Today I wore a pair of faded old jeans and a plain grey baggy shirt. I hadn’t even taken a shower, and I did not put on an ounce of makeup. I grabbed a worn out black oversized jacket to cover myself with even though it is warm outside. I have made conscious decisions lately to look like less of what I felt a male would want to see. I want to disappear.
The corrupt system made the ordinary citizen absolutely powerless and without rights
But don’t they say that all is fair in love and war? I heard that somewhere.”
“‘They?’ Who are ‘they?'”
“I don’t know. Just people.”
“That’s what the victorious claim, not the defeated; the powerful, not the powerless. ‘All is fair.’ ‘The end justifies the means.’ Is that what you believe?
You are as ordinary as spring,’ he murmured. ‘As powerless as sunlight.’ He ran his fingertips down her neck. ‘And when I touch you, I burn,’ he said, making her heart stop and a flare of wild panic light inside her. He was too close; he was getting to her.
Make sure your fun is not mocking someone’s pain and your enjoyment is not another’s suffering. The melody of your ears must not be the cries of a powerless.
With him, I’ve become like putty- rendered powerless by his magnificence- and his to mold into whatever he desires.
You know how the Eclipse of the sun shows it? Christ’s strength eclipses your powerlessness in God’s likeness, and there is total darkness on your weakness.
Escape from reality. In some instances, dissociation induces people to imagine that they have some kind of mastery over intractable environmental difficulties. Dissociation is often implicated in magical thinking or self-induced trance states. This aspect of dissociation is frequently found in abuse survivors. It is not uncommon for abused children to engage in magical thinking to retain an illusion of control over the situation (e.g., believing that they “cause” the perpetrator to act out).
That sassy low classy, but dress real cheap-fly-n-fancy, with a chip on her shoulder — she’s just a bitterly wounded dove, wanting to be sieged by love.
The story of my birth that my mother told me went like this: “When you were coming out I wasn’t ready yet and neither was the nurse. The nurse tried to push you back in, but I shit on the table and when you came out, you landed in my shit.”
If there ever was a way to sum things up, the story of my birth was it.