of settling with the first one that looks at me twice.”

 She paused, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow, “Well I don’t have friends because I am mean to all of the ones that I had.”

Immediately I could tell that this was her way of trying to get sympathy, but I had none to give. For some reason I just can’t feel bad for someone who’s version of a fun time is assaulting a homeless person trying to sleep on a bench so that they could smoke weed. “Well have you considered working on yourself and trying to become a nicer person?” I asked while eyeing a nearby pile of sticks and imagining me building a fire so that I could put out an SOS smoke signal.

 Without hesitation she quickly responded, “Oh I am not the problem. It’s their fault that I am mean to them. I can’t help it that I am mean. It’s just who I am.”

You should have seen my facial expression. I am pretty sure at that moment every muscle in my face dropped and for a split second I didn’t know whether to laugh at a joke or to have a WTF moment. Because of this, I froze, with an almost smirk on my face waiting for her to start laughing or give me some indication that this isn’t “for real.” But unfortunately the reality that she was being serious sank in.

Quickly I told her I had to go. I couldn’t take her anymore. Between pmsing and my bull-shit meter being at – 4, I knew that if I stayed around and continued this conversation my brain would likely melt out of my ears before I ran myself off of a cliff.

Honestly, more than anything, I was frustrated. I saw a human being that had created a depressing life for herself but didn’t want to do anything to change it. She always found a way to point her finger at everyone else but refused to realize that the problem actually was within herself. I saw the potential for her to have a good life but because she had become her own barrier, I knew the life she had would remain the same. Despite the terrible things that she had done to many other people, I just wanted the best for her. After consulting a friend about it, I realized that I can’t change anyone who doesn’t want to change—and most people don’t. Most people are content complaining about things in their life but when faced with the reality of what they need to do to change, they then point the finger to everyone else and blame them instead.

I learned an important lesson that day. Although I want to make the world a better place by helping others change for the better, the reality is, I can’t change anyone. I can only be a light in the life of others, leading by example, and work on myself to be a better person. I can’t make anyone a better person. That’s up to them.  

The Dark Pit

                I often times find that life can throw us curve balls that we don’t feel that we were prepared to handle. In an instant, the life that we once knew changes and we suddenly feel like we are falling into a dark pit, staring back at what we once had. Sometimes these changes feel like stars, we look up at their beautiful light in awe and wonder until it hits us that the light that we were staring at was nothing but the memory of a star that had died long ago. So then we are left in a dark place, wondering why the Universe is against us and wondering what we did wrong to deserve this darkness. As we finally hit rock bottom, we find that our soul breaks like shattered glass and we crumble within ourselves, rocking back and forth, while playing the horrible memory in our minds like a broken record. We find that our emotional pain radiates inside of us to the point of mental paralysis and though we are silent on the outside our soul screams on the inside.

                In times like this it feels like nothing is going to be okay. It feels like there is no way that light will ever reach a ditch as deep as we are in. It seems like an impossibility to climb our way back out of this dark hole. How can you climb up steep walls without a ladder?

                Finally we gather up the strength to pick up the broken pieces of our soul. We look at it, barely able to make out the jagged edges that once were connected, forming into who we once were.

                “I will not be defeated,” we whisper to ourselves as we feel the soft edges of the pit that we are trapped in. But even though we whisper these words to ourselves, there is a part of us that is still afraid.  A part of us wonders if this darkness is our new home. How can you climb up steep walls without a ladder?

                So slowly we pick up each and every piece of our broken soul and feel the jagged edges cutting into our delicate hands. “I will not be defeated,” we once again say this time with more determination. Gripping onto our shattered soul we thrust the first piece into the side of the hole that we are imprisoned in, creating our first step. Piece by piece we climb, higher and higher out of this ditch, until finally we see the light of the sun shining down on us. And as we step out of our darkness, we look down and see, that we have transformed into an entire different soul; one almost unrecognizable. Unlike our last soul full of innocence, soft, and frail we are now a beautiful creature full of strength, far better than the one that we once were. Yes our innocence shattered, but the darkness had to shatter it in order for us to leave our old shell behind and become the better version that we were supposed to become. And even though it felt like the Universe had abandoned us, we now realize that was not the case at all. Because the Universe knew that we had to shatter in order to transform. 

What to Do When Someone is Being a Jerk-Face

                 A few days ago, I was sitting in the break room reading Stephan Hawking’s book, “The Universe in a nutshell.” I was on my lunch break and I always treat myself to a good read before heading back to work. A few pages into the book, a woman-- known for her lack of tact and rudeness-- sat in front of me and began to watch me much like a hawk watches a mouse. I could tell that the little hamsters in her head were running as quickly as they could as she thought about what she wanted to say to me, her brows furrowing with thought.
               “You smell like a dog,” she said to me with a nasty glare.
               This comment was not unexpected considering that she had treated me like a jerk-face since the first day that she began to work for this company and every time I am working with her, I try to avoid her like the plague.
             As soon as the nasty words came out of her mouth, I briefly looked up from the pages of my book and said, “Well I have a dog, and though I am wearing enough perfume to knock out a small child, I am sure that my 200 pound mastiff may have caused me to smell slightly like him. Considering I keep him very clean, I’m not too concerned.”
            "You're a bitch," she responded with, hoping that by continuing to insult me it would get a rise out of me. But since I knew exactly what she was trying to do, I decided to give her exactly what she didn't want. I continued to read my book peacefully in hopes that she would crawl back to her cave and continue to answer phone calls like she was hired to do.
             Once more she opened her mouth, spewing venom in my direction, to which my response was simply to ignore her. Finally, I couldn't take her negative energy anymore and came to the realization that even though I am on lunch break, she was not going to let me read in peace. So I got up and walked away. Did I want to do that? No. What I wanted to do was throw a chair at her head and start screaming, “I AM THE HULK AND I WILL FUCK YOU UP!” But even though I was fuming on the inside, I remained calm on the outside, refusing to show that she had affected me to the extent that she had.

So today I am writing about toxic people. No matter what we do or how positive we are in our lives, there will come a time when a toxic person comes into our life. When this toxic person enters, whether it be for a few hours, a few weeks, or longer, it is up to us on how we handle this person. So here are my suggestions:

1.     If a toxic person comes in the form of a relationship then you need to stay away from that person as much as possible. A toxic person is so used to lingering in their own “shit” that they pull everyone around them down into their “shit” so they won’t be the only one that stinks.

2.      If a toxic person tries to pick a fight with you or tries to get a rise out of you, take a deep breath in and walk away. If you go off on them, they are getting exactly what they came for. If you walk away they don’t succeed in their adventures of being a poison.

3.       Do not lower yourself to the level of a toxic person and give them a taste of their own medicine. You don’t need to lower yourself. You just need to go eat a chocolate and ignore them.

4.      Remember that you are not Karma just like you are not batman. Stop trying to do Karma’s job. Karma does not appreciate it.

5.       Just because they are being a shit head to you, doesn’t mean you have to be a shit head to them. Then there are just two shit heads in a room and that is not cool.

6.      Remind yourself that the words that come out of their mouth is merely a reflection of how they feel on the inside. They are so toxic to themselves that toxicity is released from their lips, poisoning others around them.

7.       Just because you walk away from them without bringing the smack down, doesn’t mean that you feel better. Remind yourself that their opinion doesn’t define you and then go treat yourself to something that makes you happy, like getting a pedicure so your toes look like mini disco balls of awesome or buying that super flippin’ amazing milk shake that you have been eyeing for the past week.  

8.       Set firm boundaries with the person that is toxic. Flat out say to them, “I don’t appreciate the way that you are speaking to me. Until you can speak to me in a respectful manner, I don’t want to hear it.” Then if they continue just repeat yourself and walk away from them.

Lastly, remember this, you are not responsible for the words or actions of someone else. However, you are responsible for the way that you react to those words or actions. Do not lower yourself to the level of toxicity. Do not become the poison that the other person spews. Rise above it and keep living your beautiful life.