“A long night, spent with your most obvious weakness.

I start shaking at the thought.”

Whe I was 19 to 24, I was pretty wild to say the least. And somewhere,in the MySpace vault of last decade, is a picture of me TinkerBell captioned with this.

Honestly, it’s a great picture of us both. And if I could gain access to it, I would print it out. She’s not in Tink custome ( that comes later) but were sitting on a mid level stair landing. With a homemade disco ball. The light caught us at just the right time. I am cracking up laughing, holding a bottle of Patron. And She’s telling me a story, with the back of her hand resting on my hand, so it doesn’t it hit the wall.

This girl was probably my soulmate, a soulsister. Someone I seen at parties and loved dearly. And it was was always us if we were both there. Standing on tables, clad In underwear tight shirts and short skirts, or sheets demanding everyone else to strip down or find a toga. Or holding up hair in the toliet. We often fells asleep in a rocker glider in the back yard where someone would deposit in a bed.

Then one day, I was with Jonathan Kent. And I couldn’t go to those parties anymore. Tinkerbell and I tried to continue our friend,but bars don’t like it when you take off your clothes and apparently neither do police.

We didn’t keep in touch after the last great charade, and I wonder what happened to her. She was a girl after my own 22 year old soul. Loving, wild, free. We didn’t discriminate. I miss you TinkerBell.

I pray there are like you. Who see souls and hearts. Who love without reason. Wherever you needed up, my dear girl, I am proud of you.

You start shaking at the thought”.

Where do I go from here?

This is a question I have been asking myself for the last year. I’m stuck in purgatory. Even though I am going the basic motions to keep my kids safe and healthy, I’m not mentally present. If I’m not asleep, I’m on my phone. If I’m not on my phone I’m laying on the couch, pretending to sleep. When they make the smallest commotion, I’m yelling at them to be quiet.

It’s gotten to the point that Batman now tells Robin, stop Moms not paying attention, or quit we’re going to get yelled at. That makes me feel so guilty, and so sad for them. But I just burrow further and further into my hole.

We are supposed to go on vacation in a week. And I am so completely dreading it. I dont want to spend extended periods of time in the car with them. I don’t want to be cramped in a 2 bedroom condo. Even though I will be at my happy place, the ocean, I just don’t even have the interest or energy to get excited about that.

My feelings of worthlessness and nothingness really scare me. And as much as I may try to reach out to anybody, no one seems to care. No one gives a damn. I’m out at sea. I’m stuck in a tsunami, and I’m not even bothering to swim parallel. I. Just adrift.

Lean on me, when you’re not strongAnd I’ll be your friendI’ll help you carry onFor it won’t be long’Til I’m gonna needSomebody to lean on

My best friends mom died today. And instead of transporting myself back to a living room in 2005 or hospice room in 2017, I took a breathe. I texted her that I loved her, that I loved her family, that I was so so sorry, and that I would buy them clean underwear if they needed.

Because as much as this triggered me. As much as I could face myself in her shoes, I wasn’t walking in her Nikes. I was wearing grey Converse, so her reaction was different than mine. I held back every notion to say this is what you should ( the only recycled advice I gave her was to rest.) I asked what she needed. What did her kids, husband need? Food, laundry, dog sitting, grocery shopping how could.i help.

I wanted her to know, I wasn’t there for social media likes, because I didn’t post a thing about it there and.thos blog is pretty damn anonymous. I didn’t message any of her friends to say hey I think we should do this. So tomorrow I’ll go and order her a pillow or something ( they are not doing a funeral showing) and I will donate to her bill. Because I love her.

We Have the kind of friendship where.we hid money in our wallets. Then if she needs it or the kids need it we have it. It doesn’t matter to us who paid for what pictures, so long as they got paid for.

She is the half to my whole. The one I hold nothing from. Who will be with me and the boys until she can’t. She’s my safety, I’m her wild, and we are both O’Hana

If I’m flounder you’re sebastian. If I’m stich your lilo. If I’m rapunzel your flynn. Your my soul mate, my other half, my lexie grey, or Christina yang. I love you beyond however many starts there are. To infinity qnd beyond.

“Hows it gonna be when I dont know you anymore?

Because I don’t care, how it’s gonna be.”

I think if more people were honest about their lives, they would admit that they hate them or are very unsatisfied with them. Some would say they feel stuck. They may admit to resenting their families.

Me? I would admit that there is nothing in my life that makes me happy or look forward to. I love my kids, and they are what is keeping me from slitting my wrists or taking a handful of pills. But they don’t make me happy. I go through the days, smiling at the right times, pretending to care about people who truly don’t give a damn about me. I’m unappreciated at work. I’m not even noticed at home unless I’m screaming about nobody listening to me, or we run out of some kind of food.

I can have a whole conversation with Jonathan Kent or Capt. America, they will be too busy looking at their phones, not acknowledging my presence. Just for me to finish my conversation, then they look up and ask me a bunch of questions and I have to explain it all again.

With the boys, the most basic instruction can turn into a fight. And that’s my part, that shows my bad parenting, my lack of patience.

It’s just I have no freaking drive to do anything. I don’t care enough to clean. I don’t care enough to put laundry away so I just keep buying new underwear and socks for everyone. I don’t care enough most days to take a fucking shower. The fact that I am able to get the boys in the tub each night and in clean clothes amazes me.

I dont care about my life, I don’t. I am just here. Taking up space. Besides my children, I’m worthless. Somewhere all this journey of mine, I have become meaningless and irrelevant. I’m someone everyone used to know, used to care about. And now I don’t care enough to try and revive these friendships or make new ones. I have nothing left of myself to give. Everything, the love, the goodness, the laughter, its gone. It’s been taken. I gave it away and nobody helped me refill.

Today this week month have not been good for me. I desperately need someone to show me they love me and care. But I am pretty sure I know how it’ll turn put.

“And if Life gives me lemons

I’ll just mix them my drink.”

I made deviled eggs tonight. For the first time in at least 2 years. They were always a staple at family gatherings and any type of carry out dinner. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, anything. It was cheap, fast, easy and good. Everyone loved them . But I always hated deviled eggs.

I haven’t made them since maybe winter 2018. They represent a stable, happier, sane me. Someone who was whole, who knew where her life was going, who had plans for her and children. Now I’m wondering. I’m going through day to day, just waiting for the next foot fall. I can’t enjoy one minute because my anxiety is already preparing for the next. I’m one foot in front of the other, preparing for whatever pain, or problem comes next.but how do I enjoy anyway, knowing all the pain I’ve caused, I’ve endured.

This life deals us all heartaches, and I think we are equipped to handle them differently. I internalize. I write. I hold grudges and blame for everyone’s own mistakes. Of course the guilt doubles on my own.

So tonight, I forgave myself a bit. For the past 2 years. And I made the eggs everyone has loved. The ones I’ve held dearest. And though I won’t be able to see those eat them and enjoy, I will watch my loved ones now do the same. And I will take that bittersweet memory, and hold it to my heart. And I will thank God for every second he has given me with my parents (both sets) and my heroes. I thank him everyday. And I am going to be understanding and love myself be kind. Make the eggs. Have a wonderful holiday.

“You put stars around my scars.”

I looked down at my arm yesterday, and I almost teared up. It’s my left arm. The arm my superheroes would lay their sweet precious little heads aganist to go to sleep, and to eat. For comfort, for love, for safety. And somehow, I allowed myself to become so dark and distorted, that I invaded that space. Now, when they lay in my arms, they will see not only these scars, but several more. And someday, I will have to answer for these. They will eventually read this blog, my journals, all the suicide letters I have wrote. The eulogy and final request I wrote for myself. And maybe, they’ll understand, maybe I’ve explained enough in my writings that they will see how wrong I was, and that I am so very sorry. So now as I go forward, as I try each day to put demons behind me, I hope they will see that I fight each second for them. That I love them more than anything in my entire life.

Every summer has a story

I am still emotionally recovering from not only the death of my last aunt, along with the last bit of happiness from childhood. Losing these things, I never thought would effect me like this.

It’s just a piece of land, and a woman I hadn’t been close to in years. But part of me died that day as well. That land was wild and free, and held so much of my heart. Losing it, has given me nightmares. So bad I can’t sleep. I see the same scenes and memories. And it haunts me daily, this loss.

I see glimpses of my family everyday, family that has long been dead. And friends/love I haven’t spoken to in years.

It was as if, that day, stepping onto that desolate barren land, I lost the last connection to my childhood. For years I thought I’d reunite with Van Halen and my cousin. We’d sit in the kitchen with long table and reminisce about the adventures we’d had growing up while our children ran the farm and made new ones.

And now I know I’ll never get that. These people who were once the two most important in my life, who knew me best, and could read my mind just by looking at me. Who wrote stupid songs to cheer me up, or picked up from school early so we could go on road trip. The boy who taught me what love was, as toxic as it may be, and the boy who showed me how far you go for family. They’re gone.

And so is part of me

Continue reading “Every summer has a story”

” I hope I never lose this. I hope we never end.

I’ll never walk Cornelia St again.”

That’s how I felt the other day. After iding my last living aunt at a funeral home, I drove 2.5 hours to my childhood freedom. Where rules went out the window, and only smiles existed. I ran that dirt road like a manic up and down on an original scooter. Never turning to the right to the gravel road. We ran with the cows, chased frogs, looked for alligators and aliens, wrecked go carts and 4 wheelers. Then as we got older, we brought friends to this place. I fell in love with yours and you with mine. It’s seemed like a perfect beginning. That would eventually lead to my toxic existence.

However, going back there on Monday, seeing you as broken as you were, and the land so desolate. 1 cow, no chickens, sold off piece by piece. None of the magic leftover. It wasn’t neverland and we had to grow up. Walking that grass, smelling the deep mountain air, and knowing it would be my last time to step foot on these hills again, that did more damage than anything.

I’m like a death squad. Out of the 11 children my grandma had, I held 4s hand while they passed. I’ve sign for 2 different out of state cremation receipts, and walked into a mortuary freezer to ID a body. I’ve done CPR, I’ve stopped CPR. I’ve clung to caskets, and pulled others away from caskets.

I’m hanging up my Hoodie. No more. I am done done done. There is only 1 uncle left, who I haven’t seen in years. I am not suiting up for that one. Death has followed me too closely over the years.

And honestly, if it’s the grim reaper courting me, he needs to start leaving orchids instead of bodies so I know wtf is going on.

“My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hands.”

Today. Its a day that I’m speechless. I’m not sure what to say, or think, or feel. It’s a day I saw my wild child free abandoment die. I saw it die. It wasn’t rolling green pastures with baby cows. There were no chickens to chase. The tobacco barn was gone. And the house……it was like a shrine built to a teenaged me, where if I could I would have spent hours. All the signs, the little things. The clock, the tapestry, the acoustic. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think for a second what me driving down that road, making a right turn only to fund it paved would do to me? To know I’ll never step foot into the hills I ran wild in? I’ll never feel that KY bluegrass beneath my bare feet, or drive a go cart Wildly around a farm. I’ll never sneak out a second story secret door from the Underground Railroad to meet my first love. I’ll never tip a cow.

I’ll never tip a cow.

Not the ones on my road.

And now, there are none are your farm. No more babies to hold and feed. No more feral cats to chase. The apple trees are gone.

Your a shell of the person I thought you’d be.

Continue reading ““My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hands.””