Today I am 20 weeks, which means that Iam halfway through my pregnancy. It became real 2 weeks ago when I felt the baby move. But it was really real this past Monday when I had my ultrasound. I'm having a boy! (yes I am still happy even though it isn't a girl!)
In other news, the master bedroom is painted and almost complete. I just have to untape, do some touch-ups, and decorate. The next room in our house-remodeling is the living room and hallway. The goal is to get it painted by Thanksgiving. Then I will work on the nursery. That room is small so it won't take that long.
Grad school is kicking my ass...but it's only the first semester and I am pregnant. As long as I get my degree and past, that's all that matters. I've been thinking about law school lately...but that won't be for another 6 years if I were to take that path. I want to change the world.
I'm actually looking forward to Christmas this year. I can't believe it, it's probably the "maternal instinct" crap I guess. That and this is the first year in my own house and I can have a tree and decorate. I am uber-excited!
That's all for now....just an update on my life. I haven't written in forever!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Doubts
The voices in my brain are telling me every reason why this is the worst possible time for me to have a child. I have started my first year of graduate school to better myself and my career through advancing my knowledge. In addition to the obligations that school has put forth on me I have to add the care of a fetus growing inside my body. This in it's own has created many body image issues. The constant panic that I must eat; not for myself, I have another responsibility now. I can't be so selfish...for once I have to think about something other than myself. I must get over the fact that I will gain weight, and have. I went to the store the other day and couldn't bring myself to buy bigger clothes. It kills me inside to think that the past 2 years devoted to weight loss was for nothing. I have to fucking gain 25 pounds after loosing 90.
Sometimes I wish I would have went through with having an abortion. But the commitment I have with James pulled me back. I told myself that after being together for 6 years, this child was a sign. Leave it to fucking destiny to fuck up my life....
Sometimes I wish I would have went through with having an abortion. But the commitment I have with James pulled me back. I told myself that after being together for 6 years, this child was a sign. Leave it to fucking destiny to fuck up my life....
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I have been listening to NPR (National Public Radio) the past few days while driving back and forth to Lansing. The latest topic is the Democratic Convention occurring this week in Denver. After hearing about who will be speaking and when, a discussion arises about Hillary Clinton and her supporters. Apparently, polls have shown that approximately 30% of her supporters indicated they were considering voting for John McCain. The reasons, NPR stated, was that her supporters still had hard feelings over her loosing the nomination to Barack Obama. They interviewed several women who said they would "most likely vote for Obama" but still have sour feelings.
I became infuriated to think that one would vote for another version of George W. Busch just because they couldn't have their way with the democratic nominee. 'Cmon women! Don't you see that you are reinforcing the negative stereotype of women being seen as irrational and emotional? Their is no rational explanation for choosing against your ideals and values which are common with democrats nation-wide!
I became infuriated to think that one would vote for another version of George W. Busch just because they couldn't have their way with the democratic nominee. 'Cmon women! Don't you see that you are reinforcing the negative stereotype of women being seen as irrational and emotional? Their is no rational explanation for choosing against your ideals and values which are common with democrats nation-wide!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Engagement
I lay on my bed in a daze and glaze downward to view the sparkling ring that is placed on my left hand's ring finger. I twirl it around with my thumb and forefinger of the other hand to view it's entirety. A hand-me-down ring, or what I tell people an "air-loom" because it sounds better. The 1.5 carot jewel sparkles in between six twinkling baguettes that lie on each side of the platinum setting. When I recieved this gorgeous piece of hardware I could barely fit it on my pudgy finger. Now it easily slides from side to side and I am amazed it still can sit on my finger. I think about getting it resized but have put it off until it can no longer stay in place, a sign that I have gotten considerably thinner. I am not thin enough yet. I will get thin so it would be a waste of money to get it resized now.
Our engagement has been nothing but the typical traditional cliche. The one in which the man slowly gets down on one knee, in the midst of glowing candlelight, and tells his lover that there is nobody else in the world that can amount to the beauty that she holds. He is the luckiest man on earth to have found her, that he is the one who thanks God everyday that he found her. That she completes him and wants nothing more but to spend the rest of his life with her. Then, finally pulling the soft covered box from the pocket of his slacks, brings it to the front of him and opens it with one hand as the box is centered directly in the palm of the other. The words "will you marry me" come from his lips softly as he holds back emotional tears because he had just poured his heart out to her. Then she, standing directly in front of him in her little dress, puts her hands to her mouth as she loudly says "YES!" He rises to the floor and they embrace and cry in each others arms.
There was no perfect moment, no fairytale story to describe the beginning scenario of our engagement. It was fourth of july, two years ago, and James and I went to see a display of fireworks in the parking lot of the Meridian Mall in Okemos. We found the perfect parking place, toward the back by the tiny and ancient movie theater. We were sitting in the back of his truck, cuddling under the open sky with a blanket over our legs, our backs pressed up against the side of the bed. The fireworks began as they were shot up over the open field across from the parking lot. I had never seen fireworks so spectacular in my life. They were straight over our heads, even some of the ashes fell onto the ground beneath us. I kept thinking to myself, in this moment of pure bliss, that this would be the perfect moment for a romantic proposal. I sat there, waiting for the fairy tale that would never come.
On the way back home, my heart sunken, James looks over to me and tells me "that would of been a good moment to propose." Funny how things work out, I thought the same thing. We decided, on the way home, that we would get married. We could just tell everybody that there was the fairy tale story. It would be fine. Until now, when I keep thinking that I should have waited. I shouldn't of settled for nothing less than my story-book ending. Is there a story-book ending like in Cinderella? I am finally realizing, in my mid-twenties, that it may not exist.
Our engagement has been nothing but the typical traditional cliche. The one in which the man slowly gets down on one knee, in the midst of glowing candlelight, and tells his lover that there is nobody else in the world that can amount to the beauty that she holds. He is the luckiest man on earth to have found her, that he is the one who thanks God everyday that he found her. That she completes him and wants nothing more but to spend the rest of his life with her. Then, finally pulling the soft covered box from the pocket of his slacks, brings it to the front of him and opens it with one hand as the box is centered directly in the palm of the other. The words "will you marry me" come from his lips softly as he holds back emotional tears because he had just poured his heart out to her. Then she, standing directly in front of him in her little dress, puts her hands to her mouth as she loudly says "YES!" He rises to the floor and they embrace and cry in each others arms.
There was no perfect moment, no fairytale story to describe the beginning scenario of our engagement. It was fourth of july, two years ago, and James and I went to see a display of fireworks in the parking lot of the Meridian Mall in Okemos. We found the perfect parking place, toward the back by the tiny and ancient movie theater. We were sitting in the back of his truck, cuddling under the open sky with a blanket over our legs, our backs pressed up against the side of the bed. The fireworks began as they were shot up over the open field across from the parking lot. I had never seen fireworks so spectacular in my life. They were straight over our heads, even some of the ashes fell onto the ground beneath us. I kept thinking to myself, in this moment of pure bliss, that this would be the perfect moment for a romantic proposal. I sat there, waiting for the fairy tale that would never come.
On the way back home, my heart sunken, James looks over to me and tells me "that would of been a good moment to propose." Funny how things work out, I thought the same thing. We decided, on the way home, that we would get married. We could just tell everybody that there was the fairy tale story. It would be fine. Until now, when I keep thinking that I should have waited. I shouldn't of settled for nothing less than my story-book ending. Is there a story-book ending like in Cinderella? I am finally realizing, in my mid-twenties, that it may not exist.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
A few weeks ago, James and I attended a homeowners counseling class. It was more like a one-on-one meeting through a nonprofit organization which describes the process of buying a home. Three hours of talking money, credit, and government programs later we decided to go to lunch. While driving we went from casual conversation about our "top five list," suggested by the counselor, which includes one's priority characteristics that the house should have. We agreed on a nice neighborhood, fenced in yard, garage, and so on. As we got near the restaurant parking lot, the light and fluffy discussion concerning our dream house (and life) dramatically transformed into a brawl over money.
It all started when we stopped in the parking lot, ready to get out of the car. After a frustrating conversation about what to include as income and debt, I felt a knot of pent up hostility starting to unravel.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this then...just keep living at your parents house forever," I said in a sarcastic tone. As he gets up I feel a huge sense of remorse as he replies with "oh shut up!" That was it, any feeling of regret was washed away as I was overcome with rage. Fuck you! I don't need you...I am too good for you...go to hell!
Although there were numerous blows to each other's egos, the most evocative came as we were walking toward the door. "What do you have to show for yourself? At least I have a degree," I replied after he told me that I can't pay for anything.
After flashing my degree in his face, like a five foot tall gold trophy, he came back at me with another sly remark. It was something along the lines of: yeah and look what good that's done.
Inside I was laughing the comment off, it was just another ignorant comment coming from a uneducated farm boy who didn't know how the world works. However, after lunch while driving home, I was hit with devastation from the remarks impact as a fly slamming against a semi-truck on the highway. I was struck, not knowing the repercussions, oblivious to the pain that will result. To think that the work I've done the past four years, work that absorbed my life, was somehow worthless.
When we arrived back at my apartment, James stayed approximately two minutes before he leaves. In the dark to where he was going, my heart racing, I spring for the slider door and I see him walking towards his blue Dodge truck. "Where are you going?" I yelled frantically. He turned around briefly and replied "for a drive!"
Oh great Melissa! Way to drive him away!
The moment I saw him drive out into the distance I could feel the heavy beating of my heart as I was thinking of the worst possible scenario. James has never done something like this before...I must have gone too far this time.
I scurried to my bedroom and quickly pick up my cell phone, dialing his number. I must have called at least five times with no answer. "Please don't leave me...I'm sorry...please come back." As I am speaking the words to the voice message box, I came to a conclusion: I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.
I finally get a hold of James thirty minutes later and he tells me that he was at the store and would be back shortly. After desperately telling him to come back, he tells me that he just needed to clear is head. When he gets back to my apartment, we both reach for an embrace as my heart finally begins to maintain a steady pace. He did not leave me for very long, nor do I believe he would truly leave without a trace. However, there still lies an underlying fear that he will eventually disappear from my life.
It all started when we stopped in the parking lot, ready to get out of the car. After a frustrating conversation about what to include as income and debt, I felt a knot of pent up hostility starting to unravel.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this then...just keep living at your parents house forever," I said in a sarcastic tone. As he gets up I feel a huge sense of remorse as he replies with "oh shut up!" That was it, any feeling of regret was washed away as I was overcome with rage. Fuck you! I don't need you...I am too good for you...go to hell!
Although there were numerous blows to each other's egos, the most evocative came as we were walking toward the door. "What do you have to show for yourself? At least I have a degree," I replied after he told me that I can't pay for anything.
After flashing my degree in his face, like a five foot tall gold trophy, he came back at me with another sly remark. It was something along the lines of: yeah and look what good that's done.
Inside I was laughing the comment off, it was just another ignorant comment coming from a uneducated farm boy who didn't know how the world works. However, after lunch while driving home, I was hit with devastation from the remarks impact as a fly slamming against a semi-truck on the highway. I was struck, not knowing the repercussions, oblivious to the pain that will result. To think that the work I've done the past four years, work that absorbed my life, was somehow worthless.
When we arrived back at my apartment, James stayed approximately two minutes before he leaves. In the dark to where he was going, my heart racing, I spring for the slider door and I see him walking towards his blue Dodge truck. "Where are you going?" I yelled frantically. He turned around briefly and replied "for a drive!"
Oh great Melissa! Way to drive him away!
The moment I saw him drive out into the distance I could feel the heavy beating of my heart as I was thinking of the worst possible scenario. James has never done something like this before...I must have gone too far this time.
I scurried to my bedroom and quickly pick up my cell phone, dialing his number. I must have called at least five times with no answer. "Please don't leave me...I'm sorry...please come back." As I am speaking the words to the voice message box, I came to a conclusion: I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.
I finally get a hold of James thirty minutes later and he tells me that he was at the store and would be back shortly. After desperately telling him to come back, he tells me that he just needed to clear is head. When he gets back to my apartment, we both reach for an embrace as my heart finally begins to maintain a steady pace. He did not leave me for very long, nor do I believe he would truly leave without a trace. However, there still lies an underlying fear that he will eventually disappear from my life.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part I
I was driving back home from my co-worker Danielle's apartment when the tears that had been held back progressively began to flow similar to the rain currently hitting the windshield. I had received a call the evening before and Danielle implored me to take her overnight shift. After inquiring about what was going on, she told me that she was having mental breakdown. I told her that I had no problem taking the shift (I desperately needed the money), and I attempted to empathize with her in an effort to process her feelings. I heard the panic tone in her voice and I say, "Danielle, it sounds like you are feeling really devastated." In an effort to help her to calm down, telling her to take deep breaths, it didn't have the effect I eagerly hoped.
"It's more than that," she responded while sobbing. She continued to tell me that she could barely breathe and would call me later. After graciously thanking me, the phone call ended, and I felt extreme concern. I knew from previous conversations that her fiance and her were having relationship problems. Several nights I would stay over my shift to support her after she came into work in tears over his cruel remarks and often tempered demeanor. After all, I've had some personal experiences with emotionally abusive men.
My once strictly co-worker relationship with Danielle, a single mother in her early thirties, had evolved into a genuine friendship over the past several months. We had gradually developed a trusting bond enabling the disclosure of innermost feelings, which is extremely difficult for me to express. I have always been apprehensive in forming new friendships, since I have had a few heartbreaking escapades. The reason for friendship, I believe, is to establish a trusting environment essential for the communication of personal experiences, emotions, and beliefs. It is when two people connect in a way that when one person shares their emotions, either positive or negative, the other is there to listen and provide support regardless of personal differences.
When a friend, of whom this type of relationship is established, is in crisis I tend to overextend myself in order to provide whatever support I can. When they are in agony I feel pain. When they experience heartache I experience sorrow. This is exactly what happened today, after being awake for 24 hours. She was definitely in crisis and I needed to be there. No matter what the emotional cost to the self was.
"It's more than that," she responded while sobbing. She continued to tell me that she could barely breathe and would call me later. After graciously thanking me, the phone call ended, and I felt extreme concern. I knew from previous conversations that her fiance and her were having relationship problems. Several nights I would stay over my shift to support her after she came into work in tears over his cruel remarks and often tempered demeanor. After all, I've had some personal experiences with emotionally abusive men.
My once strictly co-worker relationship with Danielle, a single mother in her early thirties, had evolved into a genuine friendship over the past several months. We had gradually developed a trusting bond enabling the disclosure of innermost feelings, which is extremely difficult for me to express. I have always been apprehensive in forming new friendships, since I have had a few heartbreaking escapades. The reason for friendship, I believe, is to establish a trusting environment essential for the communication of personal experiences, emotions, and beliefs. It is when two people connect in a way that when one person shares their emotions, either positive or negative, the other is there to listen and provide support regardless of personal differences.
When a friend, of whom this type of relationship is established, is in crisis I tend to overextend myself in order to provide whatever support I can. When they are in agony I feel pain. When they experience heartache I experience sorrow. This is exactly what happened today, after being awake for 24 hours. She was definitely in crisis and I needed to be there. No matter what the emotional cost to the self was.
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part II
After work, when I called Danielle to ask her if she wanted to get out and have breakfast, she eagerly replied with a yes. Alright, this is good. Listen to your body. You are hungry. You haven't eaten in hours. Eat something small, boost the metabolism. I met her at her apartment around 8:30 and shortly after we went to an inexpensive restaurant called "Jackies."
In a more run-down part of Lansing, the quality of the four dollar meal was irrelavant compared to the discussions. The conversation was rather light. We chatted about work, families, and other non-emotional topics as I leisurely picked at my meal. My stomach, confused my the unsteady eating patterns, felt completely full (to the point of sick) after only two bites of food. I finally push my plate off to the side and light up a cigarette in an attempt to settle my stomach. "Your done?" Danielle asks me as though I had ate a feast prior to our get-together. I told her that during long periods of staying awake and little sleep (also the constant doses of Adderall mixed with sugar-free Redbull) caused suppressed appetite. Excuses, excuses...
On the way home she asked me if I wanted to come up for awhile, and I agreed while taking the last puff of my cigarette. As we made our way into the dusky apartment we both sat on the soft silver-gray couch, with one leg noticeably scratched by her son's cat. The apartment was small, however, decorated with dainty and tasteful furniture along with numerous family pictures characteristic of many family homes. The shades were comprised of a blood-red pigment and had been pulled closed, yet still able to allow the gloominess daylight to seep through. The coffee table, situated in front of the sofa, had several lit candles producing a sweet yet relaxing fragrance along with a black bowl that was used as a receptacle for the copious amount of cigarette remnants.
As we started to get comfortable, Danielle stated that she was starting to feel anxious and I observe through the expression on her face that she was about to crash. Since both of us had been awake the entire night, there was little to hold back the raw emotion that was about to explode. The conflicts once propelled deep down into the soul were about to regurgitate; you are unable to control them anymore, like an inevitable eruption of scorching lava from the volcano's brittle crust.
In a more run-down part of Lansing, the quality of the four dollar meal was irrelavant compared to the discussions. The conversation was rather light. We chatted about work, families, and other non-emotional topics as I leisurely picked at my meal. My stomach, confused my the unsteady eating patterns, felt completely full (to the point of sick) after only two bites of food. I finally push my plate off to the side and light up a cigarette in an attempt to settle my stomach. "Your done?" Danielle asks me as though I had ate a feast prior to our get-together. I told her that during long periods of staying awake and little sleep (also the constant doses of Adderall mixed with sugar-free Redbull) caused suppressed appetite. Excuses, excuses...
On the way home she asked me if I wanted to come up for awhile, and I agreed while taking the last puff of my cigarette. As we made our way into the dusky apartment we both sat on the soft silver-gray couch, with one leg noticeably scratched by her son's cat. The apartment was small, however, decorated with dainty and tasteful furniture along with numerous family pictures characteristic of many family homes. The shades were comprised of a blood-red pigment and had been pulled closed, yet still able to allow the gloominess daylight to seep through. The coffee table, situated in front of the sofa, had several lit candles producing a sweet yet relaxing fragrance along with a black bowl that was used as a receptacle for the copious amount of cigarette remnants.
As we started to get comfortable, Danielle stated that she was starting to feel anxious and I observe through the expression on her face that she was about to crash. Since both of us had been awake the entire night, there was little to hold back the raw emotion that was about to explode. The conflicts once propelled deep down into the soul were about to regurgitate; you are unable to control them anymore, like an inevitable eruption of scorching lava from the volcano's brittle crust.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part III
As I walked out the door to my car, the rain was rapidly descending downward, and began to accompany the quick beating of my heart as though it could jolt straight through my chest. I no longer had to maintain composure for Danielle. I was alone, able to freely process the triggering flashbacks that I had flashed in my mind before. Breathe Melissa....You are so lucky....You have a man that loves you and isn't emotionally damaging... Upon maintaining a sense of self-control I decided that I needed to tell James what I was feeling. As I dialed his number, all of the words began to jumble in my brain. He answers the phone and we say are traditional hellos. I finally gather enough strength to speak in a full tone of voice, "I called to tell you something...Can I be honest with you?"
He replied, "yeah..." in a puzzled tone.
I instantly felt my breath halt, I was getting short of breath. Stop Melissa...just say it...
"I just wanted to tell you that I really wish there were more men like you in this world," I finally disclosed.
There was, for what felt like a ten minute pause, when he finally retorted with, "Why?"
"Because of the way you treat me...the way you support me..." I start to cry. "I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have to you in my life."
Another "ten-minute" pause. Finally, I asked if he was still there, thinking that maybe the line was cut off instead of a lack of gratitude.
He proceeds to tell me that he is watching the TV show, Family Guy, and started to explain what was happening. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel grief. I simply felt disappointed. Disappointed that he still doesn't have a sense of self-worth even though he is one of the most wonderful people in this world.
He replied, "yeah..." in a puzzled tone.
I instantly felt my breath halt, I was getting short of breath. Stop Melissa...just say it...
"I just wanted to tell you that I really wish there were more men like you in this world," I finally disclosed.
There was, for what felt like a ten minute pause, when he finally retorted with, "Why?"
"Because of the way you treat me...the way you support me..." I start to cry. "I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have to you in my life."
Another "ten-minute" pause. Finally, I asked if he was still there, thinking that maybe the line was cut off instead of a lack of gratitude.
He proceeds to tell me that he is watching the TV show, Family Guy, and started to explain what was happening. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel grief. I simply felt disappointed. Disappointed that he still doesn't have a sense of self-worth even though he is one of the most wonderful people in this world.
Monday, April 21, 2008
An End to a Very Long Day
I have been awake for about 38 hours. The total calories I had today was 305! I haven't went that low in awhile. I kept thinking to myself today that I had to try to eat something because there were points where I felt light-headed. So I ate a couple saltines and it settled my stomach. I know I can keep this willpower...I have to.
Once I hit my target weight it will be better. I will feel more emotionally stable. I will be beautiful!
This, of course, is what I am hoping.
Once I hit my target weight it will be better. I will feel more emotionally stable. I will be beautiful!
This, of course, is what I am hoping.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Spriling Down
I am being suffocated by the endless cycle of extreme pressure.
My phone has endless missed calls, mostly from family members. I called my father back to be reminded that I need to think about him and how he wants to see me graduate. It is my choice, he says, but it's important to both my parents also. I just need to think about graduating first...passing classes is the first thing I need to be worried about.
The person I have been avoiding lately is my mother. I have no idea how to tell her what is going on with me. She has been telling me how "proud" she is of me that I am finally becoming the vision of her ideal perfect daughter. I am finally fulfilling her vision of beauty with every inch that is melting off my body. With every single calorie consumed I am reminded of a time many years ago.
I was in the kitchen, once again looking in the cupboards for something to fill an emotional void. As I pull out the greasy potato chips, she walks in and looks at me with disappointment. I got used to it, but I remember something particular she did that day. She puffed out her lips, filling her cheeks with air, nonverbally suggesting to me that if I ate those I would get even fatter than I was.
I am finally becoming her dream daughter; and with everything I eat, it can be taken away. Shit! I know I ate more than 1,000 calories today. I fucking hate myself.
Then I look over at a package she sent me a few days ago...sitting by the card saying how proud she was of me.
"Melissa-
I'm so happy for you that your achieving your weight goal! I
just want you to know how proud I am of you and your new
independence.
Here's a little present and more to come.
Love you,
Mom"
I feel a sense of joy as a tear open the package. I pull out lingerie; 3 pairs of underwear and pajamas. My heart sinks as I hold them up, one-by-one, in front of my face. She sent me underwear that was 2 sizes too small.
I am reminded of the movie Spanglish when the overbearing mother gives her daughter clothes clothes that are too small in order to convince her to loose weight. "Your going to look great once you loose that weight!" Words I know too well.
My phone has endless missed calls, mostly from family members. I called my father back to be reminded that I need to think about him and how he wants to see me graduate. It is my choice, he says, but it's important to both my parents also. I just need to think about graduating first...passing classes is the first thing I need to be worried about.
The person I have been avoiding lately is my mother. I have no idea how to tell her what is going on with me. She has been telling me how "proud" she is of me that I am finally becoming the vision of her ideal perfect daughter. I am finally fulfilling her vision of beauty with every inch that is melting off my body. With every single calorie consumed I am reminded of a time many years ago.
I was in the kitchen, once again looking in the cupboards for something to fill an emotional void. As I pull out the greasy potato chips, she walks in and looks at me with disappointment. I got used to it, but I remember something particular she did that day. She puffed out her lips, filling her cheeks with air, nonverbally suggesting to me that if I ate those I would get even fatter than I was.
I am finally becoming her dream daughter; and with everything I eat, it can be taken away. Shit! I know I ate more than 1,000 calories today. I fucking hate myself.
Then I look over at a package she sent me a few days ago...sitting by the card saying how proud she was of me.
"Melissa-
I'm so happy for you that your achieving your weight goal! I
just want you to know how proud I am of you and your new
independence.
Here's a little present and more to come.
Love you,
Mom"
I feel a sense of joy as a tear open the package. I pull out lingerie; 3 pairs of underwear and pajamas. My heart sinks as I hold them up, one-by-one, in front of my face. She sent me underwear that was 2 sizes too small.
I am reminded of the movie Spanglish when the overbearing mother gives her daughter clothes clothes that are too small in order to convince her to loose weight. "Your going to look great once you loose that weight!" Words I know too well.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Manic
She breaths in
She breaths out
She wakes up
And lays down
She can hardly speak
And so she screams
I won't give
Cause she does
Chorus
Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pour in rain
You say it wont happen again
Your manic, manic
There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
Your manic, manic
She loves you
And hates you
You break down
She feels good
She will bleed of insecurity
When will she heal (*whisper yes*)
I love her still
Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pour in rain
You say it wont happen again
Your manic, manic
There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
Your manic, manic
She's got everything you want
She's every little thing your not
yeah-
Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pour in rain
You say it wont happen again
Your manic, manic
There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
Your manic, manic
Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pour in rain
You say it wont happen again
Your manic, manic
There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
Your manic, manic
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Gender Socialization in the Media
Make Me Beautiful: A Portrayal of Body Image Socialization in Nip/Tuck
When thinking of the endless popular culture representations of body image to do for this project, the television show Nip/Tuck quickly came to mind. Nip/Tuck follows the lives of two male plastic surgeons, their relationships, and their clients; all of whom strive for society's ideal image of perfection. I have been casually watching this show for a couple of years when my previous roommate introduced it to me. The show has been airing for five years now, but I decided to look at the first season in particular in order to analyze the program's goals.
“Once you stop striving for perfection you might as well be dead.” This statement, taken from the pilot episode, reinforces our culture's obsession with striving for the ideal body image. In this scene, Christian (one of the male surgeons) tells Kimber what the “perfect 10” actually is. Kimber, a female character whose has the aspiration for modeling, at first thinks she is beautiful. Her esteem is shot down, however, when Christian uses her body has a canvas for his superficial art. As he is drawing on her with lipstick, there are many ways that body image is being portrayed. First he comments about her age, saying that she looks 5 years older than what she is, reinforcing society's current fixation on looking younger. Second he comments on her part-irish ethnic background. He focuses on “repairing” her flat and box-shaped nose, which apparently is a deviation from the ideal image. I was perplexed by this contradiction: with America being seen as a melting pot of many ethnicities, there is an apparent infatuation with a flawless snout. Evidently, the perfect nose can be seen through the model Chrissy Turlington through which Christian relates in Kimber's body project. Third, not surprisingly, he centers on her breasts and states that could go up a cup size. Finally, he comments on her stomach saying that she could use liposuction. When viewing the image of this woman, one can see that she is under weight in regards to society's average weight female.
After Christian shows Kimber his final analysis of her body, the expression on her face reveals her shattered self-esteem, as she once was considered the beautiful homecoming queen. When women view this particular scene, many questions may arise when looking at their own body in the mirror. This beautiful, model-like women has all these things wrong with her? What's wrong with my body? How can I look like those ideal women? The images are internalized as women watch and believe that, they too, must obtain this ideal image.
A final finding while watching Nip/Tuck concerns the female anesthesiologist, Liz Cruz, who is portrayed as an ethnic minority. While watching the episodes I was unaware of the specific ethnicity she was playing so I researched the internet to find some more information. I found a website that said that her character was Latin American, which was similar to my previous assumptions due to her representation on the show. She is viewed as an average woman who is both strong-willed and sympathetic. In contrast to Kimber, who is seen as narcissistic, Liz is comfortable with her curves and constantly speaks out again the superficiality of plastic surgery. There is the contradiction in which the viewer instantly likes Liz, who is charismatic, caring, and funny; yet views Kimber as a psychotic, superficial, and naïve white woman.
In conclusion, the show Nip/Tuck attempts to convey the ways in which internal problems cannot be solved through perfecting the exterior body. I am unsure if whether show achieves this goal or not, but I have become aware of the evidence of gender socialization being portrayed. This is accomplished by women comparing themselves to what is seen as the ideal body image and through the ways that different ethnicities are presented.
When thinking of the endless popular culture representations of body image to do for this project, the television show Nip/Tuck quickly came to mind. Nip/Tuck follows the lives of two male plastic surgeons, their relationships, and their clients; all of whom strive for society's ideal image of perfection. I have been casually watching this show for a couple of years when my previous roommate introduced it to me. The show has been airing for five years now, but I decided to look at the first season in particular in order to analyze the program's goals.
“Once you stop striving for perfection you might as well be dead.” This statement, taken from the pilot episode, reinforces our culture's obsession with striving for the ideal body image. In this scene, Christian (one of the male surgeons) tells Kimber what the “perfect 10” actually is. Kimber, a female character whose has the aspiration for modeling, at first thinks she is beautiful. Her esteem is shot down, however, when Christian uses her body has a canvas for his superficial art. As he is drawing on her with lipstick, there are many ways that body image is being portrayed. First he comments about her age, saying that she looks 5 years older than what she is, reinforcing society's current fixation on looking younger. Second he comments on her part-irish ethnic background. He focuses on “repairing” her flat and box-shaped nose, which apparently is a deviation from the ideal image. I was perplexed by this contradiction: with America being seen as a melting pot of many ethnicities, there is an apparent infatuation with a flawless snout. Evidently, the perfect nose can be seen through the model Chrissy Turlington through which Christian relates in Kimber's body project. Third, not surprisingly, he centers on her breasts and states that could go up a cup size. Finally, he comments on her stomach saying that she could use liposuction. When viewing the image of this woman, one can see that she is under weight in regards to society's average weight female.
After Christian shows Kimber his final analysis of her body, the expression on her face reveals her shattered self-esteem, as she once was considered the beautiful homecoming queen. When women view this particular scene, many questions may arise when looking at their own body in the mirror. This beautiful, model-like women has all these things wrong with her? What's wrong with my body? How can I look like those ideal women? The images are internalized as women watch and believe that, they too, must obtain this ideal image.
A final finding while watching Nip/Tuck concerns the female anesthesiologist, Liz Cruz, who is portrayed as an ethnic minority. While watching the episodes I was unaware of the specific ethnicity she was playing so I researched the internet to find some more information. I found a website that said that her character was Latin American, which was similar to my previous assumptions due to her representation on the show. She is viewed as an average woman who is both strong-willed and sympathetic. In contrast to Kimber, who is seen as narcissistic, Liz is comfortable with her curves and constantly speaks out again the superficiality of plastic surgery. There is the contradiction in which the viewer instantly likes Liz, who is charismatic, caring, and funny; yet views Kimber as a psychotic, superficial, and naïve white woman.
In conclusion, the show Nip/Tuck attempts to convey the ways in which internal problems cannot be solved through perfecting the exterior body. I am unsure if whether show achieves this goal or not, but I have become aware of the evidence of gender socialization being portrayed. This is accomplished by women comparing themselves to what is seen as the ideal body image and through the ways that different ethnicities are presented.
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