"I may not always love you but long as there are stars above you, you never need to doubt it. I’ll make you so sure about it"
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
People who receive organ donations go through personality changes and characteristic similar to those of the donor.
In a study, a patient received a heart transplant from a man who was killed by gunshot to the face, and the organ recipient then reported to have dreams of seeing hot flashes of light directly on his face.
In another case, Claire Sylvia, a heart transplant recipient who received the organ from an 18-year-old male that died in a motorcycle accident, reported having a craving for beer and chicken nuggets after the surgery.
She also began to have reoccurring dreams about a man named ‘Tim L.’ Upon searching the obituaries, Sylvia found out her donor’s name was Tim and that he loved all of the food that she craved
These cases may support the cell memory theory. But as someone who wants to study the human consciousness, I have this one question.
What does this say about the human mind? Is it only stored in the brain? Can our cells also have the capacity to store information such as memory and personality? Are they aware of what makes us, who we are? Are they conscious in that sense?
CAN WE ALL STARTING TALKING ABOUT THIS PLS
this is why im an organ donor. If I die young I wan the oppurtunity at taking over someone else’s body and having a second chance or two at taking over the world
I read the book by Claire Sylvia. It left me with more questions than answers, but it is most definitely a very interesting book.
One of the women who organized the dance first complained about Claire’s dress, but upon checking, admitted that it conformed to the standards set for the event. Nonetheless, the same woman later pulled Claire aside and told her that some of the dads—who had been watching from a balcony—felt her dancing was “too provocative” and liable to cause “impure thoughts.”
When Claire pointed out that she hadn’t even been dancing, other chaperones joined in, again told her that her dress was too short (despite having verified it was within standards, and despite other girls having shorter dresses), and, finally kicked her out of the dance.
What made Claire so provocative that these men couldn’t control themselves? Well, apparently the fact that she’s 5’9, with long legs, and built more like a grown woman than like a typical teenager. That’s it.
The problem isn’t that these men found her to be attractive; the problem is that they and others—including other women—held Claire responsible for the men’s unwillingness to control their own reactions.
The message here is that if a man has difficulty controlling himself around a woman he finds attractive, it’s the woman’s fault for being too “provocative.”
Let me emphasize that point for those who still don’t get it: Women are held accountable for men’s reactions. This is why when a woman reports a rape, or sexual harassment of any kind, among the first questions asked—by both men and women—is inevitably, “what was she wearing?” And unless she was covered head to toe, there are inevitably comments like, “Well, what did she expect?” Even if the woman was wearing baggy sweatpants and a sweater three sizes too big, there are far too many who’s first response is, “Well, she must have done something.”
And this, my friends, is rape culture.
Read the Gawker story here, and Claire’s blog post here.
So they never thought about the fact that they might need help in not liking under 18 years old. Lets blame 15 year old girls next for the guys who like them- and why stop there, lets blame 10 year olds for the men thinking they arousing to look at too. My point is- with some men, there is always an excuse.
Wow I feel really bad for this girl :(
“The best portion of your life will be the small, nameless moments you spend smiling with someone who matters to you.”