Kat’s Musings

Tag: god

  • In My Marilyn Monroe Era.

    In My Marilyn Monroe Era.

    Sophomore year of college, I finally felt like I was finding my groove.

    I had made a new friend I planned to live with the following year, and I was starting to get ahead academically after a rocky freshman year. That year, I roomed with a Russian girl from the university’s swim team. We clicked almost immediately and became genuinely close friends. 

    I was slowly gaining confidence in my new, more voluptuous body, even if I still struggled with it. We had a surprising amount in common, and she helped me adjust to living on my own while everything back home continued to unravel. We met in a Russian language class. I signed up thinking it would be an easy A. Even though, I was basically fluent in Spanish in high school. But, I was burned out and did not want anything too demanding. Because she was still very new to the U.S., I got to play guide, showing her the ropes of American college life.

    She only lived with me for one semester. When the swim team at Syracuse was cut, she moved out. But I kept thriving (*exaggerating*) and it was all thanks to that Russian class. Through it, I met another girl — an American — who quickly became one of my closest friends. She lived off-campus in a chaotic house full of eccentric roommates. The place was straight out of *Fight Club*. It was filthy. Everything seemed to be broken. I vividly  remember waking up on the couch one morning to see a rat-size cockroach scurrying across the coffee table.

    Every weekend, I would take the bus and then hike up the snowy hills just to get there. I loved it. I loved the weird mix of characters who lived in that house. Looking back, I know they were mostly low-class, pot-smoking losers, but at the time, I finally felt needed. And God, I needed that feeling more than anything.

    One weekend, they threw a Valentine’s Day house party. That’s where I met him.

    He was very attractive, and he gave me real attention. We ended up spending the entire night together. No, we did not sleep together, but… we did everything else.

    At that point in my life, I was still deeply disgusted with myself. My new friends were helping rebuild my self-esteem, but I still could not stand looking at myself in the mirror. Every time I saw the size on my clothes tags, a wave of shame came over me. 

    I always struggled to understand how overweight people can genuinely seem happy and confident. I see it all the time. There are plus-size celebrities and popular friends of skinny people. These individuals are living their lives without apparent shame. 

    Even now, I sometimes feel bloated or insecure about my body. I tell my boyfriend he can cheat on me. He always reassures me that he would never and says I am just being a silly little girl. 

    — —

    Now, back to the guy I met over Valentine’s weekend in 2009.

    Through my new chaotic houseful of misfits, I quickly learned the truth. The guy I had holed up with was in a very serious relationship. His girlfriend was just out of town that weekend.

    But he kept texting me. Kept reaching out.

    So I made a decision. If I could not be the one someone chose, I would settle for being the other woman. My experience with love was limited. Up to that point, it had already convinced me I was unlovable. I felt unworthy of anything real. Being the secret side piece felt like the best I could hope for. I felt like a modern, broken version of Marilyn Monroe. I was the girl you have fun with, but never marry.

    I leaned hard into the role. I started dressing more provocatively—low-cut shirts, fishnet tights stretched over my thick thighs. We made plans to keep sneaking around behind her back. I even stalked his girlfriend on social media, studying her life, picking apart what I thought I was missing.

    Sexualized Me (3rd from the right )

    It did not take long to realize he was just another loser misfit with a habit of cheating. But the thrill was still there. The secrecy. The danger. I went home and bragged to everyone that I was “the other woman” (okay, I may have white-lied about actually sleeping with him). I even made plans to finally give in to him during junior year.

    Fate, however, had other plans.

    I never made it back to Syracuse University. I never got that apartment with my new friend. And thankfully—thankfully—I never became the other woman.

    (I still love Marilyn Monroe, though.)

  • Discovering Strength Through Pain: A Journey

    Discovering Strength Through Pain: A Journey

    I used to think that my father was the strongest man. I never see him cry and I never see him ask for approval. But when I was at Syracuse University, my mother dismantled us.  I have always been a “daddy’s girl—“ you hurt him, you hurt me. Instead we were made to feel like something was wrong with us. Like we were just broken. 

    I hated to see him waive the white flag. I thought love was to be safe but instead I went into a tailspin. You hurt my father, you hurt me. So I went even deeper into my downward spiral. I kept eating my feelings. One year later I would end up in a coma and I would be disabled. 

    The worst part is that my mother had rewritten the whole story to make her the hero. She made excuses so she could be seen as the victim. I remember calling a good friend of mine (she has too much Ukrainian pride now though) sitting on the ground outside of the county jail in tears. There is no hero in this story. This was the moment when I broke down even more 

    So I turned to the manosphere accounts on Twitter (RIP). The manosphere gave me solace. It taught me about the manipulation that caused my father to fold. It also evidently taught me to hate on women. I know this is not exactly the right way to live. However, you will never catch me screaming about girl power and glass ceilings. I love men. I think that they are the greatest people on the planet. I also felt like I was being broken and betrayed by a woman. And I took it out on her. I took it too far. 

    I was already spiraling (because), but now I went down even further. 

    I learned how strength and weakness are not just physical— but instead strength is spine. Being able to say “no” instead of the quiet surrender I witnessed. I know that I should forgive. Holding onto pain only hurts you. But you cannot forgive when they keep taking. It is not pain and it is not hate— I do not have the energy for that. 

    We were dismantled. I was dismantled. It lead me towards rock bottom— but now I only have energy for progress and achieving my goals and desires.