Pen to paper
Bottle to lips
Dream of nightmares
You'll never escape
Words in the air
And Tears on her cheeks
Speaking of times
No one knew happened
Cold kitchen floors
Gasping for air
Drowning in the memories
Of captivity
Fear for safety
Learning to trust
Breaking
Crawling back inside
Damaged goods they call her
Wounded and alone
Hiding her past behind a facade
Of normalcy
12.14.2014
9.27.2014
Gladiators
Moving to Illinois was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I left behind MY warriors, my best friends that have fought with me, for me, and by my side through the best and worst days of my life. My Gladiators that when I didn't believe in myself and thought that I should just bow out and let the situation have gotten in my face and - in not so few words - asked me these questions? Are you going to give up or are you going to fight?
I think lately, especially in the last few weeks, I have chosen to fight. There has been so much thrown at me over the last few weeks (now 4 deaths - I'm just waiting for them to stop), nearly failing a class, not having time for my dogs, getting overworked, getting attacked while at the bar with friends, being told I had to have a root canal (and then having it and being in excruciating pain constantly) and the cherry on top being that I couldn't go home... I was stuck. I didn't want to be a gladiator... not in the slightest. I wanted to curl up under my desk and cry.
Yep... this was me. At least in my head this was me.
Actually, the image isn't far off cause I did cry. With my head on a table in the middle of the library. Talk about humiliating on my part. Not a thing.
But one of my best guy friends listened. Let me cry. Told me that my tears were justified (hence why he's my favorite human) and then told me to buck up and start figuring shit out. So that's where I've been for the last week or so - trying to figure my shit out.
Yeah... me and all my shit just kinda trying to truck through.
I'm tired of just letting life happen to me. I have made some awesome friends this year that have reminded me what if felt like to live and not just let life happen to you but I've so allowed my circumstances and the things that are happening in my life and around me weigh me down. I'm not entirely sure why (probably cause I've always done that) but I just can't let everything everyone else is doing piss me off and put a halt on the fact that I am on a track to be awesome. I am a Gladiator
So here's the deal... I'm gonna be over here being awesome and being a Gladiator
*Yep that rad looking chick that's me... I've decided*
And if you aren't on board you can be over there being.... less awesome
Okay.... maybe not 15% less awesome... that's a little extreme...
Yeah that's better! So are you a Gladiator? Or are you gonna bow out?
9.02.2014
The Song of a Broke Heart
Things are never as easy as people say they'll be. We love and lose then people convince us to love again. I've always been one to keep myself at a distance, from friends, family, lovers, confidantes. I've kept myself at a distance from the MTM community. I've kept my life a secret from many of the people in my life never knowing how to tell them what my life is like with a brother with an unpredictable lifespan. Never knowing how to explain to others the fear and heart break that accompanies your every joy and successful milestone knowing that others won't get there, not knowing if you'll reach the next.
Last year my heart was shattered into more pieces that I could count. I was dropped, from the highest height (or so it felt) by the person I had sworn my love to. Three years of one of the most unhealthy relationships of my life and just over a year ago (a year last thursday) I got a text that said some of the harshest things I've ever been told and I crumbled, alone in a new place without friends to save me from myself. This last year hasn't been the healthiest again. Learning to love myself. Learning to mourn and overcome. Learning to live without someone I thought I'd be spending my life with. I've opened my heart and been crushed then given a second chance and had it spat on. It wasn't easy. It hasn't been easy.
Last summer I also met the most incredible little boy. My boyfriend. The sweetest face that lit up when he saw me. A smile that could move mountains. The first MTM boy that I allowed myself to feel and love and be close to. I may never know what it was about him but he stole my heart. In the hands of a mere toddler I placed a huge part of my heart. His mom becoming a dear friend, the one that sent me my first care package when I needed it most, who told me their home was there after my first breakup in Illinois, who listened whenever I blubbered about being homesick. A family that even though new to my life became such a beacon of love. A little boy, that no matter how I spun it, brought a joy to my life like I haven't felt.
That same little boy, my sweet Louie, gained his wings and I haven't been able to process it. Like it doesn't make sense. I keep having days where I think to text his mom asking how he's doing, or I'm scrolling through her facebook page looking for pictures when it hits me that he isn't there anymore. Seeing his parents last night my heart hurt and yet felt empty. I haven't know how to mourn. Seeking the chance to burst into tears and have someone hold me until there are no more tears but instead I stuff the pain, heart break, and rage of his loss further and further down hoping I can ignore it. Bursting at random into tears in my car outside of my house waiting until the tears dry to walk inside, afraid someone will ask me if I'm okay. Cause there wouldn't be an answer.
This last year my heart has shattered twice in completely different ways. I don't know how to allow myself to be vulnerable again knowing that it can be taken advantage of or that another loss can occur. It's it really better to love and feel loss than to never have loved at all? Does the heartache stop?
I am scared. Terrified even. Every single day of what the pain will feel like if a death is closer to home. I can't turn my brain off for the fear of it. I don't know how to live in the good moments and the next planned adventures when in a second a "healthy" kiddo can be gifted his wings while the left of us are left wondering. How do people do this more than once? How do parents have multiple children? How do people open themselves up again? How do you find the motivation to just keep trucking along when running around or not moving at all are the only options that seem manageable? How do I stop the moments of random crying now that my life is slowing down to a "normal" pace? When you're too busy to breathe you're also too busy to cry, so how do you do it? I'm really not sure how right now...
Last year my heart was shattered into more pieces that I could count. I was dropped, from the highest height (or so it felt) by the person I had sworn my love to. Three years of one of the most unhealthy relationships of my life and just over a year ago (a year last thursday) I got a text that said some of the harshest things I've ever been told and I crumbled, alone in a new place without friends to save me from myself. This last year hasn't been the healthiest again. Learning to love myself. Learning to mourn and overcome. Learning to live without someone I thought I'd be spending my life with. I've opened my heart and been crushed then given a second chance and had it spat on. It wasn't easy. It hasn't been easy.
Last summer I also met the most incredible little boy. My boyfriend. The sweetest face that lit up when he saw me. A smile that could move mountains. The first MTM boy that I allowed myself to feel and love and be close to. I may never know what it was about him but he stole my heart. In the hands of a mere toddler I placed a huge part of my heart. His mom becoming a dear friend, the one that sent me my first care package when I needed it most, who told me their home was there after my first breakup in Illinois, who listened whenever I blubbered about being homesick. A family that even though new to my life became such a beacon of love. A little boy, that no matter how I spun it, brought a joy to my life like I haven't felt.
That same little boy, my sweet Louie, gained his wings and I haven't been able to process it. Like it doesn't make sense. I keep having days where I think to text his mom asking how he's doing, or I'm scrolling through her facebook page looking for pictures when it hits me that he isn't there anymore. Seeing his parents last night my heart hurt and yet felt empty. I haven't know how to mourn. Seeking the chance to burst into tears and have someone hold me until there are no more tears but instead I stuff the pain, heart break, and rage of his loss further and further down hoping I can ignore it. Bursting at random into tears in my car outside of my house waiting until the tears dry to walk inside, afraid someone will ask me if I'm okay. Cause there wouldn't be an answer.
This last year my heart has shattered twice in completely different ways. I don't know how to allow myself to be vulnerable again knowing that it can be taken advantage of or that another loss can occur. It's it really better to love and feel loss than to never have loved at all? Does the heartache stop?
I am scared. Terrified even. Every single day of what the pain will feel like if a death is closer to home. I can't turn my brain off for the fear of it. I don't know how to live in the good moments and the next planned adventures when in a second a "healthy" kiddo can be gifted his wings while the left of us are left wondering. How do people do this more than once? How do parents have multiple children? How do people open themselves up again? How do you find the motivation to just keep trucking along when running around or not moving at all are the only options that seem manageable? How do I stop the moments of random crying now that my life is slowing down to a "normal" pace? When you're too busy to breathe you're also too busy to cry, so how do you do it? I'm really not sure how right now...
6.28.2014
The Divide
This weird thing happens when you move away from home. Things change.
Now I know, I've said this a million times since I moved to Illinois that things are different and relationships change but I've become increasingly aware lately that it's more than that.
I learned really quickly who my real friends were. My real friends are the ones that have listened to the recording of my homesickness on repeat for a year. They've answered the crying phone calls at 1am (okay 11pm west coast time), they've calmed me down when I'm in my head, they've texted and snap chatted relentlessly when I've fallen off the map. My friends are my rocks. They keep my feet on the ground. The people that I've realized are my real friends are the ones that make the effort when I just can't anymore. That make the effort to make sure we talk and see each other, that don't let the distance be the reason it dies.
It's really hard sometimes. It's hard seeing pictures of everyone together while I'm here. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret taking the opportunity here, but I didn't know how much I relied on my people to be okay until I didn't have them around me. It's like there's a part of me that's missing.... empty. Not that I'm unhappy, just empty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hate feeling angry and agitated all the time. It feels like there is something about this whole situation that just has me perpetually on edge and quick to anger. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a temper. It's not something new to me but I'm not used to not being able to control it. I always feel like I am at the brim, fuming and hoping I don't go over the edge. It's a weird feeling for me.
I feel like I've lost, or am losing, my connections to my friends back home. Most of my friends here in Illinois are gone, and most of the people that are here aren't people that I am close to or that I'd prefer to not spend time with. I feel like I'm floating, in purgatory, like I'm in this place where I'm easy to forget. Out of sight out of mind I guess.
I'm sure this isn't true but it's 100% how it's felt lately. Everyday I wish I could come home. Come back home. Come back to my life. Come back to where things and people made sense. I just feel like I'm in a perpetual state of drowning. I can see the surface, I can see the sun, but I can't break through and I can't breathe and no one can hear my screams. I miss the way my life used to be. I hate that I am in a constant state of struggle and I hate feeling like I am repeating the same "woe-is-me" but I don't feel like I have any way to process and I'm just slowly falling further and further down the rabbit hole.
I can feel people getting more distant and I'm digging my nails in trying not to lose them. Trying not to lose the bit of security I feel like I have. Trying to maintain my connections to the people at home that have made me feel normal. I don't feel so normal anymore. I'm starting to wonder if I am one of those people that keep at a distance. Like, I'm feeling like maybe I'm doomed to be someone that people use as someone of convenience but rarely as someone substantial. Maybe those are the people I'm attracted to, the people I try to be close to.
It's hard feeling sometimes like people have their close friends, and then they have me when they have no one else. This summer has felt so empty because the people that I do spend time with, the few that I hang out with regularly, are all gone and for the first time in a long time I feel alone yet surrounded by other people.
I've been struggling to leave my house. I go to work and come home. Then I don't leave again. Rinse and Repeat. I don't like doing things on my own because I was once told that only those that have no one is forced to do things on their own. I don't wanna hit that point. A year later and I think there are days that I am still trying to figure out where I belong...
Now I know, I've said this a million times since I moved to Illinois that things are different and relationships change but I've become increasingly aware lately that it's more than that.
I learned really quickly who my real friends were. My real friends are the ones that have listened to the recording of my homesickness on repeat for a year. They've answered the crying phone calls at 1am (okay 11pm west coast time), they've calmed me down when I'm in my head, they've texted and snap chatted relentlessly when I've fallen off the map. My friends are my rocks. They keep my feet on the ground. The people that I've realized are my real friends are the ones that make the effort when I just can't anymore. That make the effort to make sure we talk and see each other, that don't let the distance be the reason it dies.
It's really hard sometimes. It's hard seeing pictures of everyone together while I'm here. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret taking the opportunity here, but I didn't know how much I relied on my people to be okay until I didn't have them around me. It's like there's a part of me that's missing.... empty. Not that I'm unhappy, just empty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hate feeling angry and agitated all the time. It feels like there is something about this whole situation that just has me perpetually on edge and quick to anger. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a temper. It's not something new to me but I'm not used to not being able to control it. I always feel like I am at the brim, fuming and hoping I don't go over the edge. It's a weird feeling for me.
I feel like I've lost, or am losing, my connections to my friends back home. Most of my friends here in Illinois are gone, and most of the people that are here aren't people that I am close to or that I'd prefer to not spend time with. I feel like I'm floating, in purgatory, like I'm in this place where I'm easy to forget. Out of sight out of mind I guess.
I'm sure this isn't true but it's 100% how it's felt lately. Everyday I wish I could come home. Come back home. Come back to my life. Come back to where things and people made sense. I just feel like I'm in a perpetual state of drowning. I can see the surface, I can see the sun, but I can't break through and I can't breathe and no one can hear my screams. I miss the way my life used to be. I hate that I am in a constant state of struggle and I hate feeling like I am repeating the same "woe-is-me" but I don't feel like I have any way to process and I'm just slowly falling further and further down the rabbit hole.
I can feel people getting more distant and I'm digging my nails in trying not to lose them. Trying not to lose the bit of security I feel like I have. Trying to maintain my connections to the people at home that have made me feel normal. I don't feel so normal anymore. I'm starting to wonder if I am one of those people that keep at a distance. Like, I'm feeling like maybe I'm doomed to be someone that people use as someone of convenience but rarely as someone substantial. Maybe those are the people I'm attracted to, the people I try to be close to.
It's hard feeling sometimes like people have their close friends, and then they have me when they have no one else. This summer has felt so empty because the people that I do spend time with, the few that I hang out with regularly, are all gone and for the first time in a long time I feel alone yet surrounded by other people.
I've been struggling to leave my house. I go to work and come home. Then I don't leave again. Rinse and Repeat. I don't like doing things on my own because I was once told that only those that have no one is forced to do things on their own. I don't wanna hit that point. A year later and I think there are days that I am still trying to figure out where I belong...
6.10.2014
What is Safety? #Notonemore and #Yesallwomen
In light of the shooting at Reynolds High School today I am overwhelmed with thoughts of what it means to be safe and who makes those choices. So often other people take our lives in their own hands. Sometimes it is out of love, other times out of hate, sometimes we don't know the reasons.
Safety is just a strange thing to think about. I come from a community of women that will never feel "safe" because someone took that away from them. A community where everywhere has a danger to it because the person they thought was there to protect them violated them and/or that trust. Lately there has been this focus on the #yesallwomen hashtag and I have heard SOOO much backlash around it. Like women are blaming all men. There is so much more to it then that.
Being someone that has been in one, or a few, of those relationships it can become a way your frame how you look at things. When you've been forced to do things, or you've been isolated from your friends and family, or you've had your decisions made for you, you look at things differently. You respond to things differently.
I think of how I have never been able to stay in one house/apartment for longer than a year because there is risk. It takes a long time to show friends where I live because there is risk. I make different choices and ones that may not make sense to others because of the risk. It's not that I am thinking about the risks directly but they are just a part of my thinking now.
It's a part of my own personal risk management. I'm always looking at the way out. The quickest exit.
I think of how this isn't just becoming something that people in bad relationships are experiencing. I've never been in a shooting. I've never lived that so I cannot by any means speak to what that experience is like. I remember the Clackamas Town Center shooting and how many of my friends were there. How their immediate thoughts were on the quickest exit and where their loved ones are. I think about how there are children and college students that are being faced with the reality of gun violence constantly.
Schools shouldn't be the place they are being faced with this. I've worked with so many kids that come from poor neighborhoods, abusive homes, homes where they didn't know where the next meal was coming or if their parents would even be home, school was the consistency. I think about when my life was in turmoil with Javad and school was where I would thrive because it was consistent. So I think about the kids at Reynolds High School, located in an already difficult area of the metro, and think about how this shooting was that much more of a violation.
Sure it was a violation of their safety. But I worry about the kids where school was their place that they felt safe. Their place that they went to get away from the chaos and then this happened. I hope those kids still put their faith in their administrators and in their school to keep them safe. I hope that the kids can lean on each other and celebrate the life of the boy that was lost. I hope that the community will be there for each other instead of blaming people for how they could have done things differently.
Yes all women experience harassment and 1 in 4 will be abused in their life time. And I pray that not one more life will be taken by a bullet in a school. We live in rough times and I can only home and pray that everyone will stand together and not apart.
Safety is just a strange thing to think about. I come from a community of women that will never feel "safe" because someone took that away from them. A community where everywhere has a danger to it because the person they thought was there to protect them violated them and/or that trust. Lately there has been this focus on the #yesallwomen hashtag and I have heard SOOO much backlash around it. Like women are blaming all men. There is so much more to it then that.
Being someone that has been in one, or a few, of those relationships it can become a way your frame how you look at things. When you've been forced to do things, or you've been isolated from your friends and family, or you've had your decisions made for you, you look at things differently. You respond to things differently.
I think of how I have never been able to stay in one house/apartment for longer than a year because there is risk. It takes a long time to show friends where I live because there is risk. I make different choices and ones that may not make sense to others because of the risk. It's not that I am thinking about the risks directly but they are just a part of my thinking now.
It's a part of my own personal risk management. I'm always looking at the way out. The quickest exit.
I think of how this isn't just becoming something that people in bad relationships are experiencing. I've never been in a shooting. I've never lived that so I cannot by any means speak to what that experience is like. I remember the Clackamas Town Center shooting and how many of my friends were there. How their immediate thoughts were on the quickest exit and where their loved ones are. I think about how there are children and college students that are being faced with the reality of gun violence constantly.
Schools shouldn't be the place they are being faced with this. I've worked with so many kids that come from poor neighborhoods, abusive homes, homes where they didn't know where the next meal was coming or if their parents would even be home, school was the consistency. I think about when my life was in turmoil with Javad and school was where I would thrive because it was consistent. So I think about the kids at Reynolds High School, located in an already difficult area of the metro, and think about how this shooting was that much more of a violation.
Sure it was a violation of their safety. But I worry about the kids where school was their place that they felt safe. Their place that they went to get away from the chaos and then this happened. I hope those kids still put their faith in their administrators and in their school to keep them safe. I hope that the kids can lean on each other and celebrate the life of the boy that was lost. I hope that the community will be there for each other instead of blaming people for how they could have done things differently.
Yes all women experience harassment and 1 in 4 will be abused in their life time. And I pray that not one more life will be taken by a bullet in a school. We live in rough times and I can only home and pray that everyone will stand together and not apart.
6.04.2014
Family is chosen not given
I don't remember a ton from my childhood. Not because I have a bad memory but because I don't want to. It wasn't bad it just wasn't the years I want stamped in my brain forever.
Don't get my wrong, I have the most incredible mom ever. She's one of the strongest people I know, but even the strongest people have hard moments. When I was little were some of those hard moments. They're also probably the reason my mom and I are so close. We were all we had, or at least in my child-eyes that's how I saw it. I don't ever remember there being anyone else, outside the two of us, until my dad came along when I was like 8, and for a while he was just as my mom's friend (not the "we're dating but telling our kids we're friends" thing but like legitimately friends).
Granted my grandparents were always there swooping in. My Poppa taught me how men were supposed to act and acted as the male role in my childhood. (If you know my Poppa you know that these are big shoes to fill and that a) no one will ever measure up and b) he can be a bit intimidating). My momma taught me that I didn't ever need a man. We managed everything on our own, though it wasn't always the best way and there tended to be swearing and tears where there didn't need to be.
There's something about family where it's not given but chosen. There are whole sides of my genetics that I couldn't identify if you paid me. Sure they're "family" if you look on a family tree but I don't know them. They didn't contribute to who I am. They weren't the ones I fought with when I was using, or the ones that challenged me when they didn't see that I had long term goals. I may not always like the people in my family, but that's because they're family. That's kinda in the rules isn't it?
When my mom and dad got married I was nine years old and had an attitude the size of Russia (for size comparison I have shrunk it down a bit so it's only about the size of Canada now which is about 1/2 the size). I hated my dad. Sure I told my mom when he proposed that I was good with them getting married cause what else are you supposed to say when you're like 8 years old and your mom looks happy, and your being offered a consistency and balance to your otherwise chaotic (yet always an adventure) life. I wanted my mom to be happy and she was, and he bought me things and the food was good so all my needs were met in the mind of an 8 year old, but I hated him. I hated that he told me I couldn't do things. I hated that he made it so I couldn't sleep with my mom any night I wanted. I hated that he would punish me. I hated that he acted like a dad because I'd never had one before.
My mom always had a very specific way of doing things. Sure I'd get in trouble but I'd get sent to my room, I'd yell, she'd yell, I'd come into her room or the living room, cuddle up with her and though it didn't get me off the hook it always seemed forgiven. That's always been how my mom and I worked. We fight 110% but then when it's over it's over. My dad didn't fight fair. He'd send me to my room and expect me to stay there. When he told me I couldn't see friends he meant it and it didn't change. He stuck to his guns. I did NOT know how to handle that. So, I hated him, that was how I handled it. How else are you supposed to handle someone that is stepping into a role you didn't know existed.
I don't think it was until I was a teenager that I quit hating him and let him be my dad. I mean hell, he brought with him two new brothers (neither of which I was a fan of, then I would like one and hate the other, then switch.... I did a lot of disliking for a long time, that's what happens when you never had to share your mom then had to share her a lot). Then they had Javad. My superhero/sidekick duo of my mom and I was slowly turning into the Justice League and I was NOT down with it.
I fell in love with my family how you fall asleep, slowly at first and then all at once. I don't know when it happened but I went from resisting them to choosing them as my own. I went from hating my dad to in so many ways being a daddy's girl. I went from fighting with my brothers constantly to having little brother be one of my best friends and favorite people in the world. I chose my family. Sure it took a while. Sure only my mom, J and I share blood but they're mine, all of them.
It's hard sometimes. Missing them. Wishing it's like when we were in high school and we'd all curl up on mom and dad's bed and watch tv, or movies. Or when the boys and I would play Super Smash Bros until I threw a controller at Adds for being an asshole, or Simon got mad and stormed out (pretty sure it was always Adam's fault). Or when Si had to teach Adds and I how to cut a watermelon. Or or or.... I miss when we were all together. I miss my family.
Sometimes I get sad because I think about the people in my "family" that I don't know. The ones that haven't ever been a part of my life. The ones that jump in and out when it's good for them. The ones that sometimes send cards for birthdays or a christmas card. Sometimes I regret that they aren't a part of my life and it hurts. It hurts feeling like there is something I didn't do. Like somehow I have failed because my relationship with them isn't like it is with my family. It hurts and I've never known how to handle it.
I really love our little Justice League. I know that it will only expand as our family grows. I also know that there is enough love to go around. If there is one thing my dad taught me it's that there is always enough food, always enough places to sleep and always enough love to go around. And for that, I will always be grateful <3
Don't get my wrong, I have the most incredible mom ever. She's one of the strongest people I know, but even the strongest people have hard moments. When I was little were some of those hard moments. They're also probably the reason my mom and I are so close. We were all we had, or at least in my child-eyes that's how I saw it. I don't ever remember there being anyone else, outside the two of us, until my dad came along when I was like 8, and for a while he was just as my mom's friend (not the "we're dating but telling our kids we're friends" thing but like legitimately friends).
Granted my grandparents were always there swooping in. My Poppa taught me how men were supposed to act and acted as the male role in my childhood. (If you know my Poppa you know that these are big shoes to fill and that a) no one will ever measure up and b) he can be a bit intimidating). My momma taught me that I didn't ever need a man. We managed everything on our own, though it wasn't always the best way and there tended to be swearing and tears where there didn't need to be.
There's something about family where it's not given but chosen. There are whole sides of my genetics that I couldn't identify if you paid me. Sure they're "family" if you look on a family tree but I don't know them. They didn't contribute to who I am. They weren't the ones I fought with when I was using, or the ones that challenged me when they didn't see that I had long term goals. I may not always like the people in my family, but that's because they're family. That's kinda in the rules isn't it?
When my mom and dad got married I was nine years old and had an attitude the size of Russia (for size comparison I have shrunk it down a bit so it's only about the size of Canada now which is about 1/2 the size). I hated my dad. Sure I told my mom when he proposed that I was good with them getting married cause what else are you supposed to say when you're like 8 years old and your mom looks happy, and your being offered a consistency and balance to your otherwise chaotic (yet always an adventure) life. I wanted my mom to be happy and she was, and he bought me things and the food was good so all my needs were met in the mind of an 8 year old, but I hated him. I hated that he told me I couldn't do things. I hated that he made it so I couldn't sleep with my mom any night I wanted. I hated that he would punish me. I hated that he acted like a dad because I'd never had one before.
My mom always had a very specific way of doing things. Sure I'd get in trouble but I'd get sent to my room, I'd yell, she'd yell, I'd come into her room or the living room, cuddle up with her and though it didn't get me off the hook it always seemed forgiven. That's always been how my mom and I worked. We fight 110% but then when it's over it's over. My dad didn't fight fair. He'd send me to my room and expect me to stay there. When he told me I couldn't see friends he meant it and it didn't change. He stuck to his guns. I did NOT know how to handle that. So, I hated him, that was how I handled it. How else are you supposed to handle someone that is stepping into a role you didn't know existed.
I don't think it was until I was a teenager that I quit hating him and let him be my dad. I mean hell, he brought with him two new brothers (neither of which I was a fan of, then I would like one and hate the other, then switch.... I did a lot of disliking for a long time, that's what happens when you never had to share your mom then had to share her a lot). Then they had Javad. My superhero/sidekick duo of my mom and I was slowly turning into the Justice League and I was NOT down with it.
I fell in love with my family how you fall asleep, slowly at first and then all at once. I don't know when it happened but I went from resisting them to choosing them as my own. I went from hating my dad to in so many ways being a daddy's girl. I went from fighting with my brothers constantly to having little brother be one of my best friends and favorite people in the world. I chose my family. Sure it took a while. Sure only my mom, J and I share blood but they're mine, all of them.
It's hard sometimes. Missing them. Wishing it's like when we were in high school and we'd all curl up on mom and dad's bed and watch tv, or movies. Or when the boys and I would play Super Smash Bros until I threw a controller at Adds for being an asshole, or Simon got mad and stormed out (pretty sure it was always Adam's fault). Or when Si had to teach Adds and I how to cut a watermelon. Or or or.... I miss when we were all together. I miss my family.
Sometimes I get sad because I think about the people in my "family" that I don't know. The ones that haven't ever been a part of my life. The ones that jump in and out when it's good for them. The ones that sometimes send cards for birthdays or a christmas card. Sometimes I regret that they aren't a part of my life and it hurts. It hurts feeling like there is something I didn't do. Like somehow I have failed because my relationship with them isn't like it is with my family. It hurts and I've never known how to handle it.
I really love our little Justice League. I know that it will only expand as our family grows. I also know that there is enough love to go around. If there is one thing my dad taught me it's that there is always enough food, always enough places to sleep and always enough love to go around. And for that, I will always be grateful <3
6.03.2014
Facetious salads often require percolating
It's funny the moments that become highlights in my day. There was a period of time at the end of today that I was avoiding leaving work, not because I still wanted to be there, but because leaving meant tolerating the 90+ degree 70+ percent humidity that was outside. Inside was airconditioned and I could look out the windows and act like it was just beautiful out there. Outside meant acknowledging that it was NASTY hot.
So there I was, procrastinating leaving the rec and I was given the opportunity to giggle with one of our pro-staff over a homemade salad and redneck jokes about Illinois. Sometimes I feel like the stereotypes I moved to Illinois with are so a part of my reality that I forget they aren't all true. Sometimes I lean on those stereotypes because it makes this whirlwind of SoIll make more sense. Sometimes they just help to make light of everything that doesn't make sense but is SOOO real in so many ways. So there we are, eating a "salad" (it contained lettuce but there was so much bacon and cheese that it couldn't have been healthy by ANY means...delicious? Yes! Healthy? Not a chance!) giggling about the hipster nature of Portland versus the redneck nature of Southern Illinois when he mentions that part of the reason he moved there from South Carolina was because at least in SoIll he got to keep his teeth.
I almost died. I was laughing so hard I couldn't stop. It felt normal. I felt normal. For the first time in a week I didn't feel like I was suffocating.
It's weird to think of how much a tight hug and a good laugh can change everything for me. There is a healing nature to cuddle puddles, blanket forts, and inside jokes. I think that's what I live on. Maybe that's it. Some people live on unicorns, rainbows and rose colored glasses. Others find solace in structure, consistency, and predictability. While others, like me, could be perfectly happy going through every day with nothing but cuddle puddles, blanket forts, random adventures, and inside jokes. Yep that must be it. Maybe that's what it is about being with my friends.
I can't help but think about while I was home. Me and my girls (and the boy) went to Fire on the Mountain. It's always a mystical mess when the four of us girls are together. It's like throwing philosophical conversations, existential life crisises, 13 year old gossip sessions, beer and cuddling all into a blender and leaving the lid off. Whatever flies out is what happens. It's AMAZING! Potentially my favorite thing in the entire world it could be argued. It's always funny when we're together cause I never know what is going to happen. I've been asked before what we're going to do and I never know. It seems even if there is a plan somehow it always strays from what I expected and it's always exactly as it should be. I just remember leaving and the boy telling me that the four of us together was "a lot". Truly the best way to describe it. The experience of us I guess.... a lot.
My friendship with those girls is so much a part of who I am. That's part of what made leaving Portland so hard... I had to leave them behind not knowing when the four of us would be in one place again. These three people that have become my rocks when things are hard and my wings when I needed to get away. I couldn't imagine life without them. I don't ever want to have to imagine life without them because it pretty much just would be awful so that's never going to be a thing that happens.
When I found out about Laura's accident over spring break (talked about it a while back) I was driving away from my parents house on the way to the twins house. I called my mom while I was on the freeway, in shock, choking on my tears and my words, struggling to breathe and acknowledge the horror that was happening and how scared I was. It's a little crazy to think of cause I feel like any other situation my mom would have told me to come home because I would always want to be with my mom when something like that happened, but she didn't. She just told me to text her when I got there because she knew, maybe more than I did, that being with my girls, my best friends, was the only place that I was going to be able to handle everything that was happening. That night was hard, we drank (maybe too much, maybe just enough, who knows), we laughed, we fought, we cried and at the end of the night we all snuggled into beds and none of us spent the night alone. I feel like that one night was the perfect scene of our friendship. No one spends the night alone. None of us are ever alone. As long as I have those girls everything will be alright.
When I moved out here. When my world came shattering to pieces weeks after I got here and I was alone. When I was homesick and was struggling to get out of bed each morning. Sure I called my mom, we talk every day, everyone knows that, we always have and always will. But at 2am when I couldn't sleep and my brain was running, or I was on the way home from work and wanted to share something my girls were the ones I called. They were the ones that offered to fly out to po-dunk southern illinois if I needed them here. When things went to shit for my birthday and I had to send home the person nearest to my heart we planned a ridiculous snuggle puddle when I got home to make it better.
I can't imagine going back to Portland and not having the four of us all be together. Ever since the first time we were all together something just made sense. It's like all the friends that I made that led me to them made sense. Don't take this as not valuing the friends and people that got me to that point because those are some of my most valued relationships, but something clicked in me and caused me to just take a deep breathe that first time because it made sense. I love them to the moon and back again. As hard as it is knowing that I don't know when we'll be in Portland together again, I know that these are people that will be in my life forever. I want them there the day I get married (god help us if that happens), helping my kids get into trouble and telling "oh trust us your mom can't get mad cause when she was your age...." stories, and drinking margaritas on my patio while our kids get into shit and eat dirt (yes my kids will cause hell, I already know). They are my girls. That's all there is to it.
So there I was, procrastinating leaving the rec and I was given the opportunity to giggle with one of our pro-staff over a homemade salad and redneck jokes about Illinois. Sometimes I feel like the stereotypes I moved to Illinois with are so a part of my reality that I forget they aren't all true. Sometimes I lean on those stereotypes because it makes this whirlwind of SoIll make more sense. Sometimes they just help to make light of everything that doesn't make sense but is SOOO real in so many ways. So there we are, eating a "salad" (it contained lettuce but there was so much bacon and cheese that it couldn't have been healthy by ANY means...delicious? Yes! Healthy? Not a chance!) giggling about the hipster nature of Portland versus the redneck nature of Southern Illinois when he mentions that part of the reason he moved there from South Carolina was because at least in SoIll he got to keep his teeth.
I almost died. I was laughing so hard I couldn't stop. It felt normal. I felt normal. For the first time in a week I didn't feel like I was suffocating.
It's weird to think of how much a tight hug and a good laugh can change everything for me. There is a healing nature to cuddle puddles, blanket forts, and inside jokes. I think that's what I live on. Maybe that's it. Some people live on unicorns, rainbows and rose colored glasses. Others find solace in structure, consistency, and predictability. While others, like me, could be perfectly happy going through every day with nothing but cuddle puddles, blanket forts, random adventures, and inside jokes. Yep that must be it. Maybe that's what it is about being with my friends.
I can't help but think about while I was home. Me and my girls (and the boy) went to Fire on the Mountain. It's always a mystical mess when the four of us girls are together. It's like throwing philosophical conversations, existential life crisises, 13 year old gossip sessions, beer and cuddling all into a blender and leaving the lid off. Whatever flies out is what happens. It's AMAZING! Potentially my favorite thing in the entire world it could be argued. It's always funny when we're together cause I never know what is going to happen. I've been asked before what we're going to do and I never know. It seems even if there is a plan somehow it always strays from what I expected and it's always exactly as it should be. I just remember leaving and the boy telling me that the four of us together was "a lot". Truly the best way to describe it. The experience of us I guess.... a lot.
My friendship with those girls is so much a part of who I am. That's part of what made leaving Portland so hard... I had to leave them behind not knowing when the four of us would be in one place again. These three people that have become my rocks when things are hard and my wings when I needed to get away. I couldn't imagine life without them. I don't ever want to have to imagine life without them because it pretty much just would be awful so that's never going to be a thing that happens.
When I found out about Laura's accident over spring break (talked about it a while back) I was driving away from my parents house on the way to the twins house. I called my mom while I was on the freeway, in shock, choking on my tears and my words, struggling to breathe and acknowledge the horror that was happening and how scared I was. It's a little crazy to think of cause I feel like any other situation my mom would have told me to come home because I would always want to be with my mom when something like that happened, but she didn't. She just told me to text her when I got there because she knew, maybe more than I did, that being with my girls, my best friends, was the only place that I was going to be able to handle everything that was happening. That night was hard, we drank (maybe too much, maybe just enough, who knows), we laughed, we fought, we cried and at the end of the night we all snuggled into beds and none of us spent the night alone. I feel like that one night was the perfect scene of our friendship. No one spends the night alone. None of us are ever alone. As long as I have those girls everything will be alright.
When I moved out here. When my world came shattering to pieces weeks after I got here and I was alone. When I was homesick and was struggling to get out of bed each morning. Sure I called my mom, we talk every day, everyone knows that, we always have and always will. But at 2am when I couldn't sleep and my brain was running, or I was on the way home from work and wanted to share something my girls were the ones I called. They were the ones that offered to fly out to po-dunk southern illinois if I needed them here. When things went to shit for my birthday and I had to send home the person nearest to my heart we planned a ridiculous snuggle puddle when I got home to make it better.
I can't imagine going back to Portland and not having the four of us all be together. Ever since the first time we were all together something just made sense. It's like all the friends that I made that led me to them made sense. Don't take this as not valuing the friends and people that got me to that point because those are some of my most valued relationships, but something clicked in me and caused me to just take a deep breathe that first time because it made sense. I love them to the moon and back again. As hard as it is knowing that I don't know when we'll be in Portland together again, I know that these are people that will be in my life forever. I want them there the day I get married (god help us if that happens), helping my kids get into trouble and telling "oh trust us your mom can't get mad cause when she was your age...." stories, and drinking margaritas on my patio while our kids get into shit and eat dirt (yes my kids will cause hell, I already know). They are my girls. That's all there is to it.
Also, it just kinda makes sense that these are the only pictures I have of me and my girls from my last trip home and that we look like SPAZZES in all of them. Fuck I love these ladies and may we never be normal and may we always just be "a lot"!
6.02.2014
Fire and Ice
Hey guess what! I learned something I think I've always known!
I burn hot. Not just a simmer but hot, Hot, HOT. I feel and live everything at 110%.
It's weird, like I've always known that I was a little hot headed and that I was more than a little overprotective of the people I cared about but I never really thought of myself as burning hot. I feel like there are people that are reading this that either a) don't know what I mean by saying that I burn hot and b) are just nodding their heads like "Stesha, we are so glad you are finally acknowledging this... your life will be easier because you acknowledged this." Ugh. Yes, yes I know this is a long time coming to truly get this and what I mean is that everything is 110%.
I love whole-heartedly. I am fiercely overprotective. I loathe like it's my JOB! When I am frustrated it absorbs me and can be SUPER overwhelming. I hate acknowledging this because it just makes me feel ridiculous but when i'm mad I am seething mad, I see red and am out for the kill. If you have a button to push or a weakness to go after I will.... this is NOT an awesome trait >.< This however can be good in moments where something is happening that shouldn't be, or I need to be advocating... this is not so awesome when my frustration is misplaced. Whoops! That happens sometimes. fml....
I think I figured out what it is about Portland that just calms me though. It's the water. This may sound crazy but there is a part of me that believes there is a part of each of us that is fueled by the elements. I'll acknowledge that I am fire through and through but it makes sense why the ocean, the rain, a hot shower, a float down the river, the calm of sitting by the creeks down from my house have brought me back to center for as long as I can remember.
I remember when I was a little kid and I was fishing off the little bridge that went over the creek behind my grandparents beach house and I got in a fight with my aunt (she's like 7 years older than me) and I was so angry. Not even because we'd gotten in a fight but because I had been at such peace. I remember grabbing my fishing rod and running back to the house only to retreat to the beach, bury my feet and hands in the warm sand and just breathe.
In college when things would just seem too much my friends I would grab a pack of beer (sorry mom), all of our cardboard and paper recycling and load into a car toward the beach. We'd then sit back, make a bonfire, listen to the waves crash against the rocks and wash onto the sand and all the stress of college, midterms, relationships, work, drama, all of it didn't seem to matter any more. When everyone was busy and I couldn't leave I'd walk down to the waterfront and sit in the middle of a bridge with my feet hanging off wondering what it would feel like to go splashing into the water....not in a depressing like I wanna jump off a bridge way, but in a diving into the water kinda way. I know it's dangerous hence why I never did it. Don't get all dangerzone lecturey on me.
It's weird being landlocked. It's almost suffocating. Like in those moments that I wanna get away I end up just driving like I'm looking for a destination but there is no where. No where that is going to feel the same.
Let me say right now that if someone tells me that I am right next to the Mississippi River and that should count I might swat at you through the computer. Then I will roll my eyes in the way that only a 14-year-old angsty teen girl can and ignore that you said it all together. Because that may be a river but that is NOT peaceful. It's grosser than the Willamette and that is SAYING something cause the Willamette is TWELVE-shades of nasty. I need REAL water, like cold, refreshing, take your breathe away with the breeze it causes water.
Like, SUUUURRRREEEEEEE we have rain here in SoIll (Southern Illinois for those NOT from this general region or able to pick up on context clues) but it's warm. WHAT IS THE POINT OF WARM RAIN?!!?!?! I don't understand. Growing up somewhere where it rains ALL. THE. TIME. but it's cold and refreshing and leaves everything feeling clean and smelling amazing to being somewhere that is so humid and the rain is warm and leaves you feeling sticky and gross and makes everything smell kinda moldy but weird and it comes with theatrics so you can't just enjoy the rain cause it's overshadowed with thunder and lightening and fearing for your life (if you're me and you DON'T LIKE THEATRICS!!!!).... oi vey! Like the rain starts here and I get grumpy. WTF! Rain has never made me grumpy.... it's usually soothing and puts me to sleep (even at noon when I should be awake).
All I want is a beach... or REAL rain (cause I have decided that the rain here is really just devil spawned rain that isn't real and is infused with evil and self-loathing [no clue where that came from]). Fuck I was home and did it rain?! NOPE! Once... MAYBE! Ugh, thanks Portland for being beautiful but I was REALLY looking forward to some overcast and rain so I could lay in the plaza on the bricks and just soak up the glory of it. Similarly, I intended on driving to the beach but apparently 10pm on Memorial day is a bad time to drive to the beach cause drunks on the road are out to get you so that threw a kink in that plan.... ugh!
So I guess there it is. I am sure there is so much more to say cause if you couldn't tell I'm feeling a little sassy today. Weird I know cause I am NEVER sassy... but hell I guess that's just what happens when you're feisty and hot headed and have no access to any sort of calming source. Stupid SoIll and it's inability to have a direct line to a coast... I guess a 10 hour jaunt south is going to be in the works sometime soon cause damned if not there is going to be SOOOOO much pent up attitude it's gonna get a little interesting.
I burn hot. Not just a simmer but hot, Hot, HOT. I feel and live everything at 110%.
It's weird, like I've always known that I was a little hot headed and that I was more than a little overprotective of the people I cared about but I never really thought of myself as burning hot. I feel like there are people that are reading this that either a) don't know what I mean by saying that I burn hot and b) are just nodding their heads like "Stesha, we are so glad you are finally acknowledging this... your life will be easier because you acknowledged this." Ugh. Yes, yes I know this is a long time coming to truly get this and what I mean is that everything is 110%.
I love whole-heartedly. I am fiercely overprotective. I loathe like it's my JOB! When I am frustrated it absorbs me and can be SUPER overwhelming. I hate acknowledging this because it just makes me feel ridiculous but when i'm mad I am seething mad, I see red and am out for the kill. If you have a button to push or a weakness to go after I will.... this is NOT an awesome trait >.< This however can be good in moments where something is happening that shouldn't be, or I need to be advocating... this is not so awesome when my frustration is misplaced. Whoops! That happens sometimes. fml....
I think I figured out what it is about Portland that just calms me though. It's the water. This may sound crazy but there is a part of me that believes there is a part of each of us that is fueled by the elements. I'll acknowledge that I am fire through and through but it makes sense why the ocean, the rain, a hot shower, a float down the river, the calm of sitting by the creeks down from my house have brought me back to center for as long as I can remember.
I remember when I was a little kid and I was fishing off the little bridge that went over the creek behind my grandparents beach house and I got in a fight with my aunt (she's like 7 years older than me) and I was so angry. Not even because we'd gotten in a fight but because I had been at such peace. I remember grabbing my fishing rod and running back to the house only to retreat to the beach, bury my feet and hands in the warm sand and just breathe.
In college when things would just seem too much my friends I would grab a pack of beer (sorry mom), all of our cardboard and paper recycling and load into a car toward the beach. We'd then sit back, make a bonfire, listen to the waves crash against the rocks and wash onto the sand and all the stress of college, midterms, relationships, work, drama, all of it didn't seem to matter any more. When everyone was busy and I couldn't leave I'd walk down to the waterfront and sit in the middle of a bridge with my feet hanging off wondering what it would feel like to go splashing into the water....not in a depressing like I wanna jump off a bridge way, but in a diving into the water kinda way. I know it's dangerous hence why I never did it. Don't get all dangerzone lecturey on me.
It's weird being landlocked. It's almost suffocating. Like in those moments that I wanna get away I end up just driving like I'm looking for a destination but there is no where. No where that is going to feel the same.
Let me say right now that if someone tells me that I am right next to the Mississippi River and that should count I might swat at you through the computer. Then I will roll my eyes in the way that only a 14-year-old angsty teen girl can and ignore that you said it all together. Because that may be a river but that is NOT peaceful. It's grosser than the Willamette and that is SAYING something cause the Willamette is TWELVE-shades of nasty. I need REAL water, like cold, refreshing, take your breathe away with the breeze it causes water.
Like, SUUUURRRREEEEEEE we have rain here in SoIll (Southern Illinois for those NOT from this general region or able to pick up on context clues) but it's warm. WHAT IS THE POINT OF WARM RAIN?!!?!?! I don't understand. Growing up somewhere where it rains ALL. THE. TIME. but it's cold and refreshing and leaves everything feeling clean and smelling amazing to being somewhere that is so humid and the rain is warm and leaves you feeling sticky and gross and makes everything smell kinda moldy but weird and it comes with theatrics so you can't just enjoy the rain cause it's overshadowed with thunder and lightening and fearing for your life (if you're me and you DON'T LIKE THEATRICS!!!!).... oi vey! Like the rain starts here and I get grumpy. WTF! Rain has never made me grumpy.... it's usually soothing and puts me to sleep (even at noon when I should be awake).
All I want is a beach... or REAL rain (cause I have decided that the rain here is really just devil spawned rain that isn't real and is infused with evil and self-loathing [no clue where that came from]). Fuck I was home and did it rain?! NOPE! Once... MAYBE! Ugh, thanks Portland for being beautiful but I was REALLY looking forward to some overcast and rain so I could lay in the plaza on the bricks and just soak up the glory of it. Similarly, I intended on driving to the beach but apparently 10pm on Memorial day is a bad time to drive to the beach cause drunks on the road are out to get you so that threw a kink in that plan.... ugh!
So I guess there it is. I am sure there is so much more to say cause if you couldn't tell I'm feeling a little sassy today. Weird I know cause I am NEVER sassy... but hell I guess that's just what happens when you're feisty and hot headed and have no access to any sort of calming source. Stupid SoIll and it's inability to have a direct line to a coast... I guess a 10 hour jaunt south is going to be in the works sometime soon cause damned if not there is going to be SOOOOO much pent up attitude it's gonna get a little interesting.
6.01.2014
There's Something Missing...
As I sit here on my couch watching my dogs wrestle for the first time in two days I am struck with that momentary reminder of how much their moods and attitudes reflect mine. Since getting back to Illinois on Thursday (well late Wednesday night) I have avoided leaving the house. Granted Friday and Saturday night I have put on a happy face and ventured outside to see friends but then have retreated back to my bed and my couch hiding from everything around me.
Leaving Portland was hard for me but not for the reasons that you'd think. Portland is home....sure... but it's more than that. Portland is the one physical location that has filled me up when I have felt empty. I came to realize lately that it wasn't Portland itself. I mean sure the culture there is where I fit but there's more to a place being home than that. I said it in an earlier post that it was my friends that really made Portland home. It wasn't the culture or the food or the beer (though that helps) or anything else but the people. My family will always be there and that will always be somewhere I land but where my friends are, the people that have put up with my bullshit, kept me safe, challenged me, and loved me at the end of the day. They are what has made it for me.
Coming back to Illinois was one of the hardest things I have done. Being back in Portland I was reminded what it felt like to be supported and surrounded with love at all times. Even when I was being a total bitch and when everything had to be about me and I couldn't take a second to pay attention to what others were dealing with my friends still sat there and listened to my shit and hugged me, then told me to move on. I was so encouraged and reminded that the work that I have been doing was good. I felt filled up.
The second I landed in Illinois a part of me felt empty. I think everytime I leave Portland another small part of me stays making the strings on my heart feel more strained because everytime I leave it's harder to come back to Illinois. I can't identify what it is but I just know that it sucks in every single way. My plane landed in Illinois and almost as soon as I stepped off the plane I started crying. Not the like silent tears that no one knows are there but heart wrenching ugly tears that made me have to stop in the terminal to compose myself. Stepping off that plane meant I was actually back.
Illinois hasn't been bad. I'm coming up on a year of being here and it hasn't been bad. I have amazing friends, my classes are pretty rad, I'm getting awesome opportunities within region 3, but something has always been missing. I don't know if it is the sarcastic push that I was always getting at work, or the constant conversation around social sustainability and social justice, or if it was just the physicality of the people in Portland where a hug is always 1/2 second away and often not invited but given freely. I don't know what it is but I feel myself yearning and having a deep hunger for whatever it is every time I am back on the west coast, and I always get it whatever it is.
As I watch my dogs tonight I notice that as the energy has been sucked out of me the last few days, while I struggle to keep my anxiety in check and stop myself from going down the oh-so-familiar blackhole, the energy has also been sucked out of them. It's as if they know that I can't handle crazy antics or high energy, or that the slightest bit of aggression from them might make me break down. I don't know but I can see it.
I've never been someone to fall to pieces. I have been one to pent things up and just pray that it doesn't explode when I least expect it. Something about the last month has been different though. I'm not afraid of falling to pieces because there is a part of me that has been falling apart for months and I just haven't been able to see it happening. I think there is a part of me that has been broken for a long time and I have just been hiding it from myself for fear that I would have to address it if I acknowledged that it was there. I don't think I'm ready to address it yet. Maybe some day. Just not today.
5.11.2014
Maybe one day the storms will stop rolling in...
Just when I think I've said all there is to say there is something else going through my head. It feels like a volcano ready to erupt at any point. Right now it's just sitting as a peaceful but active volcano, sure the scientists are talking about how many something will happen, but they don't know that it's just brooding, waiting for the last straw before it all just explodes outs my ears and the words come flowing out of my mouth like lava unable to stop until they've caused ultimate destruction. Yeah that's where my brain feels today. I'm spending so much time trying to eat my words lately thinking that maybe that will stop them from spewing everywhere but I should just accept that it's going to happen.
I've been struggling and there is a part of me that just feels empty. I can't explain it. Like for someone that often has a lot to say and has a fairly easy time at putting words to paper and having it make sense I just can't seem to lately. There is this nausea that just doesn't seem to go away. I guess this isn't too far after the part of the year that this usually happens. Maybe that's it. My internal body clock going off reminding me of some of the most terrifying times of my life. I didn't even realize until just now that it's that time of year again.
I really wish my body would stop doing this. It's really hard to move on in your life when every spring a pit hits your stomach like a sack of bricks. This feeling like you're unlovable and like nothing will ever work out as it is meant to. Like the only people you'll ever bring into your life are the ones that want to use you up, abuse you, or keep you as a reserve. Regardless at the end they always throw you to the curb on trash day, tattered and mucked up. And all I can do is try to pick myself back up, crushed and scared and try to wash off the most recent scars.
Though I am grateful that last spring brought no blood or bruises it still brought scars on my psyche and my soul that I didn't really realize were there until lately. There's this level of insecurity and paranoia that as a strong, independent, woman I have prided myself on not having, but low-and-behold they exist now. A jealousy and need for commitment that I can't understand. To go from a place where any thought of being tied down made me physically ill to feeling the same being in a place of unknowing is just strange.
It's crazy to think that in the last eight years my body has been taken advantage of, brutalized, and battered and has time and time again risen above and come out stronger with only small scars to remind me of what I have overcome. Yet, in the last eight years I have slowly allowed my spaces, actions and emotions be more controlled by the actions of three individuals, knowing full well that seeing any of them would shoot concrete through my veins causing me to freeze, turn a pale shade of gray, and lose all confidence and words that once spun through my mind.
It's crazy to think that after eight years I still won't drive through certain neighborhoods of my home town because my stomach seizes and my heart tightens at just the thought of being near that place. That six years later I still won't live in a place for longer than a year with the concern that you'll appear at my door like you once did. Or that you'll once again lock me away from everyone I know and love because they're interfering with your plans. That a year later I still pause when making plans to make sure they aren't going to frustrate you or that they aren't with people you wouldn't want me around. It's crazy to think that so much of my life has been controlled by the actions of a few.
For a third of my life spring has been a hard time, it's signified violation, a lack of safety, and a lack of agency. I've been sitting here the last few weeks, trying to open myself up to someone new, unable to figure out why moments have made me physically ill, and why others have caused me sheer panic. I had noticed the knots in my stomach and the unusual edginess to my step but haven't been able to put my finger on what has been going on.
At what point does your heart stop beating out of your chest at the mention of their names or at the glimpse of someone that looks like them? At what point does home feel safe? At what point does being held by someone not immediately go down in a ball of flames in your head? At what point does it get easier? At what point does the slight threatening tone in someones voice not make you have a panic attack? At what point do you quit feeling like you have to protect yourself in every second? Is there a point?
I still remember every moment. I wish I could forget. I wish I could forget all of it. Maybe then it would be easier to connect to someone without internally flinching every time they move quickly. Maybe then I'd be able to sleep through the night when someone was asleep next to me. Maybe then I'd be able to look at myself and my body and see it as something worth loving. Maybe then I'd be able to trust when others told me I was beautiful, or that I was worth it, or that they wanted to be with me, instead of hearing that they want something or that it's just another method of control. Maybe one day... until the spring is when the storms will roll in.
I've been struggling and there is a part of me that just feels empty. I can't explain it. Like for someone that often has a lot to say and has a fairly easy time at putting words to paper and having it make sense I just can't seem to lately. There is this nausea that just doesn't seem to go away. I guess this isn't too far after the part of the year that this usually happens. Maybe that's it. My internal body clock going off reminding me of some of the most terrifying times of my life. I didn't even realize until just now that it's that time of year again.
I really wish my body would stop doing this. It's really hard to move on in your life when every spring a pit hits your stomach like a sack of bricks. This feeling like you're unlovable and like nothing will ever work out as it is meant to. Like the only people you'll ever bring into your life are the ones that want to use you up, abuse you, or keep you as a reserve. Regardless at the end they always throw you to the curb on trash day, tattered and mucked up. And all I can do is try to pick myself back up, crushed and scared and try to wash off the most recent scars.
Though I am grateful that last spring brought no blood or bruises it still brought scars on my psyche and my soul that I didn't really realize were there until lately. There's this level of insecurity and paranoia that as a strong, independent, woman I have prided myself on not having, but low-and-behold they exist now. A jealousy and need for commitment that I can't understand. To go from a place where any thought of being tied down made me physically ill to feeling the same being in a place of unknowing is just strange.
It's crazy to think that in the last eight years my body has been taken advantage of, brutalized, and battered and has time and time again risen above and come out stronger with only small scars to remind me of what I have overcome. Yet, in the last eight years I have slowly allowed my spaces, actions and emotions be more controlled by the actions of three individuals, knowing full well that seeing any of them would shoot concrete through my veins causing me to freeze, turn a pale shade of gray, and lose all confidence and words that once spun through my mind.
It's crazy to think that after eight years I still won't drive through certain neighborhoods of my home town because my stomach seizes and my heart tightens at just the thought of being near that place. That six years later I still won't live in a place for longer than a year with the concern that you'll appear at my door like you once did. Or that you'll once again lock me away from everyone I know and love because they're interfering with your plans. That a year later I still pause when making plans to make sure they aren't going to frustrate you or that they aren't with people you wouldn't want me around. It's crazy to think that so much of my life has been controlled by the actions of a few.
For a third of my life spring has been a hard time, it's signified violation, a lack of safety, and a lack of agency. I've been sitting here the last few weeks, trying to open myself up to someone new, unable to figure out why moments have made me physically ill, and why others have caused me sheer panic. I had noticed the knots in my stomach and the unusual edginess to my step but haven't been able to put my finger on what has been going on.
At what point does your heart stop beating out of your chest at the mention of their names or at the glimpse of someone that looks like them? At what point does home feel safe? At what point does being held by someone not immediately go down in a ball of flames in your head? At what point does it get easier? At what point does the slight threatening tone in someones voice not make you have a panic attack? At what point do you quit feeling like you have to protect yourself in every second? Is there a point?
I still remember every moment. I wish I could forget. I wish I could forget all of it. Maybe then it would be easier to connect to someone without internally flinching every time they move quickly. Maybe then I'd be able to sleep through the night when someone was asleep next to me. Maybe then I'd be able to look at myself and my body and see it as something worth loving. Maybe then I'd be able to trust when others told me I was beautiful, or that I was worth it, or that they wanted to be with me, instead of hearing that they want something or that it's just another method of control. Maybe one day... until the spring is when the storms will roll in.
Home is where the heart is...
Nothing has been more obvious since coming back to Portland than home is where the heart is. I've been struggling with realizing that a) once again I have to leave the only place that has ever filled up my soul and made me feel energized in this way and b) the next time I come back to visit a great number of the people that have made it home will be gone.
It's weird to think that though I grew up in Portland it wasn't always home in this way. It has always been where my family was and where my homebase was but home and homebase are different in my mind. Homebase is where you land at the end of the day whereas home is where you go to get filled up when you are empty and need to be surrounded in love and confirmations. My friends have made Portland that place.
I have some of the best friends in the world. There is no doubt about that. My best friend has become more and more my rock and my conscience since I have moved and thinking of her not being in Portland when I come back in July is heart-wrenching. The ginger twins are separating and going to be in two different places. People are graduating and moving on, moving to different places and taking their lives to the next level.
I guess that's the same thing I did except it's harder when you do it first cause then you go from knowing what it's like to go back to them to having to acknowledge that they won't be here when I come home anymore. It's put me in a weird place.
I just successfully finished my first year of grad school. Woohoo? It's more like I have successfully completed my first year of grad school for the second time. Had I stayed at Portland State I would be 5 weeks away from graduation but instead I am a few short weeks away from starting summer semester and starting my second year at SIUE. It's crazy to think that this year is over and though has been a quick year it has also been the longest year of my life.
I've talked about a few times about how this year has been long but I've been reflecting on it a lot lately. In the last 12 months I have accepted a postion and committed to moving to Southern Illinois, I've lost the first true love of my life and had my heart obliterated in the process, forgot how to love and trust others, moved to a place that I'd never been with no support near by (or at least that's what it felt like then), found a new family in my coworkers, got caught in the middle of drama, struggled to keep my own demons and addictions in check at moments, struggled with my identity, opened my heart up and had it thrown back in my face, stepped outside of my comfort zone, made new friends, cherished old friendships, rose above what was expected of me, and finished my first year with only 1 B (a huge accomplishment for a kid that barely made it through undergrad).
This has been a year that challenged me professionally in ways that I could have never imagined. It taught me who my allies were both within my region, and my organization, but also what limitations really looked like and how much of that was created by me.
This year has challenged me personally in ways that I don't have words for. My mom has always been my constant and I forgot how difficult it was for me to maintain stability in my own life without her. The only other time that had happened was when I removed her from my life during the dark years. This hasn't been a type of growing up I have wanted and without the chosen family of a few boys in Illinois I probably wouldn't be handling this challenge well.
So here I am, watching as my best friends, my chosen family in Portland, start talking about graduation and leaving Portland and I am starting to feel like a nomad. If home is where the heart is, and my heart is with them, and they are what makes this home, where does my home go if they are all gone? How does that impact the challenges? Is this just another challenge to face?
When all you want is for things to go back to the way they were what does this do? I don't know what to think about this and I am in a constant place, more this trip than any other trip to Portland, where I don't want to go back to SoIll. I just want to stay here, even if only until after graduation, just so that I can soak up all the time with my loves that I can get.... I'm feeling really strained right now... hmmmm.
4.20.2014
The Good, The Bad, and the Monsters
If you've ever talked to me you know that my pupsters are my world. I mean get away from the fact that they are the cutest little pupster terrors ever, and they are also the smartest and most loving creatures in the world. I'll admit I might be a little partial but I don't care.
I've been through a lot in my life and I think a small part of my mom knew that I needed a pet when I was little. I've always had anxiety, I've never handled change or stress well but having pets balanced me. In the times that my depression and anxiety was the worst I thrived on knowing that something else's life relied on me being there to take care of it. It might sound slightly twisted to those that have never suffered from mental health issues but it's a real thing. In so many ways my pets growing up saved me from myself and I can't really imagine who or where I would be now had my mom not made sure they were always around.
With that, when I do crash or find the dark spots of my life it is my pets that suffer because on the days I don't have the energy to get out of bed they don't get the love and attention that they need. I'm not blind in thinking this doesn't happen. I can feel it happening.
When my ex and I brought Milo home I was hurt. Like physically. I had gotten into a bad car accident the night before we drove to Medford to pick him up and my body was out of whack, my head wasn't processing properly. I was a mess. Then we got Milo and my heart melted. We spent those first couple weeks with me at home, or at my parents house, snuggling with him as I healed. When I was hurting or upset he'd snuggle closer. He still does this.
Then we got the wild child. My Kida is a firecracker. She frustrates me more than I think any animal could. She also brings me some of the most joy. I had to laugh at her the other day cause I was upset and just in a funk and so I crawled into their playpen and curled up on their bed with Milo. Kida was minding her own business playing with her toys when she realized I was crying and she started bringing me all her favorite toys and proceeded to curl up at my feet.
My pupsters aren't my world because they need me to take care of them. In so many ways they are my world because I need them to take care of me.
Sitting here on my bed, Milo snuggled in between my legs and Kida asleep on my feet, I can feel them both snoring peacefully. They were throwing up this morning from consuming chocolate and all I could think my whole drive back was how I don't know how I would handle being in Illinois if something happened to one of them. Because I love them more than 98% of the people I know.
We didn't get dogs because I wanted to. We got dogs because my ex wanted to. I think in actuality the universe knew that I needed them as much and more than they needed me. They're my kids and my center. On nights like tonight they will snuggle into bed with me and I'll wake up to Kida licking my toes when she decides it's time to wake up after Milo has already stolen the pillow that he's sharing with me. Some might think this is annoying but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've been through a lot in my life and I think a small part of my mom knew that I needed a pet when I was little. I've always had anxiety, I've never handled change or stress well but having pets balanced me. In the times that my depression and anxiety was the worst I thrived on knowing that something else's life relied on me being there to take care of it. It might sound slightly twisted to those that have never suffered from mental health issues but it's a real thing. In so many ways my pets growing up saved me from myself and I can't really imagine who or where I would be now had my mom not made sure they were always around.
With that, when I do crash or find the dark spots of my life it is my pets that suffer because on the days I don't have the energy to get out of bed they don't get the love and attention that they need. I'm not blind in thinking this doesn't happen. I can feel it happening.
When my ex and I brought Milo home I was hurt. Like physically. I had gotten into a bad car accident the night before we drove to Medford to pick him up and my body was out of whack, my head wasn't processing properly. I was a mess. Then we got Milo and my heart melted. We spent those first couple weeks with me at home, or at my parents house, snuggling with him as I healed. When I was hurting or upset he'd snuggle closer. He still does this.
Then we got the wild child. My Kida is a firecracker. She frustrates me more than I think any animal could. She also brings me some of the most joy. I had to laugh at her the other day cause I was upset and just in a funk and so I crawled into their playpen and curled up on their bed with Milo. Kida was minding her own business playing with her toys when she realized I was crying and she started bringing me all her favorite toys and proceeded to curl up at my feet.
My pupsters aren't my world because they need me to take care of them. In so many ways they are my world because I need them to take care of me.
Sitting here on my bed, Milo snuggled in between my legs and Kida asleep on my feet, I can feel them both snoring peacefully. They were throwing up this morning from consuming chocolate and all I could think my whole drive back was how I don't know how I would handle being in Illinois if something happened to one of them. Because I love them more than 98% of the people I know.
We didn't get dogs because I wanted to. We got dogs because my ex wanted to. I think in actuality the universe knew that I needed them as much and more than they needed me. They're my kids and my center. On nights like tonight they will snuggle into bed with me and I'll wake up to Kida licking my toes when she decides it's time to wake up after Milo has already stolen the pillow that he's sharing with me. Some might think this is annoying but I wouldn't have it any other way.
4.16.2014
Is there a difference between baggage and a monster in the closet?
I think everyone's heard the stupid line that we all have baggage all we can do is hope we find someone who a) (whose) baggage matches ours or b) cares enough to help us unpack. But what if it isn't the baggage that's the problem? What if we can leave the baggage at the door but we can't help but fear the monsters that live in the closet and under the bed?
I don't remember ever being afraid of the monsters under the bed or in the closet as a kid. I think I'm more afraid of them now as an adult because those monsters are scary because they're real. Skelton's of lives passed and memories I've tried to forget. My monsters are the things I tried to forget that come up at random times when all they do is cause problems. It's funny how your subconscious will remove memories from your consciousness... that doesn't mean they're gone. Just means they aren't current in your mind. Just gaps of time. Until they let themselves out.
I've spent the better part of my adulthood trying to hide from anything and anyone that would ask questions. Any situations where I might have to be honest and let myself be vulnerable. Because when I'm vulnerable the monsters come out.
Is there a difference though? Between your baggage and my monsters? Is it like bringing a knife to a gun fight? Or are they comparable? I know baggage you can dress up and try to make it seem better. I remember when I used to add sparkles and glitter to the baggage in my life trying to make it less threatening to others.
Unfortunately, I never figured out how to make the monsters seem more snuggly. They still wake me up at night, in a cold sweat, heart racing and out of breath.
So tell me, how do you make yourself vulnerable and let someone see the monsters knowing full well you have no control over them? For years I've tried to fight them with no success and I refuse to let them be something that someone fights for me.
Ironic that my brain can slowly unravel at a song... I don't know if I'll ever understand this.
I don't remember ever being afraid of the monsters under the bed or in the closet as a kid. I think I'm more afraid of them now as an adult because those monsters are scary because they're real. Skelton's of lives passed and memories I've tried to forget. My monsters are the things I tried to forget that come up at random times when all they do is cause problems. It's funny how your subconscious will remove memories from your consciousness... that doesn't mean they're gone. Just means they aren't current in your mind. Just gaps of time. Until they let themselves out.
I've spent the better part of my adulthood trying to hide from anything and anyone that would ask questions. Any situations where I might have to be honest and let myself be vulnerable. Because when I'm vulnerable the monsters come out.
Is there a difference though? Between your baggage and my monsters? Is it like bringing a knife to a gun fight? Or are they comparable? I know baggage you can dress up and try to make it seem better. I remember when I used to add sparkles and glitter to the baggage in my life trying to make it less threatening to others.
Unfortunately, I never figured out how to make the monsters seem more snuggly. They still wake me up at night, in a cold sweat, heart racing and out of breath.
So tell me, how do you make yourself vulnerable and let someone see the monsters knowing full well you have no control over them? For years I've tried to fight them with no success and I refuse to let them be something that someone fights for me.
Ironic that my brain can slowly unravel at a song... I don't know if I'll ever understand this.
4.15.2014
Under the Blood Moon I gain perspective
The last couple weeks have been one of those magical mystical weeks that we're told will happen when things "turn around" and things "get better." I used to believe that those were just things that our parents/elders/friends told us because they wanted us to quit bitching about how the metaphorical shit kept hitting the fan. I wasn't kidding when I last wrote that I was drowning in plain view. It's weird to think that whole month of March was just some weird blur that happened and I just hoped that somehow my feet would find their way back to the ground.
Granted I had a wonderful week back home with my family where I was, once again, provided perspective and grounding. My best friend shook me a few times and told me to cut it out, then cuddled with me and poured us another glass of wine. That's what real friends are for right. Smack you to snap you out of your fuck and then hand you another glass to get over the shock? That's what I like to think anyway.
I kinda felt like maybe I had pulled out of it.
Then a month ago today my world was rattled. One of my best friends was in a horrible accident. It was actually a month ago today, March 15th. I could not be MORE grateful that we had a friends night planned that night. I found out, had to tell my girls, got to be with two of my best friends while we feared that our dear friend wouldn't make it through the night. We cried, we drank [A LOT], we all stayed the night together, snuggling close to those that we loved. We all kind of broke down together.
I know that the universe does everything for a reason and I like to think that if Laur had to have that accident that the universe waited until I was back in Portland. That sounds twisted in so many ways but I don't know if I would have been able to deal with it had I been in Illinois, away from my friends, my chosen family, my best friend that weeks can go by and then we talk and the planets realign and everything is fine. If I wouldn't have been near her I don't know how I would have put myself in place. I was terrified and rattled to my core.
Two days later my brother had major surgery and we got word that another friend had committed suicide.
What the fuck! That was all I could think while I sat at my desk in small town Illinois, thousands of miles away from everyone I loved and everyone that I wanted to curl up with and cry. That said I didn't cry. I dealt with it. [Let's all comment on my healthy life choices of stuffing emotions instead of dealing with them].
It's bazaar thinking of how much I've grown in this month and how much has change. Laur is doing exceptional (all things considered), my brother is rocking it out with his straight back, my heart is healing from the loss of a friend.
Then great things started to happen.
I got the opportunities professionally that I wanted. I am being given the opportunity to take on something within my field that I have strived for. I met someone wonderful.
If you would have asked me a month ago where I would be today I would have told you I would be in shambles, praying for summer when I could again crawl into my family and hide from my circumstances. That's not where I am though. I'm so ready to take on wonderful things. Don't think for a second that I am jumping in with two feet first, but I am jumping.
My best friend in her infinite words of wisdom told me, "You will never know til you try! Sometimes the unexpected things are the most amazing and just what you need when you don't know it." She couldn't be more right. When everything seemed to be falling apart maybe my life was just leveling things down to the foundation so that I can build again. I am not who I used to be. I don't really know who I am, what I'm doing or where I'm going right now. What I do know it that life is full of adventures and it's about time I get on board and live mine.
3.03.2014
How to drown in Rural Illinois...
I stopped writing for a while. I stopped writing because I couldn't write anymore. I stopped writing because I've been lost and drowning. I stopped writing cause I couldn't remember how. I stopped writing cause I couldn't forget how to write but didn't know how to make my fingers type, how to make words flow, how to share myself with people anymore.
Lately, my life has felt like a horrible analogy. Like a small child that hid in a closet while playing hide and seek only to realize they were locked in and afraid of the dark. That sounds dreadful and morbid but that's the reality. I've spent so much time here in Illinois hiding from my friends and family back home while trying to act like I'm enjoying my life to the people that I spend my time around.
Here is the reality: I haven't been okay.
I haven't been alright. I have been drowning in my own thoughts, my own dreams. Watching as who I knew myself to be has slowly been stripped away from my bones and replaced with hollow emotionless acting of an idea of what I think should be. The reality is, I have drank more in the last 6 months than I think I did in the last two years. The reality is, there are less than 5 people here (that is a generous number) that I have allowed myself to be real with and when I am with them, or talking to them, I feel like I am spilling the small bits of sanity that I have all over the table in front of them. In those few moments with people who see me I splurge all the things I need to say and have needed to feel in the short time we are together.
I am alone.
I say that not to be woe-is-me or my-life-is-so-hard but let's be real: I have struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, feeling hopeless is something I am used to when I am lost.
I read an article today on how to take care of someone that is depressed. I have never read truer words or recognized how much I used to have that in Portland and how little I have that now. It's hard to recognize that you are now alone in a world where you used to be surrounded by people that took care of you before you realized that you were in a scary dark place. I drink because it's easy to be happy when you do. It's easy to fake happy when you do. No one wants to know that when you get home you fight not to cry yourself to sleep. No one wants to hear that. People want to hear that things are great. They aren't.
Since moving to Illinois I started falling for someone. He's one of the few people I let see me. That's probably why it's felt like I am barely holding on to the edge of a cliff at the end of my sanity the last week. I'm not saying he was responsible for my sanity. I'm just saying that for the first time in a long time I felt taken care of: emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually. I felt like someone intimately cared about my wellbeing and about me being taken care of. I have been in a lot of relationships where their needs came first. I've been "responsible" for taking care of my significant other when they were struggling and if I struggled I was on my own. That's probably why my friends so seamlessly took care of me, they knew I didn't have anyone else to take care of me.
It's been hard since losing him. Like I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who to call when I need to process my brain, when I need a hug, like a REAL hug.
Hugs are so under acknowledged. Like a REAL hug that lasts longer than 20 seconds has magical healing potential. I don't get many of those here. I actually barely remember the last one. I do remember. It was from him the day he broke up with me when multiple times in the hour I spent with him he just held me, like really held me and I felt loved, cherished, take care of, and acknowledged. I felt like I could breathe.
I miss touch. I miss having friends I could curl up and cuddle with. I didn't realize until right now how physically deprived I feel. There are real impacts that touch has.
I feel like this post is just one rolling amount of crazy spilling out of my mouth, out of my feelings. I don't feel like I can breathe half the time. I feel like I'm walking around in a world that doesn't see who I really am and I am slowly counting down the minutes until I get to go back to Portland and get embraced by my mom, by my friends, by the people that REALLY know me. I look forward to going back to somewhere that I have REAL friends, not just people that I hang out with but people that know me and want to know me.
I miss my life. I miss feeling like I'm living. I am tired of feeling like I am drowning. I hate feeling like I had found a life preserver and now it's been pulled away and I am just treading water praying I have the energy to stay afloat...
Lately, my life has felt like a horrible analogy. Like a small child that hid in a closet while playing hide and seek only to realize they were locked in and afraid of the dark. That sounds dreadful and morbid but that's the reality. I've spent so much time here in Illinois hiding from my friends and family back home while trying to act like I'm enjoying my life to the people that I spend my time around.
Here is the reality: I haven't been okay.
I haven't been alright. I have been drowning in my own thoughts, my own dreams. Watching as who I knew myself to be has slowly been stripped away from my bones and replaced with hollow emotionless acting of an idea of what I think should be. The reality is, I have drank more in the last 6 months than I think I did in the last two years. The reality is, there are less than 5 people here (that is a generous number) that I have allowed myself to be real with and when I am with them, or talking to them, I feel like I am spilling the small bits of sanity that I have all over the table in front of them. In those few moments with people who see me I splurge all the things I need to say and have needed to feel in the short time we are together.
I am alone.
I say that not to be woe-is-me or my-life-is-so-hard but let's be real: I have struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, feeling hopeless is something I am used to when I am lost.
I read an article today on how to take care of someone that is depressed. I have never read truer words or recognized how much I used to have that in Portland and how little I have that now. It's hard to recognize that you are now alone in a world where you used to be surrounded by people that took care of you before you realized that you were in a scary dark place. I drink because it's easy to be happy when you do. It's easy to fake happy when you do. No one wants to know that when you get home you fight not to cry yourself to sleep. No one wants to hear that. People want to hear that things are great. They aren't.
Since moving to Illinois I started falling for someone. He's one of the few people I let see me. That's probably why it's felt like I am barely holding on to the edge of a cliff at the end of my sanity the last week. I'm not saying he was responsible for my sanity. I'm just saying that for the first time in a long time I felt taken care of: emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually. I felt like someone intimately cared about my wellbeing and about me being taken care of. I have been in a lot of relationships where their needs came first. I've been "responsible" for taking care of my significant other when they were struggling and if I struggled I was on my own. That's probably why my friends so seamlessly took care of me, they knew I didn't have anyone else to take care of me.
It's been hard since losing him. Like I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who to call when I need to process my brain, when I need a hug, like a REAL hug.
Hugs are so under acknowledged. Like a REAL hug that lasts longer than 20 seconds has magical healing potential. I don't get many of those here. I actually barely remember the last one. I do remember. It was from him the day he broke up with me when multiple times in the hour I spent with him he just held me, like really held me and I felt loved, cherished, take care of, and acknowledged. I felt like I could breathe.
I miss touch. I miss having friends I could curl up and cuddle with. I didn't realize until right now how physically deprived I feel. There are real impacts that touch has.
I feel like this post is just one rolling amount of crazy spilling out of my mouth, out of my feelings. I don't feel like I can breathe half the time. I feel like I'm walking around in a world that doesn't see who I really am and I am slowly counting down the minutes until I get to go back to Portland and get embraced by my mom, by my friends, by the people that REALLY know me. I look forward to going back to somewhere that I have REAL friends, not just people that I hang out with but people that know me and want to know me.
I miss my life. I miss feeling like I'm living. I am tired of feeling like I am drowning. I hate feeling like I had found a life preserver and now it's been pulled away and I am just treading water praying I have the energy to stay afloat...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)