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So, a while back I wrote a post entitled “How I Came Out To Myself”. In light of recent events, I think it’s time for me to revisit the topic of my bisexuality. Y’know, since I’m getting my education from a school where the word “gay” has never been said on stage before? I swear, if I didn’t have this blog to express myself I would go legitimately insane.
Now, if you’ve been following this blog for a while (like, I’m saying this in the highly unlikely case that people actually read my posts) you would’ve read this post. It’s the first part of a series I’m going to start, called “How I Came Out To Myself”. Because I’ve always believed that as far as my sexuality is concerned, coming out to myself was the biggest challenge for me to pass. It’s a milestone that I’ll always want to revisit, reflect on, and learn from. I came out to my mother a good six months ago, and yet I still haven’t found that experience as unnerving as coming out to myself. She dismissed my “claim” that I was bisexual, stashing it under the category of teenage angst. Hey, no hard feelings, I wasn’t expecting anything different. I timed it safely- I chose to come out to her at a time where I already knew for sure that I was Bi. Nothing she could say would make me doubt my sexuality, I’m mature enough to know what I am and what I’m not.
But that’s all black and white. Her reaction didn’t change my identity, but that didn’t stop my feelings from getting hurt. And it’s instances like this that make me realize the importance of coming out to yourself. LGBTQ+ individuals sometimes find that they’re their only ally at one point or another. I’m going to be elaborating more on instances of seemingly minor, casual homophobia that served as huge barriers to me while I was trying to accept myself.
Let’s rewind to two years ago- I was a dewy eyed fourteen year old who seemed to live in the constant fear that the floor would fall out from under her feet. Constantly running from her emotions, sucking up tears, and overall just being all over the place because nobody told her any better. I remember asking if I could do a presentation on how LGBT people in our school get bullied, and I remember getting the idea torn down as inappropriate. I still regret how apologetic I was for standing up. I still remember running to the bathroom and locking myself up so I could breathe. Those emotions of internalized hatred were all too real and intense for my tiny body to handle. It brought me back to when I had to listen to my uncle harping on about how homosexuality can be cured, as if it should be cured. I remember when I confided in my mom about the failed presentation pitch. I only remember because it hurt so much when she hushed me and shut the conversation down. Even today, I hear the echo of a guy in my class asking “why do you care, anyway? You’re not gay” and I remember the way I replied, saying “no, of course not!”. There, in that bathroom stall I felt resentment boiling up inside of me like the black death. I felt the rising panic as I thought to myself “stop thinking these thoughts, no-one can know.” I was horrified with myself, and there’s no way for me to sugar coat that. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to capture how scary it is to try to run away from yourself.
That was two years ago, and a whole lot of things have changed since then. I realized that love is associated with specific activity in dopamine-rich brain regions associated with reward and motivation. Falling in love reduces your cortisol levels. Heck, love can even be a painkiller. Among these realizations I made one very important observation – love is love. Love is petty, love is going to be debatable, but it’s all the same hormones fucking with your brain, just in different sequences. Call me a little psycho for saying this, but this series of realizations made me understand the true beauty of love. And after this set of epiphanies, I found myself unable to ever admonish myself for love, the raw emotion. That’s one of the ways in which I accepted myself and even embraced my orientation, and I’m finding ways to accept myself all the time 🙂 You better believe I’ll be adding to this series whenever I find new lessons I teach myself!
Queertastic Is Out! (thank you for reading, if you did xD)
Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug (click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^)and also a few hotlines, just in case.
Vent to an anonymous stranger- https://www.7cups.com
In case you’re feeling suicidal- http://suicide.org/
Hotlines for Depression specifically- http://addiction.lovetoknow.com/wiki/Depression_Hotlines
Lately, my posts have been really pointless apart from like this one poem that I actually put a lot of thought into. The thing about writing is that ranging from a dime a dozen rant on romance to a deep and unique elegant piece, the relief of airing your feelings is a constant. Oh gosh, now I’m thinking about Chemistry and Math and literally any other subject where you need to learn about constants (Y’know, pi, Planck’s constant, the works) Anyways, ON TO THE POST.
So, I’ve always had a rather multi faceted relationship with pain. I mean, don’t we all? It’s just part of being human, or at least it is in my books. Be it physical pain, emotional pain, the kind of numb pain, the emotional pain that hurts you physically, the pain that seems determined to make you an insomniac… I’ve intentionally caused myself pain, (there’s like, a whole category of my blog dedicated to self harm and for the most part self harm recovery that you can check out here ❤ TRIGGER WARNING THO. Take care of yourself :)) I’ve been rushed into a hospital at 2 AM with cramps equivalent to labor pain (no, I’ve never been knocked up xD) and I’ve felt the pain of being unable to accept myself (again, there’s a whole blog section on me whining about and at the same time celebrating my sexuality which you can find here) and the pain of being kept awake with heartbreak and feelings of worthlessness. And yet, I’d feel like a snob if I called myself an expert on pain because I could’ve had all these things be ten times worse. Here are some thoughts I’ve cultured in my mind when it comes to pain, and though these are based on my experiences I sure do hope they make sense to anyone else reading this.
1- Wanting to cause yourself pain doesn’t make it hurt any less. Let’s be honest with ourselves in saying that wanting pain doesn’t make the pain you put yourself through any less painful. (hey, fun drinking game- take a shot every time I use the word pain). You can want nothing more to than to slide razors across your skin, again and again, day in and day out. It could be the core of your wants, but at the end of the day, the only thing wanting pain can create in the long term is, you guessed it, more pain. And that short burst of relief you feel from the pain you just created for yourself? Yeah, that’s not going to take you to the finish line. Wanting to put yourself through pain and following through with self destruction is the emotional (and sometimes physical) equivalent of taking one step forward and immediately taking two steps back. Y’know what, scratch that, because it’s more like taking two hundred steps back. While I’m mostly citing self arm, this could literally go for any emotional problem. I’ve been both physically and emotionally self destructive and the two can and do go hand in hand.
2- If you need pain, there’s a problem, and it’s a HUGE one. I know this should go without saying, but you’d be surprised at how many people I’ve had to convince. I’ve been a volunteer Listener at 7 Cups of Tea and more often than not I’ve had to convince self destructive and suicidal people that their need for pain is a huge problem with massive and catastrophic cause-effect relationships.
3- Physical pain and emotional pain are both completely unlike each other and yet extraordinarily comparable. While I think this one is fairly self explanatory, I’ll leave y’all with this thought- both physical and emotional pain have caused me endless nights with little to no relief. With the physical pain, I got to a hospital and got fixed. With the emotional pain I needed to have midnight talks till I convinced myself that I was fixed enough to go to sleep. Both the pains were fixable and unfixable at the same time. The physical pain left me being afraid to go to sleep every night, afraid of waking up to that same horrible unforgettable pain. The same goes for the emotional pain- I’m always running away from it.
4- All pain will warp your concept of “forever”. This point is probably one point that I find really important from all the others on this list. Pain makes you forget all past and future and leaves you with only the horrible present to focus on. The wrenching in your gut and the hot tears down your throat will make you forget that all emotions are temporary. I remember being convinced that my pain would never end, and once I was convinced that there was no escape, I’d make myself feel helpless and powerless. I would create my own despair because pain put me in a time warp.
5- Only you hold the key to destroying the pain that you create for yourself ❤ This point is, again, self explanatory. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. I’m not comparing all my lovely readers (do I even have readers) to horses, you’re all lovely unicorns, but you guys get it don’t you? They say you can’t keep a person alive once they’ve lost the will to live, and I completely agree with that. I think this goes mostly for emotional pain, and I know that whoever you are, you can totally get through whatever pain you’re facing 🙂
6- Pain is relative. This picture is basically all the 1000 words I wanted to say. What’s poison to you is Starbucks to a white girl (haha, aren’t stereotypes funny?)
7- Pain may/may not consist of a series of choices. This one’s kinda difficult to put into words, but I’m Queertastic. These are the feelings I will spend my entire life trying to capture. The thing about pain is that it consists of limits. We may/may not create this limits. When we push limits, they push back, and sometimes we’re left on the floor, breathless, and pretty goddamn screwed over. It’s just the way life works. You made a choice to push your limits, and now you’re in pain. Does that make pushing your limits a mistake? Not necessarily. That’s just something to think about. Conversely, as said by John Green, “You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you”, and I think he’s right. We’re all going to feel pain at some point, so looking at it that way feeling pain is not a choice, it’s uncontrollable. It’s an unfortunate (or fortunate) side effect of being human. Whether or not you control your pain or just let it crumble through your fingers is something you have at least the tiniest bit of control over.
8- One person’s pleasure is another person’s pain. I think for this one I can point you back to my Starbucks analogy. People thought I was crazy about self harming, and looking back it does seem crazy. It seems psycho that I felt so good about injuring myself, but I can still remember the relief it gave me. Is it scary to think of the way I got pleasure from pain,that my pleasure was pain? Briefly, yes. Elaborately, yeeeeeeeeesssssss. (where is my prize for lamest joke ever? I WANT IT NOW) But what I’ve learnt is that it’s okay to evolve from pleasure to pain to plain old numb, because pain is like that, it grows and changes, and soon your experiences with it will change for the better.
9- Feeling pain doesn’t make you weak, it just makes you human. You aren’t weak for wanting relief. You aren’t weak because you feel pain that literally every other human being on the planet is feeling.
There is no point ten. Point ten is a flimsy excuse for me to give you an internet hug for reading this far. xD
Queertastic Is Out! (thank you for reading, if you did xD)
Thank you for reading! wanna check out more rants and weird attempts at poems and musings? My blog is open, and if you’re nice I’ll hand out cookies xD Anyways, if you’re currently struggling with depression and are feeling alone, take this free hug(click here and here and here for cute GIF s that send hugs from me to you ^^)and also a few hotlines, just in case.
Vent to an anonymous stranger- https://www.7cups.com
In case you’re feeling suicidal- http://suicide.org/
Hotlines for Depression specifically- http://addiction.lovetoknow.com/wiki/Depression_Hotlines
This is going to be a huge, huge, rant on the stigma surrounding mental health and how massively suckish it is. Ugh. Mental Health is that one issue my school never talks about (oh, along with the LGBTQ+ community, but that’s a whole different post, guys, don’t even get me started on that one) It’s just so frustrating that in my school there’s never been any conversations on mental health. I’m not even gonna bother trying to bring it up, either. Because once I tried to start up an assembly on bullying against LGBTQ+ youth and I got shut down faster than you can say “I’m gay as hell and I love it!”. I think it’d be safe to assume that an effort to start a conversation on mental health would be shut down in a similar way. I’ve been a first hand sufferer of depression, and self harm, and I know self harm isn’t a mental illness, but there’s stigma surrounding that too, so yay, added bonus! (-.-) I just wish that there was less of a stigma surrounding mental health in my society, because if I had been able to talk about my depression, things would’ve been completely different for me. Instead, I’m locking myself in the bathroom, breaking down and then pulling myself back together before getting the hell out of there and acting normal.
Depression is enough baggage to carry already. Bisexuality is hard enough to accept on its own. Self Harm is something I’m already beating myself up about. The fact that there’s so much stigma surrounding everything just makes my life harder than it needs to be. I’m not ugly, society is. (I know, its an overused tumblr quote, but it’s actually true) I’ve been told by a friend to “just get over” my Depression, and what makes this burn particularly sting is that she’s actually a genuine friend whom I know only means the best for me- but
she’s got no clue what Depression is, not even in the slightest, and how am I supposed to blame her? she mean well, but we grew up in a society that shunned mental health issues as ‘not real issues’ that weren’t worth validation. I now live in a society where my self harm scars mean I’m crazy suicidal and a freak. I currently have to be so burningly conscious of my scars everywhere I go. I get it, I made mistakes, but the stigma surrounding those mistakes makes them less like a part of my past and more like a cancer foo my present, which is so fucking counter-productive, thanks a lot, stigma. And don’t even get me started on the people who are constantly romanticizing mental illness. You, yeah you, if you’re one of those people, hi, let’s sit down and have a conversation about how cute it is to have anxiety, or how tragically romantic it is to cut yourself, or how bad ass it is to be depressed, how anorexic that girl looks, I bet it must be soooooo thrilling, right? Because they’re not metal disorders anymore if you keep trivializing them and making them less of an issue than they actually are. And that is a huge problem, because when people who are actually suffering gather up the courage to cry for help, all they’ll get in response is “you’ve been looking at too much thinspo, go eat a sandwich” or “hush, it’s just teenager angst”. And jut like that, their experiences will be invalidates. There’s already so much stigma, and now you’re romanticizing something that never got proper widespread recognition in the first place. I cannot just get over my Depression, and recovery from self harm is not as easy as counting to ten.
Some things just need to be said, and some screams for help just need to be heard. Living in a society which constantly invalidates experiences related to mental health goes against this. I remember one particularly terrifying night, I was up until 4 A.M. unable to sleep, ad I was tossing and turning and I felt as though the sky was inexplicably heave, collapsing into me. I felt as though I was breathing in liquid lead, as though my slightest movement was enough to send everything crashing down. I felt so low that I thought I hadn’t just hit rock bottom, I was rock bottom, and while words can’t fully articulate the emotional fatigue I felt that night, one word in particular comes to mind, every single time I think of that night, without fail- heavy. The night was unbearably, excruciatingly heavy, a weight of worlds unknown to me, a weight that greeted me like a malicious stranger, a sadistic opportunist. That was a night where I felt as though I needed to be heard, to be listened to, to be validated, because the inexplicable and unrelenting heaviness of my situation was one that I couldn’t possibly come out of. every single thought that plagues me that night was black, as though even my own mind had succumbed to madness and had devoted itself to my downfall. That is the type of unadulterated horror that I have to watch being romanticized, trivialized, and coldly dismissed. Stigma, don’t fuck with me.
I am unapologetic. Unashamedly unapologetic. Because I used to feel as though an apology was always in order for everything, but that isn’t the case. I’m sorry if y not being sorry offends anyone. I’ve been going back and forth the whole year, I’ve been saying sorry and I’ve been feeling rather trapped in my own mind. That ends here. I’m not sorry for wearing a shirt that shows my scars. I’m not sorry for being bisexual. I’m not sorry for not being normal, and I am not sorry because my happiness takes a little bending of the rules. I’m not sorry. The whole year seems to have played itself out into one big apology, and that eds year. 2016 is not an apology.
For all the times I snuck out of the house and had to lie about who I was with and where I was going, I don’t think I was wrong. I am not sorry. Because I am happy, and will not apologize for lying to maintain sanity, I will not apologize for loving him. I don’t think I ever want to apologize for loving him, because they may find it wrong, but I’ve never felt anything more right before. Yes, I’ve been lying just to be able to see him, but I refuse to feel guilty over that stolen happiness anymore. Maybe I’m too young to know what I want, but right now I want him, and I know he will make me happy. He’s mine, and I’m not sorry about that either. Maybe I should be, that’s a matter of opinion, but I can assure you I choose not to be, because it’s gotten to the point where apologizing for my own happiness has become second nature. I’m not going to settle for that anymore. I’m not sorry, by the way, to the nurse who had to give me a blood test that day in the hospital. I’m not sorry that you had to look at my hideous self harm cars on my wrist. They’re just clumps of scar tissue, and if I’m over it it should be easy enough for you to get over to. I’m not sorry you had to see them, especially after you asked me whether or not I was crazy. I’m not sorry for my sexuality, because that is who I am, and that can’t be changed. I’m absolutely unapologetic about the fact that I can, and have, and will, fall in love with both boys and girls. That’s just twice as many butterflies in my stomach, but I’m not sorry.
This Saturday has been a tough one for me, and today seemed kind of overwhelming, so I thought “hey, why not blog about it?” and well, here I am. Hey there blogosphere, nice to see you again. I’m feeling upset, and kind of just emotionally fatigued, so I shall now vent into the vast wide internet and remind myself (and whoever is reading this) that people get lonely a lot but just because we feel lonely doesn’t mean we’re alone. You, Me, Us? We’re never alone. Never. Just a heads up, this blog post is going to be me trying to be stronger than I actually am, and this blog post is me trying to be more positive than I could ever actually be as of now.
I woke up this morning with that damn-I-don’t-wanna-get-outta-bed feeling that is all too familiar to those who are struggling with depression. You guys know what I’m talking about. Then I did something I’m ashamed of, I looked at thinspo, and I know I shouldn’t have and it made my day a lot worse. I feel almost ashamed to look at those thigh gaps and wish that I had them. I know, they’re not healthy nor are they a measure of beauty. All bodies are beautiful, and I feel like crap for even looking at thinspo and wanting to be thin. I remember looking desperately for my blade, only to remember that I lost it. I remember fumbling around for a kitchen knife, only to stop myself at the last minute. Gosh,today was messed up. I remember wishing I was straight, and as you can probably tell, today was one of those days where literally every little burning insecurity came back to haunt me. I regret looking for that knife, and I regret that if I had my blade I’d still be bleeding out instead of writing this post. I regret looking at that god awful thinspo, and gosh, do I regret wishing I was straight. What was I thinking? Seriously, what the actual eff was I even doing with my Saturday?!?! I won’t deny that being Bisexual has it’s own cons and that sometimes it’d be easier to just be straight, but I didn’t fight the uphill battle of accepting myself just to regret my own identity. I don’t ever want to regret my own identity. I don’t ever want to be ashamed of who I am. That being said, my scars are a part of who I am, right? And I’m ashamed of them. But I’m more ashamed of how weak I was today, it’s left me feeling exhausted and disappointed in myself. But I’m only human, and humans are supposed to have bad days. Days where everything shoves itself up your ass. Days where everything seems to drown you. The day has turned into a night of drinking chamomile tea and being so endlessly tired but unable to sleep. Gah. I hear you thinking- is this whole post just going to be a whiny teenager ranting? Nope. That would be unproductive, and I’ve had enough unproductivity (is that a word?) for one day.
So, to whoever you are reading this, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I’m mainly writing this to feel less alone, yes, but I might as well feel less alone by talking to the internet and telling whoever is on the other surface of the screen that they’re not alone. Feeling alone sucks, feeling empty sucks, sometimes just existing sucks and you feel insignificant and like nobody actually gives a flying fuck about you. Yeah, I’ve been there. And I’m not alone in being there, thousands of others have hit rock bottom only to come out stronger than ever. You may be overwhelmed right now, but life is only throwing things at you because it has nobody else to pick on. You don’t get a say in what happens to you. You don’t get to choose whether or not you feel pain. So many of us feel alone in whatever battles we’re facing but we’re not. We’re not alone, we’re just lonely, all of us. I the suicide attempts, in the self harm, in the wishing I was straight, in the crying at 3 am, I’ve felt endlessly alone, isolated, a freak, but I’m not alone. To whoever is reading this, regardless of what battle you;’re facing, I can promise you that you are not alone at all, you just feel lonely, the way i do right now. And that’s okay, that’s part of going through the motions and you’ll live with it, survive with it, conquer it. Because we all have days where we fumble for our blades and feed our addictions. We all have bad days where we let our demons take over now and then. The bad days don’t define us. They won’t define us, because we all have them and we’re all human. The bad days, the tears, they make us human. They are part of recovery, and recovery is an uphill battle. I’m not happy with today, but today is one day out of the rest of my life and I can’t dwell on it at all. You may not have been happy with your day either, stranger, but you’re not alone and you won’t be alone ever. Trust me, somebody out there can relate to feeling like you’re drowning and nobody can save you (I know I can). I’m tired, this rant was borne out of frustration, but i feel like I had to put this out there.
To whoever is reading this: you are not alone.
The title of this post probably seems weird, doesn’t it? I hope it doesn’t sound as weird as I think it will, because as far as I know, having to come out to yourself is a normal thing to have to do as an LGBTQ+ person- right? Oh gosh, please tell me I’m right xD Well, I’m Bisexual, and that took me a super long time to accept, but I’m happy I did because after coming out to myself I felt as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders- it was unimaginably light, and as if I could finally be at peace with myself and my identity. It took me ages just to conjure up the courage to even consider the fact that I might be Bi, and I’m pretty proud of myself for coming this far and being able to accept myself. It was a longer process than I thought it’d be, and it was definitely huge challenge that was years in the making.
There are so many things that I think would’ve made it easier for me to find acceptance from myself, and most of these had to do with the society I live in (it’s hetero-normative) and the people I surround myself with on a daily basis (*cough* homophobic family members *cough*). As a kid, I just constantly felt different, and not the kind of different that made me feel good. I just always thought something was wrong with me, and couldn’t ever put a finger on why I felt so different- was I freak? Was this how everyone else felt? I had absolutely nothing to guide my thoughts, and as a result I spent most of my life up till now just being confused and pushing these thoughts to the back of my brain. My parents barely acknowledge that the LGBTQ+ community even exists, so how am I supposed to come out if they don’t acknowledge the existence of my identity? All of these thoughts and my surroundings at the time just made it even harder for me to accept myself so I did what I think anyone else would’ve done- I ignored that part of me for a very long time. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew I was different, but I also knew I was terrified to consider that I was different, and I’d always just dub myself straight and call it a day. I was in denial over my own identity, how majorly suckish is that? Finally, I decided to sit down and be honest with myself. It all happened via this site called 7cups.com, where I’m signed up as a Listener. Never heard of the site? well, it’s basically a support site that allows people to share their stories, and when I entered and joined a discussion with their LGBTQ+ community, I felt a sense of belonging that I’d never experienced before. Here I found something I thought I never would: people who felt exactly the way I did. Here I found people who were just like me. It was then that I realized- I’m not a freak, and I’m not alone at all. This is what prompted and encouraged me to come out, to myself. And after quite a fair bit of thinking, I realized that yes, I’m very, very, Bisexual, and it’s been that way since I was born. Don’t get me wrong, this didn’t happen overnight- nothing important ever does, unfortunately. It’s not like after spending a few minutes in the support group I was like “fabulous, I’m Bisexual, let’s party!”.
Nope, nothing could be further from the truth. The reality of things was that after that (amazing) support session, I spent a lot of nights tossing and turning and questioning myself. The memories came flooding back to me so fast, you’d be surprised. The acute feeling I felt as a kid that made me feel like the odd one out, that feeling and the memory of feeling like that one ugly duckling in the crowds of white swans, the same one that had been irking the back of my mind for the majority of my (relatively short) life, that feeling just came flooding back, threatening to drown me, and I realized how, being in that support group, it was temporarily lifted off my shoulders. Before attending that support session, I don’t think I had fully understood how alone I’d been constantly feeling. I felt a sense of belonging like no other I’ve experienced before. To finally fit in- that’s powerful. Especially after a lifetime of wondering whether you are the odd one out. The constant nights of contemplating my bisexuality led me to the conclusion that yes, I was in fact bisexual. The conclusion to these months of deliberation wasn’t a dramatic one, it was years in the making. To be completely honest, I found the conclusion to all the self-questioning quite anti climactic, for something that had been brewing inside me for years. When I accepted myself, I didn’t get any pats on the back, there was no celebration, not even an internal one. I felt a bit like a 5K marathoner who’d finished an exhausting journey, only to realize nobody/nothing is waiting for them at the end. This wasn’t like anything me or anyone else in my life has had to deal with before, and disentangling the confusion I had surrounding my identity was just scratching the surface of everything else that was left to do- and I had no idea where to start. It’s like, okay, I have my identity, but now what to do with it? I felt completely lost in that sense, because coming out to myself was like scaling a huge mountain and then asking myself, “what now?”. I came out to myself, and yeah, that’s the first (extremely difficult) step, but now I was left in uncharted territory with no maps at all. And I was, and still feel, alone. Immediately questions arose in my mind about coming out to everyone else, questions about how to deal with the rampant homophobia present in my family. It was all quite overwhelming.
Sure, I’ve accepted me, and yes, that’s a huge achievement, but nobody acknowledged that, and as a result I’ve been left feeling more alone than when I started. Not that I’m complaining, because things could be a lot worse for me. Since coming out to myself, I’ve come out to a few friends and my boyfriend. My boyfriend was wonderfully accepting of me, and so were most of my friends. A few of them had reservations about me, but I don’t blame them, and I’m still giving them time to come around. I’m learning, and I’m constantly trying to be more comfortable with my identity and who I am. The long term goal is, of course, to come out to my parents, but something tells me that won’t be happening in a long time.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Thank you for reading 🙂 ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥