Only a strategy that takes ACEs (adverse childhood experiences) and how they relate to the stress response can have any lasting effect on obesity in the nation. Irrespective of income, though they are correlated to poverty for obvious reasons, they are the engine we need to "fix" alongside the other measures that deal with the "fuel intake" and "energy burnt." Otherwise we run the risk of acing the symptoms rather than unveiling the all-too-painful and often embarrassing cause. Without more love in our society, without less of the things that cause humans stress, obesity and the other ill-health factors that ACEs bring will continue to haunt us.
I can't live without you, anymore. Without you, what is the purpose of my existence? If I will embrace you, I'll embrace my soulless self.
Because it is you. Only you. You are my life. You're my pain- you're my relief. You are my love.
What is your relationship with me, that I can't afford to stay a moment away from you? I live for you everyday, my time is devoted to you. No moment is a moment without you. Your name is etched on each breath of mine.
I have lived only for you; I am prepared to die for you. Your thoughts gave me the emotional support I needed in your absence. They took out the grief which presided in my heart, but now the melancholy has returned with thrice the effect.
You are my lucky-clover. I am content with you.
But all these years, that I've tried to stay away, tried to keep you safe from my evil clutches- they are heart wrenching. I can't endure the pain anymore!
I ache when I see you smile.
I want it to be directed towards me. For me. Because of me. I want to bring you joy; be the source of those lit eyes and dimpled cheeks. I watch you bring so much happiness to those around you. Feel the warmth you’ve given me.
You show me how to find beauty in a cruel world.
You try so hard to do so well. You worked hard. You fought for every step; even if it wasn’t always in the right direction. You wanted to fly and now you’re soaring. I’m afraid. I’m so afraid you’ll crash. That I’ll have to watch it happen. I ache to think there’s no way for me to help if you do.
I still watch you.
Sometimes it becomes a source of guilt. If I have no place in your life, why do I keep following you like this? If you noticed, I’m scared what you’d think of me. I've never been heartbroken before. For that I’m sometimes glad I know you won’t.
We’ll never meet. That’s probably a good thing.
If we met, if we spoke; what would you think of me? That’s what scares me the most. Sometimes I’m left wondering if it’s better we don’t meet. Maybe it would be better if I let you fade from my life, back out of it like you were never there.
But I can’t let go.
Did you ever read the words I did, the ones a child hasn’t forgotten? ‘Kindred spirits’. They make me think of you. Is that truth or my wish? My instinct is that it’s true. But in the same thought I know we wouldn’t agree. The same thoughts or feeling but with a different approach?
I want to be there. I write late into the night because of how much I do. I want to hold your hand. To dry your tears. To take the pain and anger I know you hide. Yet here I sit typing without aim, watching through a screen. To develop an unattainable desire wasn’t wise. I knew it when I started. But we keep moving. Has it been two years already?
The ache won’t fade.
Against the dark night sky all Steve could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived there and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready.
Vividly he could picture his childhood. The walls didn’t seem so grey when he was only a boy, nor did they seem so small. In his mind he pictured this place as though it were a castle where he and his brother were the Princes. His mother and father would glide through the once pristine halls, the King and Queen of their kingdom. He felt like no time had passed since he moved from this house, yet as he gazed upon the overgrown bushes and the shattered windows it was evident just how wrong he was.
In a breath of the almost autumn air, in the longing for hearth and the comforts of home food, there is a quietness to my soul. It is the restfulness of the warrior in full knowledge that all efforts were made, that the fate, the outcome, rests in the hands of others. So this was my finale. The curtain has closed. I take off these ballet shoes and let my feet feel free. I am no longer the dancer, yet still one who holds the wisdom of the dance. I am no longer the girl but the elder. I can meet God with full pride, I can return the smiling gaze of our creator, and so now I am finally happy.
Something flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression and I hurried to investigate the sudden shift. It was too late, the emotion disappeared before I could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so tantalizingly close but the wind pushed it away and it's lost forever.
The first thing you'd see is a typical honors kid - large dark eyes behind blue rimmed glasses, holding all the bookish knowledge. The girl's curious eyes asking for more, conflicted with the tight smile silently begging to be left alone.
She'd wear her dark straight hair up in a ponytail, with a pink baseball hat. With the pink sports backpack, she'd deceive anyone. But her scrawny figure in an over-sized men's sweatshirt, underneath a denim shirt from Goodwill, with a pair of jeans ripped from overuse - told a different story. So did her punk boots picked from garage sale.
She hid her scars under thick spike bracelets, another piece that did not match with the silver heart locket hanging from an unusually long necklace.
Even with all the pieces roughly glued together, she had yet to find out which was her real face.
It wasn't long before cis-women were on the receiving end of more transphobia than trans-women. Those looking for a cheap brain-chemical boost through bullying some stranger found cis-women easier to find than trans-women. So their brains, desperate for another fix of hate, began to interpret any human from in tall boots or bright lipstick as a target for their verbal-bile. I guess we should have predicted it, as with all brain-chemical induced behaviours (the good and the bad) they are addictive, and addictions tend to escalate seeking higher doses and increased frequency of dose. This is why hate cannot be contained and is always dangerous. Once a person's desire to feel good from hating cannot be satisfied with their target group they must expand their hate or feel the sting of going "cold turkey." So, if there is any safe place for hate, there will be no safe place from hate.
Once you stop seeking to belong, you can accept that you belong in a way that is secure and deep. When you ask if you belong you give someone else power and power corrupts. So have the courage to simply be yourself and tell yourself that you belong. When you do that your confidence will grow and others will see in you that you have accepted the land beneath your soles and it has accepted you.