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weraceasone · 3 years

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Elle, tell me why I have to be a Max Verstappen fan since I’m Dutch? So on Twitter someone asked to tell where you’re from and who your favorite and least favorite driver(s) is/are. So I said I was Dutch and I’m a big fan of Lewis, the Twitch guys, Daniel and Seb. My least favorite driver is Max. All of sudden a whole orange wave of Max Verstappen fans came to attack me:

“you just a fangirl” (this comment is getting very boring *yawn*).

“you’re picking a driver based on looks that’s racist” (weird comment very very weird)

“Max Verstappen is better than your faves” (not completely true, but who cares? My favorite driver does not have to be the best. I would still be happy with one of them finishing on p11 lmao)

So I posted quick a follow up tweet saying that “I think he is a impressive driver but he is just not my fave.”

I feel like here in the Netherlands we’re only focused on Max (I get it but come one he is not the only driver on the grid). If we as a country would be a team we would be Red Bull since some us only care about one driver (get it, lol). And Ziggo Sport isn’t helping either. After every race I’m trying my best to catch a glimpse of a driver other than Max 🙄. Oh and last thing: The men at Ziggo Sport must keep the same energy for Max as the other driver. When he spins it's okay, but when others do they are bad drivers... Come on men. Again this is no disrespect to Max he is AMAZING (I feel like I should say this everytime otherwise I will get attacked). But I’m just not a big fan of him.

I choose a driver based on personality (which is maybe not a great way to do since having a great personality does not automatically makes you a great driver). But me not being a fan of Max should not make people this mad lol. Most of these drivers do not even know us!

This turned into a whole rant. I’m sorry but it was just getting to me. But let me end on a positive not; I love your blog, the content and you personality. Een hele fijne dag gewenst! Ik weet niet hoe het weer bij jou is, maar hier in Zandvoort schijnt het zonnetje een beetje dus ik ga ff lekker genieten heurrr.

hey Anon!

patriotism is a funny thing, isn’t it? in life we always tend to be drawn to people that we have something in common with. we are drawn to the feeling of unity, a sense of belonging. in these moments nothing else matters, apart from the fact we feel the same thing, have the same want. in the end it’s a bit of an illusion; what do I have in common with somebody who grew up in the other side of the country, with a different set of parents and a different set of people they were influenced by? next to nothing. Max Verstappen being a figurehead for our country is honestly a bit of an illusion too. he never lived here, never went to school here, doesn’t know the Dutch national anthem… it makes me wonder; how Dutch does that make him?

the feeling of being united is tightly linked together with a feeling of ‘being the best’. it’s something we always strive for in Dutch culture, no matter what we do, we have to be the best. we write songs about it and fight our whole lives to achieve the feeling and it somehow feels like everything is ruined when we can’t accomplish it. and the feeling of being the best often ends up with stomping anyone into the ground who dares to break that little bubble that we are living in. the realization that the Red Bull isn’t a championship-winning car, and probably won’t be for a while, is a painful one for a lot of people. I don’t think the Ziggo Sport F1 show is a good one. I’ve criticized them many times before for only focusing on Max, and completely forgetting about the other drivers. yet, it caters to the people’s needs. it’s what the Dutch people want to see. and if Max wasn’t doing well? well, then the show and the media attention wouldn’t be there.

the patriotism comes with a bitter taste of arrogance too. Max is a good driver, he really is. he probably will win that first Dutch World Championship one day and my dad will cry just like he cried when Max won his first race. it’s funny because somehow things like these only get paid attention to, you know; if the people in question are doing well. we never paid any attention to our Dutch national team in women’s football, we never cared about any of their results until they were beating other countries. somehow only the good side matters, while the bad side is something that we close our eyes to. when a football player does well, they are the someone we can look up to, someone we should admire, they are Dutch. when that same football player makes a mistake, a huge one, they aren’t any of those things. we resent them for not fitting into our mold. everything that is Dutch, is inherently good to us; everything that is not, is inherently less-good-even-sometimes-bad to us. there’s certain countries and cultures we can handle, but only if they look and act like us. Germans? they’re fine. Belgians? they are normal people; they are like us. I guess that’s the one thing that bothers me about it. about the patriotism. I’ve said it before, but I feel as if everything we do and say in sport, somehow finds a way to translate back into real life, if it hasn’t already. (we have become accustomed to the idea that this is how it should be. our culture and traditions are top tier, and anything or anyone that doesn’t represent that, is lesser than. how do we teach children that the color of their skin doesn’t matter, their accent doesn’t matter, where their parents are from doesn’t matter; when it somehow is reflected back onto everything that we do?) do I think patriotism is inherently bad? not necessarily. I just think that patriotism should not be synonymous with division. it shouldn’t become a competition of who does and who doesn’t fit into our ‘perfection’ mold. sport creates unity and it should be that way, regardless of which country you are from and which driver support. at the end of the day, we all watch this sport because we love it. and nothing else.

Anon, dankjewel voor de interessante vraag! hier in Amsterdam, dus niet al te ver van Zandvoort vandaan, scheen de zon ook heerlijk vandaag. ik wens je nog een fijne avond! 🧡 (oh, en later toegevoegd; vergat je helemaal te bedanken voor je lieve woorden over mijn blog en persoonlijkheid, dankjewel daarvoor!! ontzettend lief, het betekent echt veel voor me🧡)

#elle answers #handpicked by elle

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narcissisticsurvivor-blog · 7 years

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My story

I am blessed. I must remind myself every day. I am so blessed. The worst must happen to some so they can truly understand the good and the right. I picked up this blog to simply unleash my feelings coming from the complex PTSD I’m left to deal with from the abuse, the sexual assaults, and simply dealing with a narcissist. I have an amazing fiance who loves me and would listen but the woman my ex made me to be is too afraid to talk to my partner about any male. Because if I was with him, he’d call me a whore just for mentioning a man’s name. The way I was molded will impact the right man for me the wrong way, probably my whole life, because of how far the lies and manipulation reached. Today, I have two unexpected loves growing rapidly, that could’ve only existed through my mistake. The mistake was a he, and he was A*****. He cut me off from the whole world; my friends, my family, driving, my education, and eventually my choice career and any job I sought out. Once there was no one left to witness, the abuse spiraled out of control. He was a devil in a blue-eyed disguise. I will write the rest of this letter direct at him, revealing all the things I never said because he wouldn’t let me.

I was 15. The first day you saw me, if I knew the truth, I would have ran.

I saw an angel, my future, the second I laid eyes on you. But that was all a part of your trap. The hat, the clothes, the wink; you knew what you were doing because you’d done it all before. While I made the choice of exclusively- just LOOKING at you, you were nowhere near deserving of it.

You were 19. In a relationship with a black woman purely because your racist ass thought it’d be fun to tell all your friends what sex with a black woman is like. She had no clue about your true identity either. She sure as hell didn’t know about me. What she did know was she was pregnant with your baby and she was so scared to tell you.

The day we met, you and your other pervert friend were talking about me and my other underage acquaintance, Harley. You joked over Facebook messenger about “who’d fuck who”. You didn’t even want me, you wanted H****. Your friend was the one that said I “was hot”.

But all I knew was you were 19. I wouldn’t find any of the other stuff out until it was too late.

Looking back, your Subway footlong pickup line should’ve given me a clue to what you were looking for- a sex slave. But when you said, “Do you work at Subway, cuz you just gave me a footlong,” 15 year old me forced a laugh. Because I just wanted you to like me.

You were too old for me, but I had the biggest crush. You being unobtainable only made it worse.

I’d spend about a month daydreaming of you finding me pretty, wanting to take me out, or even wanting to be my friend. I was a sad, pathetic, lonely 15 year old. New to the state, with no friends, family problems, and a cloud of depression that followed me everywhere I went.

Once you showed interest in me, I instantly became the dumbest girl in the world. I was so thrilled to have anyone’s attention, let alone a hot, tan boy with good hair and blue eyes. And always seemed to enjoyed music, acting and dance. I, naive and plain stupid, believed every word.

It wouldn’t be long before you put down the mirror of my hobbies and revealed the truth… Just another three months until you would tell me to stop dancing to the Cupid Shuffle because I was attracting too much attention. You’d stop taking me to the karaoke bar because too many people clapped when I sang and not enough clapped for you. You told me part of being your girlfriend was never going to the club because it’s for sluts looking for hookups. Another six months until you would yell at me just for dancing in my own room, alone, in the early morning as exercise when I thought you were sleeping. “WHY are you doing that?! JUST WHO are you trying to impress?!” I’d quickly turn off the music and do whatever else it was you wanted at the moment instead.

But I couldn’t see the future. All I saw was the character you were PLAYING. You pretended to be charming, caring, and copied everything I loved to make us seem like the perfect match.

About a week after we officially got together, I saw the reflection of your tilted phone in the window of my mother’s car. You were texting some girl named J******. You said, “I love you too.” I didn’t say a word, worried you’d chose her over me if I said anything about it. I just wanted your attention. It made me feel so special, for the first time in my life.

The next time I saw you texting her, it was to break up. I said something that time. You told me she was nothing, just a sex project. Then she told you about the baby.

A few days later, she got an abortion. And you couldn’t have cared less. What’s worse is writing this and realising that I didn’t either. I was just happy I won. But now I know it’s only because I gave you sex and was moldable.

Before we even got together, you kissed me, did lots of things to me I’d never experienced before… And when it came time for you to ask me if I’d let you “put just the head in” I SAID yes… BUT I WAS 15. I had been raped and molested as a child, I honestly thought sex was all “love” was. Because that’s what my abuser had told me each time, “I love you, that’s why I can’t control myself.” That’s what you told me too.

You had me steal condoms from my parents after you ran out of your own supply… You used me. I was 15 and desperate for love and you used it all against me.

That night, you went outside and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. You offered me some too. You said you were panicked because what we did was illegal and that I was going to send you to jail. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to be loved. I assured you everything would be okay. And once I told you I wouldn’t call the cops, you said, “You’re 15 AND you’ll give me sex?! This is awesome!” I was hurt. And then you said it was a joke.

It wasn’t a joke…

A few weeks in, I opened up about my past. You told me I lied to you when I said I was a virgin because rape is still sex. I was so furious, desperate to change your mind… You didn’t stop saying that until I told you I wouldn’t be with someone who thought that. You still believed it though.

You moved into my parents house the night we had sex, because you wanted access to me all the time. You wanted to make sure I wasn’t seeing ANYONE else, not friends or family. You went crazy and blocked all my ex boyfriends from my Facebook page. You made sure I was wearing what you thought was appropriate. My parents laughed and encouraged it.

They wish they didn’t now…

You influenced everything from then on out. You told me I couldn’t go to college or you’d break up with me. That college was just for hoes to party. You wouldn’t let me go to a normal high school. You made sure I enrolled at the whack private school you graduated from. I was surrounded by kids with disabilities, I wore a uniform every day. I was a smart student. I didn’t need help. In fact, I graduated a year and three months early. Doing 13 credits in one year. It’s not like I needed to go there like you did….. I could’ve graduated anywhere.

You made sure you still made appearances at the school though… You asked me every day if anyone flirted with me, and called me a liar when I said no. I tried to make a friend, but you wouldn’t let me spend the night, or even spend an hour… Because if you were off work, I was expected to be next to you.

You proposed without my parents permission. I was 16. You were 20. I said yes, because if a man offers to be there until the end, make you his only, you take it. Especially if you love them. I thought it meant you really loved me. It meant there was a ring for other men to see. But not for long. Because I asked you to take me dress shopping for prom, you flipped out. Started yelling at me in the middle of a Steak and Shake. You had other plans and they didn’t involve doing what I needed. You stormed out and left me with a bill. But I had no money because you wouldn’t let me work. So, I had to apologize and leave. I wanted to be done with you then. But you wouldn’t let me. I gave you the ring and you threw it. You lost it forever. You should’ve lost me forever then, too. But instead you followed me everywhere as I tried to walk to the nearest bus. You’d grab me and turn me around to make me talk to you. You’d fake cry and tell me this wouldn’t happen again. I wouldn’t get in your car to go home until you promised to not say a word to me. Once we got to my home, I still didn’t want you. You were raging. You put holes in my parents walls and packed all your things and threw them in the back of your truck. You told me I was nothing. That I was evil for leading you on. And then, you starting crying. It worked. The tears pulled me back in, because I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. I wasn’t the same sadistic person you were. I gave you another chance, you said it wouldn’t happen again. We went and looked for the ring. It was gone.

Once I graduated, things REALLY went down hill.

I didn’t keep my first job because there were mornings you just wouldn’t let me go. You didn’t have to work, or you wouldn’t go, and you just didn’t want to be alone that day. It was always like that… What I needed to do was never more important then what you wanted to do. You ALWAYS came first.

I went to visit my family in [another state] without you because you said you needed to work. Understandable- COMPLETELY. The whole time I was there, you harassed me with phone calls calling me a liar and a cheater… When the whole time, I was with my family. But when I got back, you didn’t have a job because you didn’t go in. You partied all night at a beach hotel with another one of your pervert friends… Doing coke with random chicks.

!!!And to this day you still think *I* cheated on you!!!

You told all your friends about it. Including J*******. I’m his now. He watched me cry too many times because of you.

You introduced us shortly after I returned to Florida. I never tried anything with him. I never tried anything with anyone. I was loyal. Something you weren’t. But I didn’t know that then. If I did, I would’ve ran away with J******* then. He was the only friend you had with a good heart, and you used him for weed. You’d steal from him.

You made me lie and say we were broken up again so that I could get weed for you because you used him so much money. Oh yeah, weed always came before me too. If I had money and you didn’t, you were taking it to buy weed.

We moved in with your boss shortly after you convinced him to give you another try at your job. He watched me sleep. He lifted the blankets and saw my naked body. I told you. You did nothing. You wouldn’t let me report him to the police because he was an illegal immigrant. I just loved with the shame and stupidity of feeling safe in our room. I was never safe with you. I blamed myself. He still follows me on Facebook. He likes my pictures.

Once you lost your job there AGAIN, we moved into your mom’s… Completely out of options.

She always made me feel so low. And you let her. In fact, you fed her lies to make yourself look better and condemn me.

I got a job at [a restaurant] walking to work every day. I never spent the money I made… You did.

Once I turned 18, you turned 22. I was working with you at [the restaurant]. Still walking to work every day because you sold the car for a half of weed.

Before I started working there, you talked so highly about me to your coworkers. “She’s a model, we’re engaged!” You’d say. Now, you gossiped about me “fucking my photographers”. I stopped modeling from the shame. Even though it wasn’t true.

You invited all our coworkers over to drink every night after work. At one point, we did that 13 nights in a row. They were all you cared about, even though you talked shit on every one of them. You wouldn’t let me be friends with R*****. I’m still not sure if it’s because you were afraid I’d act like her or if it’s because you slept with her.

I came in one morning to her on the floor in your boxers. I didn’t assume anything. I believed you when you said she passed out drunk.

She wanted to know if I was safe… A lot of my friends and family had asked me that now… I always told them yes. Even though you’d rage every week and break something new. Whether it was my phone, a bong, or something of yours. You made it very clear I was the one you’d prefer to hurt.

One day, I cut myself so bad out of relapse… I had gotten so much better… But you stood over my body and screamed, “Just cut yourself you pathetic whore!!! You’re just an ungrateful little slut!” And I cried… And I did it. Then, you came so close to hitting me for the first time. But you stopped right in front of my face, my mom was in the doorway, and you said, “You DESERVE this!”

I went to a mental institution in handcuffs that day. You called the cops. On me.

I went to a friend’s house ONE night. And you got drunk, ignored me all night, and slept with your buddy’s crush.

You obviously didn’t use protection because I have STDs I didn’t have before. And she asked me to get her a pregnancy test.

That was before I knew you slept with her.

That’s the only reason you told me… Because you thought she’d tell me first.

I was living with her for a week… Trying to get over you. And the whole time she didn’t tell me what happened.

Because you told me and she didn’t, I came back to you. I felt I had no choice. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t go back to her home, the only place I had to live. You said everything would be different. You punched yourself in the face until it was unrecognizable after I refused to “hit you to make it even”.

Things were so much worse.

More yelling, and you blamed me for all your mistakes. I couldn’t ever call you on your crap because you wouldn’t admit what you were doing to me… Emotional abuse. You stopped going into work. You stole from others to keep yourself fed. I starved.

I was suicidal. I sought getting away forever.

We moved away to [another state] because you ran out of people to use here. Things escalated.

You punched me for the first time.

You tried to kill us by ripping the emergency brake across a busy highway, sliding us in circles, across lanes.

You didn’t let me break up with you. It simply wasn’t allowed. You’d threaten me.

You didn’t care when I said no to sex. You did it anyways.

We moved from my dad’s because you were driving everyone crazy. Mostly me. I googled suicide methods with every spare second. I was trying to find something that would work. I didn’t have access to a gun or I wouldn’t be here.

We moved into an old friends’ house. They saw something was wrong too. I tried to listen… I knew they were right. She sent me a link on narcissistic abuse… I tried to break up with you that day. You made me go in the bedroom for privacy. Then you raped me and tried to get me pregnant. I had tears streaming down my face the whole time. You didn’t care. You went to go smoke some weed after. I needed it too. And a cigarette… Somehow I picked up that habit from all the years of you offering me a cigarette. But I didn’t tell anyone that night. I tried to make sense of it. And the only thing in all these months since that makes any sense at all is that you thought by forcing us to have sex, you were showing an act of love and it would make me realize how much you love me. But that’s not right. It was rape. And you couldn’t love. You thought you could, but you can’t.

I remember the night you said, “Tell me you know I love you”. I said, “I know you think you love me but not unconditionally, not the way it should be,” and that was enough for you… I think about it a lot. It’s proof you didn’t ever love me the right way, the way I thought you did. The only reason I stayed.

I kept looking at that website when you weren’t right next to me. I knew by reading that people like you don’t let people like me leave. I had to escape.

And that’s what I did.

It only took me a week to find my true love. He was there for me more as a friend, in one night, than you ever were. I cried for weeks every time he simply didn’t treat me like you did. I was so used to it, I had made excuses for you for so long. To see a real life, existing gentleman who loved me unconditionally in just ONE day… Made me wonder why you never loved me after all those years.

I told him I was pregnant a day after he asked me out. I expected it to be over. I delivered the news to him with an ache in my heart. I thought you ruined my only chance, you didn’t give me a say in having this child. I explained everything, and you know what? He brought me flowers. He’s going to be the daddy. We’re getting married in 25 days. He has to hold me when I can’t help but cry over you. It’s not that I’m not over you, I have been since I left. I’m not over what you did to me.

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