Tag Archives: Creativity

About Last Night Preview

So after months and months of picking up my story and putting it down, I finally uploaded the preview to Amazon. ~ The full version will be available later this year, but for now you can get the first two chapters of my suspense ebook, About Last Night on Amazon. You can read the start of Thomas Polanco’s search as he unveils¬†the events that occurred at the party he went to the night before here

Follow my blog and my Facebook page, Lisa Speaks Out for more updates. ūüôā

Thank you all for your continued support.

 

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Tribute to my Grandmother

(My friends recommended I write about this since its been on my mind. February is a very difficult month for me. Since my grandma’s passing in 2016, this month has been hell. It doesn’t help that her birthday was in early February.)

On this day in 2016, I had to say goodbye to my grandma. I still remember seeing her alive for the last time, and it breaks my heart every time thinking about it, and it breaks my heart that the last thing that she said before I left to go pick up my sister was begging me to stay without using her words since she was too weak to speak. I promised her that I would see her tomorrow, but little did I know that would be her last day of life. Just two days earlier, we spoke on the phone and she told me she was getting a cold. The cold would eventually develop into pneumonia, which would claim her life. Perhaps I sensed something tragic was going to happen, because I told her that I loved her. I always loved my grandma, but I also had a hard time conveying affection back then so I rarely ever said I love you. I did a better job at showing it by surprising her with flowers and visiting her because I loved to see the joy on her face whenever I stopped by.

“I love you too” were the last words she said to me.

The day before she died, I planned to visit her, and I did get to visit her, I just didn’t think that she would have an oxygen mask on and be unable to speak anymore. She could barely move, she was in deep pain, and she kept pointing to the ceiling. She was ready to go, but none of us were ready to let her go even though it was her time.

One of the most agonizing things in life is watching someone you love dying and there is nothing you can do about it no matter how much you want to stop it. She was eighty-eight and lived a long life, and I knew her time would eventually come and I didn’t want her to feel anymore pain, but I also was not ready to say goodbye yet. I pleaded that somehow, someway, she would recover. I didn’t want to accept that she was already gone.

She passed away on February 13th, 2016 at 11:50pm, but we didn’t find out until the 14th after midnight. I was exhausted and planned on visiting her the next day, but then I overheard my mom break the news to my father that his mother, my grandmother, passed away. Instantly, my body shot up and we all rushed to her nursing home where the family surrounded her to say their final goodbyes and collect her belongings. Everything felt surreal. It was like a nightmare that I would eventually wake up from and she would still be there with a big smile on her face like she always had whenever her family members walked in. She would hug and kiss us and ask us “what’s new?” She would offer us everything she owns because she was always a giver, from her clothes to the food she had in her room. She would mistake me for one of my cousins because of her Alzheimer’s, but I didn’t mind because I knew she knew who I was by face. She would make me and my little sister laugh, and she would walk us to the elevator to escort us out even when she could not walk as much anymore.

When a loved one dies, acceptance does not come easy. Even through watching them wheel her body out her room in the nursing home, the funeral, and the burial, I refused to accept she was gone. For the first half of 2016, I would repress all the pain I felt from losing her. I attempted to distract myself from grieving by writing and painting, but I would still think of her in the back of my mind. I would hear her talking to me and even see her in front of me as if she was there. When I attempted to reach out for her, however, she disappeared.

I still remember that summer I worked in a movie theatre for a very brief time. One time I had a customer come up to me and ask me for water and the customer looked exactly like her. They even dressed like her and wore the hat she always wore. I gave the customer water and she walked away, then disappeared. It may have been a coincidence, but I came to a realization that I never made peace with her death.

When you love someone, two years, five years, and ten years will pass and you will still think about them from time to time. When they first pass, it’s like a hot bullet to the heart. As you mourn and go through the stages of grief, from not accepting it, to facing the pain of being reminded of them everywhere you go and living without them, to anger that they had to be taken away from you, to reaching the phases of acceptance and coping with life without them, you develop your own closure and find ways to feel close to them because no matter how close you were to someone and what your last words were to them, you never truly feel like you were ready to say goodbye to someone who you loved when they pass.

I have had some people tell me that everyone dies eventually, but to that I say that it doesn’t change the fact that when someone close to you dies, it causes you an immense amount of pain. I have also had people, such as my ex’s friends and other so-called friends of mine, say that losing a grandmother is not as tragic of a loss as a friend or closer family member such as a parent or sibling. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter how someone was connected to you or how long they were in your life, if they had a significance to you then you are entitled to grieve and no one should take that away from you because I spent enough time denying myself the chance to grieve. It did not fully hit me that she really was gone until February 2017, a whole year later, where I spent hours crying because I finally realized that my grandma only existed in my memory and photos now. I would never see, touch, or hear her again.

It has been two years, two years since she passed and I still see her in my dreams sometimes. I’ve seen her dressed luxuriously and smiling as though to tell me that she is fine, I have watched her die in my dreams again, and I have watched her come back to life in my dreams. I also am often reminded of her every now and then. I still have a hard time viewing pictures of her and I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day other than buying candy for loved ones because it makes the mark since her passing. I still remember the feel of her holding my hand and rubbing it the last time I saw her before she died, and I still hear her voice from time to time.

I also still have many regrets that I have not come to terms with.

I regret not visiting her more often. I regret not speaking to her more often. I regret the times I rushed off the phone with her and how I would be eager to go home when visiting her after a while. I regret not being there for her more when she was sick, and not visiting her on her last birthday. I had work, but if I knew it was her last birthday ever, I would have made my way to see her as I had planned to. I loved and cared about my grandma deeply, but I was so wrapped in my own life I did not make enough time for her. She would look forward to seeing me, and I barely made my way to see her. Still, I could wind up going six months without visiting her, and she would still sit by her window waiting for me to come, then she would greet me outside her room with a look of excitement. She would express concern about me when she overheard about some of my relationships and when she found out I took night classes in college. Even if I was out of touch often as I got older, she still would care about me and be more and more excited to see me each time. If she heard me beating myself up over not seeing her more, she would probably hit me over the head. I have many regrets, but I am so glad I was blessed with a grandmother like her.

My grandmother made my childhood and shaped me into who I am today. She was a strong, selfless woman who moved here from the Philippines and made a life for herself. She gave birth to give kids and raised them all along with her grandkids and greatgrandkids. She would have get togethers in her house every year on Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. She would welcome any of her family, friends, and neighbors into her house. She would cook for everyone, she would give you things you never thought you needed, and she never let you leave her house hungry. She cared deeply about her family and did her best to try to stay connected with every one. She overcame so many obstacles in her lifetime and became strong and independent because of it. She was kind and gentle, but she also would not tolerate anyone messing with her or her family She was a beautiful person inside and out.

She was a fighter. She was a wolf.

The Mask 

You attempt to cover your face, yet I see you for who you really are. 

You were once concealed by your lies, but now you are transparent. 

You told me what I wanted to hear. You were a shoulder to cry on. You were the friend I needed when I was in my most vulnerable state.

Everyone wears a mask. Our masks are often embroidered with what we prefer others to see about ourselves. Underneath the mask, however, lies our darkest secrets, our insecurities, our agonizing thoughts and emotions, our past mistakes and guilt. If we develop trust with others, then we lift our mask for them. 

Some people, however, would rather keep their true identities hidden.

For nearly a year, you wore your mask in front of me under the guise that you were unveiling your true self to me, and I was naive to believe that your masked self was your reality. 

Until one lie led to another, and soon your lies were too hard to keep up with. With all the deception, all the times you did not let me breathe or live my life, all the times you spoke of me differently with my back turned than you did to my face, and all of the times you had bad intentions behind the few things you did for me, you slowly removed your mask until you exposed who you truly were. 

I am empathetic and forgiving, but with your deception, sense of entitlement and ulterior motives with me being unveiled, I could no longer tolerate your poor treatment toward me that I had blinded myself to for so long because I had fallen under the spell of your mask. 

And after your betrayal and all the crap you put me through, you have the nerve to come to me covering your face in hopes to regain what we once had. But it is too late, you lifted your mask and now there is no going back no matter how much you try to shield me from who you are. The damage has been done. 

Empathy

Empathy is defined as “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.”

Were you able to understand how I felt when I opened my heart to you? Or were you too busy shredding me of every bit of dignity I had left?

You did care about me, but only until you weren’t allowed to. You did love me, until the whispers in your ear commanded you not to.

I could feel the pain in your eyes when you left me, but in the end you chose your reputation over me.

If I only I could see through those deep brown eyes of yours who you really are. On the surface, you are a laid-back gentleman with a big heart that everyone gets along with. Underneath that guise, however you are much more in terms with your inner demons than you are willing to accept.

When you commit yourself to someone, you also commit yourself to their mind, heart and soul. When I committed myself to you, I felt a connection to every part of you. Even when I discovered that dark side of you that you will not uncover to maintain that image that you have, I loved you. I could feel that, beneath that layer, there was goodness buried within.

For that reason, I tolerated that side of you that would belittle my feelings and scream and curse at me in public until you made me cry. People would ask why I stay and call you verbally abusive, and I would always defend you whether you were present or absent. I would have liked to imagine it was the same for me. No matter what, I always saw you through rose-colored glasses, and maybe that good self you showed me during the year and a half we were together was a part of the real you.

Regardless, it does not negate the fact that you did not feel the same empathy I had for you during and after our relationship. You had broken many promises the day you left, and you continued to do so afterward. Everything I confided you with that you swore you would take the grave is now out in the open in spite of the fact that I still keep all of your secrets to myself for your sake, you have made it painstakingly obvious that you do express the same concern for how I am doing while I often wonder about your well-being despite everything that has happened between us, and you decided to give me a final stab to the back by saying that I exaggerate my trauma and use it to get attention. You know what the fuck I went through and how it still has an effect on me, yet you still turned it into a joke on social media with your friends.

After all of that, I repressed the pain I felt from your betrayal and cruel words because I felt it was deserved, even if I had given you empathy that you did not reciprocate in the end.

I was not perfect, but¬†I did everything I could to withhold many things I wanted to say to you and protected you from the cruel words of others for your benefit. When you are blessed with empathy toward one’s feelings, you are also cursed with¬†remaining blind to¬†their poor treatment toward you because of all the excuses you have made for them.

I held these feelings in for too long to refrain from hurting your feelings even if you did not spare me the same pain, but in doing so I have kept myself from understanding my own feelings. As I continue to grant you empathy, I deny myself any. So I will continue to write about you until my fingertips tire of doing so.

How do you live in the present when your mind is still in the past?

Enigma 

I hold my paintbrush as I try to perfectly capture your essence, but instead I am left with a blank canvas.

I tap my fingers on my keyboard as I attempt to find the right words to depict my emotions for you, but instead I am left with a blank document. 

Who are you? 

You are a palette of mystery. You are an enigma no words can describe. 

I write because I can confidently express myself from my fingertips without my shyness causing me to choke on my words. I paint because of how effortless it is to convey my repressed emotions through shapes and colors. 

Yet when it comes to you, I cannot properly communicate what you make me feel through any medium. 
 

Taking It Slow

I have never been great at taking it slow.

When you have anxiety, patience is not in your vocabulary. You must always be active in order to maintain inner peace. You cannot sit still for more than a few seconds without feeling like you need to be doing something. Stillness leads to being alone in your mind, and being alone in your mind means that it can race on and on, and there is nothing you can do to catch up with all those thoughts you’re having. When it comes to anxiety, there is no relaxation or tranquility, just your mind running on as your heart races and you experience shortness of breath just trying to keep up with it. Your mind is moving at the speed of light, and you can try to catch up but no matter how hard you try your brain will be miles ahead. Still I do my best to keep up with the constant train of thoughts my brain generates throughout the day, good and bad.

Speed can be beneficial in many situations, but there are also times where you may be advised to take it slow. Whether it’s someone who is trying to complete too many tasks at once, or experiencing a new relationship, or mourning the loss of a loved one, the phrase “take it slow” is constantly told to us. There is no right pace to move at so long as you do not try to move at an unrealistically fast pace when attempting to complete more tasks than you can handle in one day or expect to quickly grow accustomed to someone who played a major role in your life no longer being a part of it. As Confucius once said, “It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.”

I have many goals set for myself, and I often find myself striving to achieve them all at once. I know that I have a long life ahead of me to complete them all, and I will come across many more goals I want to set for myself, yet I tend to hear this imaginary timer go off in my head as I remind myself of how much work needs to be done to achieve my goals. This imaginary timer convinces me that I have failed because I am already at this stage in my life and have achieved so little compared to others my age. Time is valuable, and before I know it thirty years will pass and I will be in my fifties grasping onto hope that I will at least accomplish something before I die. I fear if I don’t reach any of my goals now, I never will.

While I am overcoming that fear, I am still fighting the mindset I have of “now or never” when it comes to most goals. That mindset has been prevalent during the moving on process from my ex-boyfriend.

One piece of advice I have received when it came to coping with my break-up was to take as much time as I needed. Feel what I need to feel. Cry, miss him, hate him, grieve, feel relieved, reflect, look forward instead of back, think about him, occupy myself with other things, do whatever it takes to move forward. It could take weeks, months, and even years. Regardless of how horribly he treated me in the end of the relationship and how things ended between us, this man played a significant role in my life and I had been deeply in love with him. As unnatural as it feels to still be reminded of him and long for his presence at times when we have not spoken or seen each other for two months, it is in fact a normal part of the moving on process. Even when I reach that stage of full acceptance and finally move on, he will always remain in my heart and certain songs or places will always remind me of him.

Moving on from an ex-lover is not something that can be done in a day, especially if it is someone that you spend every weekend with for a year and a half, shared some of your best memories with, changed for the better for, and built a sense of trust and intimacy with. It does not help if you had promised to spend your life together and had come to believe that they were the one.

One thing that my ex-boyfriend and I had believed was that we would never be able to replace each other. We had always said no matter what happened between us, we would never be able to love someone else like we loved each other and we would never be able to relive what we had for each other. That is true in a sense where I will never be able to fall in love with him again. A part of me will always love him, but after the way things ended and what I came to learn about him after we broke up, I will never be able to look at him the same or love him as I once did. Whenever I do fall for someone else, I will not love them for the same reasons I loved my ex-boyfriend. They may have some of the same attributes that I loved him for, but they will not be exactly like him at all. I also will not be as na√Įve or as tolerant of some behaviors as I was with him. My ex-boyfriend and I had some good times together, and he did have his good attributes, but in the end, the bad outweighed the good too much to maintain a happy and healthy relationship. This was a fact that I refused to accept when he broke up with me, but it is something I have come to accept as a fact on my own.

We were not meant to be. We were not compatible. He was not the one.

I have come to accept that. I have also come to accept that if he showed up on my front porch begging for me back, I would decline. As hard as it would be for me to look into those big brown eyes of his that would once be hard for me to resist and say no, I cannot see us getting back together and being genuinely as happy as we once were. It could start off that way, but we would soon fall into the same rhetoric of explosive arguments and toxicity as we did the last few months of our relationship. If his anger issues and tendency to allow his friends to make his decisions as well as let them speak and treat me however they wanted did not change in the time we were still together, there is no doubt that it still has not changed. Old habits die hard.

Even with reaching the acceptance stage that we are not meant for each other, I still have not reached a point of saying with confidence that I have fully moved on. In spite of feeling as though I did throughout last month, the transition into the new year was my reality check that moving on does truly require taking it slow. The faster I move, the more likely I will fall once I am hit with a reminder of him that triggers those emotions toward him I still have buried deep with in that I have not yet dealt with.

Taking it slow will also become crucial when facing possible feelings I may have for someone new. I had met someone last month who stood out to me not only because of his appearance, but also because he had let off positive vibes and we had quite a bit in common. There was just something that drew me to him. I plan to get to know him better, and I plan to practice “taking it slow” as I am trying to do with the moving on process. In do so, I will not only be able to get to know this person and determine whether or not I want to give it a shot, I can also continue to have my focus on moving on so that if something ever does come out of this, I can know that I am moved on and not just rushing into something new. I do not believe he is just a rebound crush, I just do not want to take a step I am not sure that I am ready for.

I have never been great at taking it slow, but it is important to do so in order to maintain healthy relationships with others and with myself.


Announcements:

1. For the next week, I will be releasing a blog or two each day. These are blogs I have written but never posted, ideas I had but never posted, or posts I have started but never finished. It’s not a series in a sense where they all relate to each other, I just wanted to start getting more of my writing out there since I have a lot of free time this month and I am starting to write more again after dealing with a block for a few months. I will say though, that while I did not really go into detail about the bad day here, you can the events of it mentioned in some of my blog posts I will be posting throughout the week.

2. I still have not forgotten about the book I have been writing, About Last Night. I am still working on getting the preview done as there are still edits to be made, but I expect the preview to be out this month. Once I have finished and put my preview on Amazon, I will post it to my blog and my Facebook page, Lisa Speaks Out.

You can read the description for About Last Night here:

https://lisaspeaksout.wordpress.com/2017/09/07/about-last-night-release-date/

3. Finally, I do tend to be very open in my writing about issues some have deemed as “too personal”, the reason being that one of the purposes of my blog and my writing is to release these thoughts and emotions I have held in or been silenced from sharing all my life. As a writer, I understand that I will receive negative feedback here and there, it happens to even the greatest and most professional of writers. Anyone who wants to put their creativity out there has to deal with not-so constructive criticism from people who will leave reviews and comments that are cruel. Part of being so passionate about what you do is accepting that risk and developing thick skin. I am building up a tolerance against people like that for when I begin to start publishing my work as well as when I start putting my blog out there more. I always welcome constructive criticism and feedback, and usually that is what I get on my writing. However, I have been receiving comments from someone who has been leaving me paragraphs in response to my most recent blogs about the break-up I went through in November, “In The End” and “The One That Got Away” on both my blog page and my Facebook page. I have deleted the comments, but the comments went beyond criticism. I will not discuss the content of the comments, but they could easily be classified as harassment. The comments were lengthy ramblings by someone who was convinced that my blog posts were about them and insulting me. I am unsure if they were written by the person the blog was about or by someone who does not understand that someone can write about situations similar to what they have been through but not be talking about them. I know that there will always be critics out there and I cannot stop them from expressing themselves, but I do not tolerate harassment especially in a place that is supposed to be a safe space for me. I did not insult anyone in those two blogs, just expressed my emotions about the situation to help me release repressed emotions and explored my genuine thoughts about my ex and what had happened so I can continue the moving on process. As I said, just as he can speak about me, I have every right to do the same. Whether or not this was him, or someone I do not know, I will not point fingers but I will say that in spite of what happened I refuse to stop writing and stop putting my writing out there. I may need to disable comments for a while. I have also considered starting a new blog and removing my Facebook page for a while. Again, I welcome constructive criticism and it deeply disappoints me that I need may need to alter what I have been working on for three years if this keeps up. I just do not welcome any kind of harassment throughout my page and my blog. For the time being, however, I will continue to post my blogs on here and keep up with my Facebook page, Lisa Speaks Out. I thank those who have been follow my blog and page, and for those who continue to show support in any way possible whether it be through reading, liking and/or commenting. Your support is much appreciated.

Bad Day

Saturday I woke up with a smile on my face.

I got dressed up, put on my eyeshadow and lipstick, took pictures, put them on my Instagram, posted a prose on my Facebook page about finding the light when facing months of darkness, and headed off to work. My plan was that after work, I would attend a writing group I was in and then go to a party afterward. I had psyched myself up for that day considering how the weather and having a bad cold kept me indoors most of last week, isolated away with nothing but my anxiety and bad thoughts circulating in my head.

Perhaps my first indication that the day was not going to go well was that my insomnia decided that I only deserved a half hour of sleep.

The day started off as planned, in spite of sleepiness fighting it’s way to consume me. I fought it off with two cups of coffee, and made my way to work and to the writing meetup.

The thing about bad days is that you don’t know when they will happen. Expectation leads to failure, that is something my ex-boyfriend always used to say and I came to learn that he was right (as much as I hate to admit it) the hard way. This day took a turn for the worse so quickly that I am still trying to process it.

I have had bad days in the past. I have also had time periods in my life where every day seemed like a bad day. Though it seemed impossible to do so at times, I would find myself mustering the strength to power through it all.

These past few months have been an example of a time in my life where I experience a plethora of bad days at once. There are a batch of good days thrown in here and there, but they are always followed up by those bad day(s) where I am faced with an overwhelming amount of bad news and/or experiences where I often wonder when there will be an end to the madness, and if I will even be able to survive long enough to reach that point without just giving up.

Still, I have lived twenty-two years, two months and eight days of my life so far. That is approximately 8,098 days. I am horrible with math, but out of those 8,098 days, the reality is that the amount of bad days I have had can barely even measure up to a quarter of my life. There are also the good days, the semi-good days, the semi-bad days, the neutral days, the so-so days, the pseudo-bad days (as in those days during my adolescent years where it felt like my life was over because I lacked the maturity to realize that what I was going through would not be significant ten years later), the lazy days, the boring days, and the days that made up the first few years of my life where I was too young to comprehend the concept of time.

Even with the bad days I have had and the periods of my life where I was faced with weeks to months of bad days at a time, the reality is that even if life has a habit of hitting us with what seems like an infinite amount of bad days, there is so much to look forward to. You could even find good buried within the crap that life throws at you if you stop looking at the empty half of the glass.

This is not to suggest that you are not allowed to cry, to scream, to vent or to lock yourself away from everyone and everything for a while. You must feel your emotions before you can reach the point of acceptance. Saturday was not my first bad day, and it won’t be my last either. No matter how much better I feel compared to that day, and how insignificant the things that were bothering me that day have become, there is always a promise of more bad days. As someone who suffers from depression, dealing with bad days along with the promise of more bad days to come has overwhelmed me.

I guess what I am trying to say is, bad days are always going to happen. You may wake up on the wrong side of the bed, you may come across news that ruins your day, you may face experiences that affect your life for months or years to come, or you may have a day where everyone and everything triggers you into a fit of rage. The most important thing is that you feel and release the emotions that the bad day brings to you through writing, tears, excersise, drawing, whatever soothes you. It is also important to keep in mind that no matter how difficult life gets, there is always a promise of better days ahead. You may not be in control of everything that happens to you and of the people around you, but you are in control of your emotions and how you choose to handle things and perceive life.


Announcements:

Usually I don’t do this, but I had three announcements I wanted to make.

1. For the next week, I will be releasing a blog or two each day. These are blogs I have written but never posted, ideas I had but never posted, or posts I have started but never finished. It’s not a series in a sense where they all relate to each other, I just wanted to start getting more of my writing out there since I have a lot of free time this month and I am starting to write more again after dealing with a block for a few months.¬†I will say though, that while I did not really go into detail about the bad day here, you can the events of it mentioned in some of my blog posts I will be posting throughout the week.

2. I still have not forgotten about the book I have been writing, About Last Night. I am still working on getting the preview done as there are still edits to be made, but I expect the preview to be out this month. Once I have finished and put my preview on Amazon, I will post it to my blog and my Facebook page, Lisa Speaks Out.

You can read the description for About Last Night here:

https://lisaspeaksout.wordpress.com/2017/09/07/about-last-night-release-date/

3. Finally, I do tend to be very open in my writing about issues some have deemed as “too personal”, the reason being that one of the purposes of my blog and my writing is to release these thoughts and emotions I have held in or been silenced from¬†sharing all my life. As a writer, I understand that I will receive negative feedback here and there, it happens to even the greatest and most professional of writers. Anyone who wants to put their creativity out there has to deal with not-so constructive criticism from people who will leave reviews and comments that are cruel.¬†Part of being so passionate about what you do is accepting that risk and developing thick skin. I am building up a tolerance against people like that for when I begin to start publishing my work as well as when I start putting my blog out there more. I always welcome constructive criticism and feedback, and usually that is what I get on my writing. However, I have been¬†receiving comments from someone who has been leaving me paragraphs in response to my most recent blogs about the break-up I went through in November, “In The End” and “The One That Got Away” on both my blog page and my Facebook page. I have deleted the comments, but the comments went beyond criticism. I will not discuss the content of the comments, but they could easily be classified as harassment. The comments were lengthy ramblings by someone who was convinced that my blog posts were about them and insulting me. I am unsure if they were written by the person the blog was about or by someone who does not understand that someone can write about situations similar to what they have been through but not be talking about them. I know that there will always be critics out there and I cannot stop them from expressing themselves, but I do not tolerate harassment especially in a place that is supposed to be a safe space for me. I did not insult anyone in those two blogs, just expressed my emotions about the situation to help me release repressed emotions and explored my genuine thoughts¬†about my ex and what had happened so I can continue the moving on process. As I said, just as he can speak about me, I have every right to do the same. Whether or not this was him, or someone I do not know, I will not point fingers but I will say that in spite of what happened I refuse to stop writing and stop putting my writing out there. I may need to disable comments for a while. I have also considered starting a new blog and removing my¬†Facebook page for¬†a while. Again, I welcome constructive criticism and it deeply disappoints me that I need may need to alter what I have been working on for three years if this keeps up. I just do not welcome any kind of harassment throughout my page and my blog. For the time being, however, I will continue to post my blogs on here and keep up with my Facebook page, Lisa Speaks Out. I thank those who have been follow my blog and page, and for those who continue to show support in any way possible whether it be through reading, liking and/or commenting. Your support is much appreciated.

Inktober Day 7: All Eyes On Me 

I am back! I know October is almost over, but I have been working hard all weekend to catch up with that Inktober to-do list I made. I am determined to be caught up by the end of the week. 


Day 7: Shy 

“All Eyes On Me”

“That kid who always sat by herself at recess, who went the whole day without saying a word, and who you saw in the halls that interacted with no one, that was always me. I have always suffered from social anxiety, but I never knew there was an actual name for it until I was older. As a child, I always thought there was something wrong with me. I never liked playing with the other kids, I had nothing to say to anyone, and I never quite fit in. I was always like a puzzle piece that got mixed in with the wrong set. There were a few kids who attempted to be my friend, but I always was too shy to speak. As a result, most people bullied me as opposed to trying to get to know me because it was so much easier to call the odd one out a weirdo and retarded. Though my desire to be alone subsided as I reached my adolescent years, I still had been too socially awkward to properly communicate with anyone. My years of isolation and being mocked to a point where I could barely utter a single word without being teased caused me to develop an inferiority complex so strong that I had been unable to speak without stuttering, shaking, and reflecting on everything I would say to someone afterwards. Even if they weren’t judging me, my mind would convince me otherwise. Though I have become much more self-confident thanks to years of being involved with theatre, being in college, and the various jobs working with people that I have had, I still struggle with being more sociable and with feeling like everyone is silently judging me. I hear the voices of those that had teased me growing up for being socially awkward in my head, and I obsessively overthink everything I say and do in my head. Thanks to social anxiety, I feel like everyone is always laughing at me internally, and like everyone’s eyes were on me.”

Inktober Day 10: Ode to my First Love, The Snake

So I posted “Poison Apple” last week and said that it had a part two, well this is the part two. It’s the aftermath of my “Poison” drawing. If you haven’t seen it check it out. It’s my Day 3 submission 

“Ode to my First Love: The Snake”
“After she took the bite, what ensued was months of manipulation and deceit. He had blessed her with words no man had spoken to her in years. Words that, at the time, she wanted to here. Still, words were meaningless without action, and despite her spreading her legs for him every week, he did not seem to keep up with his promise. In fact, the more she had given her body to him, the more he drifted away from her. The more he presented her with the feeling of closeness that intimacy brings, the more she fell for him against her own wishes. She attempted to stop herself, but she lost that internal battle. She sucummbed to the effect of the poison he had filled her with that summer before and fell hard. He was not there, however, to catch her. Instead he began to limit their hangouts to only messing around and saying that he had feelings for her but she did not have what he was looking for. Still, she clung onto him, he did have a piece of her no one else would ever have after all. He knew that, in fact, he knew that she was head over heels for him. He also knew that she was nothing more than a fuck he could keep around until he got bored, so he decided to string her along for his needs. He wrapped his slithering body around her and continued to fill her with his venom to keep her attached so he wouldn’t lose his little play toy. When her demands for commitment he promised to her became to overwhelming, he decided she wasn’t worth it. He left her to give someone else the one thing he promised but never gave her, a relationship. At that time she realized not only had she been played, but that she did love him but his “feelings” were never there for her. Her first love never loved her back, and the poison he filled her with killed her internally.”

Sorry for the flood of art on WordPress, I’ve just become so obsessed with art and am improving so I want to share it as much as possible. For those interested in more of my art, follow lisawolfs_artgram for more. 

I still haven’t forgotten about my book, About Last Night. The preview will be up soon ūüôā 

Inktober Day 10: Not a Compliment 

I really need a scanner ūüė¶

This is one I was looking forward to for a while, mainly because I had never drawn animals before. Also because I wanted to give a message.


 

Day 10-1: The Cat (Female) from Anthromorphic People prompt

“Not a Compliment”: “I was ten years old when a guy first looked at me sexually. I was eleven when a guy on the internet who stalked an older friend of mine preyed on me because I was “cute”. I was fourteen when a Senior pulled me onto his lap at a high school dance. I was also fourteen when a guy stalked me home for the first time no matter how much I ignored him. I was sixteen when an guy grabbed my ass at a party and attempted to take advantage of the fact that I was drunk, and that same night the ‘friend’ I came with just laughed at this and left me to fend for myself. At seventeen I was called ugly and a bitch by guys online just because I wouldn’t send nudes. I was eighteen when a Professor that I trusted had become too friendly with me. I was also eighteen when a “boyfriend” I had at the time blamed a few guys making lewd comments toward me on the fact that I was wearing shorts. I was nineteen when someone another student in my college at the time had stalked me through Facebook and my classes and I was told that it wasn’t stalking if he wasn’t directly behind me. I was twenty when I was catcalled in the hallways at work and when I reported it, another girl who overheard said he only did it because “I’m pretty.” Earlier this year, I was harassed by a “friend” from high school and a guy on the train followed me and threatened to beat me up if I kept ignoring him and pulled out a pair of dirty panties from his bag. I am twenty-one going on twenty-two and I still face these harassments on the street, the “hey sexy”s and the lewd comments about me as if I am a piece of meat. It is not a boost to my self-esteem, and it is not a compliment. I am a human, not a cat, so don’t make kissy noises at me.”

For more, follow my art instagram, lisawolfs_artgram ūüôā 

About Last Night preview coming Soon!