Just a 20 year old Ghanaian Dutch person that loves to divide her time between eating and sleeping 😊

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13776
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2020-03-13 16:13:49

    “I just feel like I should be doing better.  I’m nowhere near retirement.  I’m working two jobs: I’m a licensed tour guide, and I make videos for businesses.  But even that’s not enough, so recently I’ve started working for the census.  I don’t want to run down the census: it’s fine, it’s great, it’s important work.  But I’m ashamed of it.  Because I’m sixty-five years old, I’m a college graduate, and I’m supposed to be done by now.  I’m supposed to be coasting.  But I’m not even close.  I feel like I still don’t even have a grip on the basics: how to make a living, how to keep my house in order, how to take care of myself.  And it feels shameful.  I feel not grown up.  Like I should have learned all of this so long ago.  And I’m afraid people will think it’s pathetic.  Worse than that.  They’ll think I’m incapable.  So I’ve been keeping a lot hidden.  I haven’t even told my colleagues about the census.  And that’s one thing I’m trying to work on— not keeping things hidden.  Because I know this shame isn’t healthy.  It isn’t right.  I’m luckier than 99 percent of people.  I’ve been sober for 39 years.  I have the greatest wife of 32 years.  I don’t have any crippling debt.  I’m doing OK.  I shouldn’t have to hide my situation.  And being more open has helped.  Because once I start telling people, and I see they’re not judging me, and that they’re still loving me, the shame tends to disappear.”

    “If I’m away too long, he’ll come find me.  Even if I’m just upstairs watching my program on television, he’ll wander up to see what I’m doing.  And we’re always holding hands.  Even if we’re just sitting on the train or the bus, he’ll always find some way to touch me.  Just to let me know he’s right there.  That he got me.  He might not even notice that he’s doing it.  But I always do.”

    “They call me the Filipino James Bond.  I was personal lawyer to the station chief of the CIA in the Philippines.  My forte was public and private international law.  You know, if a German guy has a child with a prostitute in Hong Kong, and it’s born in Africa, who gets custody?  That kind of stuff.  It was twenty-two months of stories and adventures.  The CIA got everything out of me.  Then they left me for dead.  So I retreated into the jungles for seven years of silence.  These were the deepest and filthiest of jungles.  The worst in the world.  Witches everywhere.  Genuine cannibals.  Eaters of flesh and blood.  I kept silent for seven years and only emerged when called by the Lord.  You don’t have to ask my name.  Just read Revelations 12.  Then tell everyone I’m here.  And that you met me.”

    “Only time I’m unhappy is when I have a toothache.  And I rarely have a toothache.  I just love people and it gets reflected back to me.  I’m always smiling.  So when people see me, they be smiling.  Even the mean people get cheered up.  If someone says: ‘What you looking at?’  I just say: ‘God loves you.’  Then the Holy Ghost touches them.  They think, ‘Darn it, I’m being mean to a nice guy.’  Then they get nice.“

    “I’m pretty sure life is going to start sucking around 15 or 16 because that’s when I have to get my first job.  After that everything looks pretty scary.  Adults don’t have an actual life.  You can’t go outside.  You don’t get to hang out with friends very much.  Maybe text a little, but that’s it.  You just wake up, get ready for work, then work, then maybe watch a little TV, then go to bed.  All of it seems depressing.  But apparently everyone has to do it.” (Hong Kong)

    “When I was a teenager my dad gave me a 50 Euro bill, and he wrote a message to my future children.  Something like: ‘For you, little one.  From Grandpa.’  But my addiction was stronger than the gift.  And I spent it on food.  I kept a little trash can hidden in my closet.  I’d use it five or six times a day.  It was always about control.  I couldn’t control much in my life, but I could control this.  I had the power to make people worry about me.  I had the power to make the numbers go down.  Eventually my parents stopped keeping food at home.  They put a lock on the fridge.  My whole day was structured around food.  I tracked everything I ate.  And at some point in the day it would feel like too much, so I’d throw it up.  I felt disgusting.  I felt like people could smell it from a mile away.  So I kept to myself.  And what do you do when you’re all alone, and you don’t have anything, and you want a little pleasure?  You eat.  Then you throw up.  It was so hard to stop.  If it had been as easy as chopping off my hand, I would have done it.  But it’s not like cigarettes or alcohol.  You can’t just kick food out of your life.  You have to confront it.  You have to get back to normal.  Even now it’s inside of me.  I know I’m still vulnerable, especially during my low points.  But it’s not my life anymore.  It started with single days.  Nights where I’d lie in bed and realize I hadn’t thrown up.  Then weeks would go by.  I’d have major fallbacks, but by then I’d tasted normalcy, and I wanted more of it.  You miss so much of life with your face in a toilet.  So I’d start over again.  Now I have things in my life more powerful than the addiction.  Recently I told my dad about the 50 Euro bill, and how I’d spent it, and how guilty I felt.  He told me not to worry, and gave me this new one.  It’s not the same.  But this time I’m going to keep it.” (Berlin, Germany)

    “When I got my first one, he thought I’d done it to make him angry.  He told me that only criminals had tattoos.  And he didn’t speak to me for three days after that.  I was his youngest daughter.  Both my siblings were twenty years older, so I was his little girl.  And I don’t think he could let go.  We’d argue all the time.  But he just wanted to protect me from everything bad that could happen.  When I was in high school, even if I came home from a party at 3AM, he’d be awake in the living room.  I’d hear the TV turn off as soon as I walked in.  And even after I moved out, he’d always call to see if I was OK.  Actually he’d make my mom call.  Because he was too proud to do it himself.  Mom would make small talk for a few minutes, then she’d always say: ‘Your dad wants to ask you something.’  I remember one time his voice was breaking on the phone.  He just kept pausing, and asking when I’d be coming home again.  I think he already knew about the cancer.  We discovered it so late.  By then we only had about three months left.  It was hard to see him get so weak.  He’d been strong his entire life. He’d been working since the age of fourteen.  Never for himself.  He never spent his own money.  It was all for us.  Eventually it got to the point where he could only lay on his bed.  He was so sleepy from the chemo.  But even then he kept trying to protect me.  He would just keep saying: ‘I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about me at all.  I don’t want you to worry.’” (Berlin, Germany)