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Iris

And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t wanna go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
When sooner or later it’s over
I just don’t wanna miss you tonight

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

~Goo Goo Dolls

It’s a tough thing to talk about, but I’m gonna try. For a solid year, from ‘24-‘25, Adam was my solid ground. The place I could lose the illusion of confident composure I presented, everywhere else. And, boy did I lose myself. When my cat, Buddy, died in my arms, I didn’t know I could cry like I did. Between 2024-2025, it was a million times more painful than holding my sweet cat, when he died. It was like watching a movie. It was me, and the entire cast of characters I’d known, but I was only an observer in my own life. I genuinely can’t count the times when I’d see myself clinging to my legs, rocking back and forth, desperately searching for air inside rooms it suddenly seemed to have been sucked from. I’d hear words, sounds, cries, and screams, and although I knew they came from me, it also stunned me. I’d have impulsive thoughts, that didn’t sync up with who I’d believed I was. I don’t even know when it was, or how I got there, but a point came when I realized I’d finally begun to recognize myself, again. It started small. Tiny moments, inside long hard days, when I could find something familiar. The hope I’d truly never expected to grasp again, slowly made itself known. Much like the way a snowflake can be the beginnings of an avalanche, those individual moments grew into clusters of them. Momentum takes over, and before I knew it, here I am. Looking back, time somehow sped up, while I’d have sworn it’d stopped. Remembering it now, that year’s a blur.

Today, I’ll not lie to you, or to myself. Am I somebody I’d consider “whole”? Probably not. I adamantly refuse to accept the notion that I’m supposed to be broken, though. I reject any advice that seeks to keep me down. If anything, the slightest provocation intended to push me backward, only propels me further away from that awful place. I suppose this is one of those times, where my stubbornness becomes my superpower.

The trouble is, as I’ve taken steps forward, I seem to have outpaced my husband’s. This man stayed right there with me, when I was incapable of moving. He held onto me. If he needed some more time to move through this, after I found my footing, I was determined to stand there next to him. Same as he’d done for me.

It’s been more than another year, now. For awhile, I’ve noticed my frustrations building. He appears to be comfortable, right where we’re at, but I am not. My patience has waned.

He’s got a lot on his plate, and believe me, I get that! He never runs out of work that needs doing, phone calls that need answering or making, folks consuming his last ounces of energy. I know my husband, and I sure as hell see the evidence of the hurt he tries so hard to hide. I’ve poured into him, in every way I know how to. More than anyone I’ve ever known, he’s entitled to better than he’s gotten from life. I really mean that. He ain’t perfect, but he’s sure a whole lot closer than I am! My objections, to his hesitation in accepting his true worth, are absolutely valid. I’m certainly not the only one who knows so, either.

This weekend, I made a decision. Adam rarely internalizes gentle suggestions. He misses the subtle hints I make. He’ll do anything for me, but fails to understand that what I need, right now, is him. Not his body. Not his money. Him. The man whose attention I didn’t have to constantly compete for. The guy who wouldn’t have tolerated the bullshit, even and especially from himself. Who never let excuses reduce his expectations. Most of all, his own. I ripped off the “bandaid”, and I did not mince words. I told him, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to hurt you. Honestly, I’m not even confident that another conversation will make any difference, but I have to say it. I’m bored as fuck. I’m sick of begging you to want to make time for me. You come home, and you become a damn zombie. I know your friends all act like they’re 80, but I’m not ready to sit in a stupid rocking chair and wait to die. We’re basically roommates who sometimes fuck. Most of my friends are single, and crazy, and they act like it. I’m so protective of our marriage. I won’t go to the concerts, or the bars, with my friends, because I know how badly I’m craving the attention you’re not paying me. I’ve got zero interest in any other man, but I’m also scared of even the possibility of one weak moment, when somebody else makes me feel something. No more bullshit excuses, about how much you’re taking on at work, or padding bank accounts. You’ve worked more hours than this, and harder actual labor, but never forgot about me.

After listening to his responses, his assurances that everything he does is for me, and repeating how much he loves me, I said I know you love me, but I need to know you still like me. I need you to make time for me. To miss being silly, and laughing, and talking. I’m not talking about having to intentionally pencil me into your days, either. We can’t just schedule a deep conversation. We can’t decide whether we’ll spend an hour talking, laughing, dancing, making out, or fighting. Those things have to happen organically!

He wrapped me up in his arms, pulled me into his chest, and with a noticeable lump in his throat, he told me I was so right. He apologized, as he swore all he wants to do is make me happy. I stepped back, to look into his eyes, and asked him, Don’t you get it, though? All I want, is to know I make you happy. I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, all the time. I just want to see you making an effort to hang out with me. I don’t want to be tolerated, or placated. I want you to like me, and to miss me as much as I’ve been missing you.

He promised he heard my words, and would do much better. I sure do hope that’s true, because I so badly want to be more than an obligation. I’m tired of sharing so much of MY HUSBAND with everyone and everything else. Least of all, people and things that don’t deserve the space they hold.

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Get A Little

Counting down the days to Friday night
By the end of the week
I think I’ve earned the right

To get a little drunk, get a little stoned
Catch a good buzz to my favorite song
Go a little crazy, get a little numb
Raise a glass, and bang my head to the beat of the drums

~Wayland

Yesterday, I picked up Mj, and we went for our Friday afternoon “coffee date”. It’s been our thing, my girls and I, to make a trip for coffee every Friday. We stopped by the grocery store, and got stuff to make Fiastadas. On our way home, this song played on the radio. It’s one we’ve often jammed to, on our backyard guitar playing nights. I sent this video to my dad, his girlfriend, and my sister. We’ve all got a group chat that we text each other in, pretty much daily. Our conversation went as follows…

**My dad’s the world’s biggest smart ass lol**

For the record, I never wrecked my dad’s truck. When I was 16, he’d just bought a really cool new pickup, and he let me drive it out one Friday night. On my way home, a mama and baby deer ran across the highway. I hit the brakes, and literally just as it came to a stop, it did that little lurch forward from the momentum. I knocked the baby deer down, but it got right back up and ran off. It was completely unharmed. However, it slightly dented in his front license plate. He intentionally left it that way, and has always teased me about the time I “totaled” his new truck. 😂

I had to drive Mj to flags practice, at 6:45 this morning. Adam went into work for awhile, and then came home and worked some more. We’re going to have some grilled hotdogs and brats, for supper, so this afternoon I made some potato salad and deviled eggs to go with. I recorded that process, if anybody’d like to see how I make those. I’ll link it, at the end of this blog post. When Mj’s practice was over, I picked up her and her friend. She’s having a friend over, to spend the night. They asked me to drive them over to the bookstore. So, I brought them over there. I’m figuring they’ll be calling for me to come bring them home, any minute now. She’s at the age where it seems like I’m just constantly chauffeuring her places. I swear, there’s at least somewhere to bring her, pick her up from, or both, everyday! I love it, though. Usually, anyhow. It makes me happy, spending time with any and all my babies. It also means the world to me that they want to hang out with their mama, too.

I’m hoping I can talk Adam into playing a few games of cornhole, with me, later tonight. It’s a fairly laid back weekend, here in our house. Which I think is honestly just perfect!

Here’s the link to my deviled eggs, and potato salad 🙂

https://youtu.be/886K8DyEHcc?is=OLEZ4_AoNmIGXXtO

Living Proof

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my old recurring dreams
are few and far between
cause I don’t get much sleep, and you don’t haunt me anymore

were you ever really here

my coffee’s getting stronger
my hair is getting longer
one heart now broken into two
when I look in the mirror
I see a foreign figure
[she] and I have a different point of view
were you ever really here
was I dreaming you
I’m the evidence
I’m the living proof

~Silverada

I’ve sorta wavered between this desire for openness, and my internal struggle to trust. Life’s been super busy, but not with things that particularly usher in any negativity. It’s hard, because I’ve got plenty of people around me. I have friends and family, who care. I’ve just built certain specific “boxes”, that I hold all my relationships inside. There are my own arbitrary boundary lines, and I haven’t been able to allow those to be crossed. Some have been peripherally connected to me, for a long time, and are mostly aware of the changes that have occurred, over time, in my life. Some only have vague cliff notes. Highlight reels, of the most important things, but no details. There are so few, who see and know all of me. Who understand me well enough that words don’t necessarily need to be spoken between us. Adam knows me better than anyone else. As much as I do share with him, it can still be difficult. Not because he judges or scolds me, for baring my heart to him. It’s just that, he always wants to “fix” my “broken” parts. If I’m having a tough day, his instinct is simply to make things better for me. I love him, for that. He’s an amazing protector and provider! He thinks like a man. Like a good husband does, for his wife. I’m not always bringing my struggles, my problems, my fears to him, because I’m asking him to take them on. I don’t expect him to sort out and put together every puzzle piece that’s rattling around in my mind. Often, those are things I need to solve, or process through, myself. Part of that internal processing requires bouncing my chaotic thoughts off someone I can trust them with. It helps me to understand what, why, and how I’m feeling. I suppose this has gotten much more challenging, as time has continually shown me how much of the safety and security I’d believed in, had only been an illusion. I’m afraid, because I’ve been taught how unexpectedly, at any given moment, my world can collapse. It’s this uncertainty that halts real meaningful faith in the sturdiness of any ground I’m tempted to plant myself on. For this reason, I can’t allow myself to grow roots. So, I don’t stay anywhere for too long. I won’t give myself fully to anything, or anyone. It sucks, to admit it. I hate that my naive “innocence”, in so eagerly giving my all to others, has been lost.

I’ve begun to recognize how unhealthy it is, to remain so closely guarded. I explained this to my husband, using SSRI’s as an example. I’ve taken them, in the past, and I honestly despise them things. While they can be useful, in helping me up from the depths of depression, they also hinder my progress. There’s a point where I sort of reach a plateau, and SSRI’s make it impossible to continue on my journey to recovery. Not to mention, they virtually extinguish my sex drive. I guess I’m seeing how my attempts to protect myself, are also preventing me from forming the very relationships I so badly crave. I’ve avoided some people, who’ve done nothing to deserve it. On the bad days, I’d worry I might open myself up too much, and wind up getting hurt. On the good days, I’d worry my confidence could lead me to overestimate the strength and security of those relationships, and I’d wind up getting hurt. With some friends, when I sense us growing closer, I pull way back. Sometimes, when I’ve regretted sharing more than I intended to, I just bail. I’ll ignore phone calls, and leave texts on read, without any reply at all. Maybe I really am sparing myself more heartaches, or perhaps I’m pushing away people who genuinely care for me. It could be a bit of both. I’m not quite sure how to even begin to break down those barriers I’ve created, between myself and everyone. It’s a whole lot easier in theory, than it is in practice. I actually quit seeing my therapist, awhile ago, for the same reasons I’ve ghosted everybody else. We were getting way too close to the most painful and vulnerable parts of me. Like a coward, I left without any warning. I am self aware enough to know, acknowledging these challenges is a huge step towards making positive changes.

On that note…

We spent last weekend in Knoxville, with Mikayla. Adam got her new washer and dryer all hooked up. He leveled her fridge door, so it’d close right. We went out to eat, and took her to Trader Joe’s, and then we stocked her new place with groceries. My favorite part, was the evening we spent out by the pool. Her apartment complex has an awesome outdoor space!

I also uploaded a new recipe video, for anyone who might be interested.

https://youtu.be/tqiEAVtc_OI?is=F2g4xbVXF-gW3lY5

In spite of all the crap that still needs sorted out, in me, there’s also a whole bunch of happy being found. There’s plenty of goodness, and it’s making me stronger, everyday.

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Something to Believe In

Well, I see him on the TV
Preaching ’bout the promised lands
He tells me, “Believe in Jesus”
Steals the money from my hands
Some say he was a good man
Lord, I think he sinned

22 years of mental tears cries a suicidal Vietnam vet
Who fought a losing war on a foreign shore
To find his country didn’t want him back
Their bullets took his best friends in Saigon
Our lawyers took his wife, his kids, no regrets
In a time I don’t remember
In a war he can’t forget
He cried, “Forgive me for what I’ve done there
‘Cause I never meant the things I did”

And give me something to believe in
If there’s a Lord above
And give me something to believe in
Oh, Lord, arise”

~Poison

I’m really not looking for a political argument, but my gosh, am I fed up with… Is our latest escapade supposed to be referred to as “military action”? Whatever. It’s another war, our congress never voted for. We’ve been fighting, somewhere in the Middle East, since before my adult life even began! I’m wise enough to recognize there are things I surely don’t understand. I have to assume some kind of intelligence has been gathered, which has lead my country’s leaders to send our young men and women back into a hell I can’t begin to imagine. What I do know about, is the scars undoubtedly being caused. They’re witnessing, and also participating in, horrific realities of combat. Some leave with catastrophic wounds. Some only recognize they’re injured, after they’re back here. There’ll be physical trauma, but also mental and emotional pain, that doesn’t ever fully heal. And, for some, they’ll only make it back home inside a box draped in the American flag. Because this has been pretty much the “norm”, my entire adult life, I have to wonder if it’s just always been this way? Does every generation feel like the world’s “on fire”? Does everyone ponder over whether “the end is nigh”? The overarching question I’ve got, though, is why? What are we really trying to do? What are the suits, behind their comfortable desks, making these calls that affect families that are somehow never theirs, truly aiming to accomplish?

I’ve gotta end this rant, because I don’t have time to fully hash out my frustration with those things, tonight.

School’s officially back in session. August, December, and May are the most busy times of the year, for us. Mikayla starts back to school, next week, and B doesn’t go back until September. We’re going down to Knoxville, this coming weekend. Mikayla’s moving into a new apartment. We’re going to help her get all moved in, and set up there.

This past weekend, I worked on a little project. I’ve had a plain cube shelf, in our living room, for awhile now. I’ve considered replacing it, with a nicer one, but ultimately decided to give an idea I’d gotten a try. I spent a day and a half measuring, sawing, nailing, gluing, and painting. First, I added some trim, around the top of the shelf. I also added faux stained oak wood look, at the top.

Then, I painted 1.5 inch blocks, and attached them to the bottom. After that, I added more trim that I’d also painted. I used 1.5 inch trim, for the sides, but on the front, I shorted it to just 1 inch. It created a slight arch, this way.

Before (also peep Gary peering out from behind 😂)

I was pretty proud of myself! I did it completely on my own, with only my own brain to process my ideas and to create something that worked. It’s not perfect, but it turned out looking much better than before!

I better go grab my husband, and hop in the shower, before he passes out. Poor guy’s been working so much, lately. It’s SO hot, too. I always get on him, to make sure he’s staying hydrated. Especially after last year, when he was found unconscious after suffering heat stroke, out on one of the job sites! I don’t think my heart can take another phone call like that one.

I should actually have a little more time to sit down and write, tomorrow morning. Just wanted to stop in, and say all’s well. Busy, is all! Good, though. Real good.

I also shared a couple of snack/treats I made, for school and Adam’s work lunches, if anyone’s interested.

https://youtu.be/UOjpXJ50aDI?is=QDmCywyrsyDgMdLi

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Footprints on the Moon

It’s Everest, I know
It’s impossible, you’re too young or too old
That’s what they tell you
So that’s what you tell you too
So the light, it fades
When you figure out the rules, they change
When you touch it in your hands, it’s sand
Slipping through, but the truth is

Everybody says that you can’t ’til you do
Standing there, staring at the mirror in the room
Tell yourself “One more day, one more day, one more shot”
The voices in the night, in your head
Yeah, they’ll pay you to quit
They’ll tell you that it’s hard, ’cause it is
But you can do anything, anything you want to
There’s footprints on the moon

~Gabby Barrett

I’m running out of time to write much here, tonight. It’s been another busy day. I had an appointment, in Nashville. When I got back home, I made monotonous phone calls, and then I put on some music. I got a lot of housework done. Mj’s been busy, with lots of days of flags practice. School officially starts back, next week. How did another Summer come and pass by, so quickly?! I’m taking her school shopping, tomorrow.

While I was cooking supper, I got to thinking about some things I’d been wanting to talk about. I uploaded a video, and it’s posted on my YouTube channel now.

https://youtu.be/3TQ6kyuLC2o?is=I0Q3rDEZ20N5VgLK

Other than all that, I don’t have a whole lot else to say. I’m going to put “I Love Lucy”, on the TV, and work on some craft projects. I’ve got just about an hour, before it’ll be time to hop in the shower with Adam, and then get ready for bed. Goodnight, y’all. ♥️

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Hard Days

You wouldn’t know what it’s like to dance in the rain
Never see the silver lining when the skies go grey
You wouldn’t know a dream come true from a few that don’t
You’d never find your way on a broken road

If you never had hard days
If you never had a heartbreak
Never had more than you can take
Or carried the weight
Of life on your shoulders
Would you feel like you earned it?
Would you live with a purpose?
Or ever known your own strength
If you never had hard days

~Brantley Gilbert

Life has been busy, lately, but in the best way. I sort of “catch” myself, in the process of making sweet memories, and become acutely aware that, at least inside this moment, I feel “full”. Almost as if I’m viewing myself in third person. I can observe not only who and what’s around me, and where we are, but also reflect on what, where, who I am, and how “she’s” doing. How “she’s” feeling, right now. It almost surprises me, discovering that what didn’t seem possible anymore, in fact could be. That in spite of the intentions of some, or of theirs and even my own assumptions, I can actually be happy and “whole”. Surrounded by old, as well as new faces, I’m still capable of finding fulfillment. I’ve had a lot of fun, this Summer. I’m less guarded, overall. No longer carrying the weight of all those heavy emotions, everywhere I go. Things I didn’t think I’d ever be able to set down, if only for a little while. I won’t pretend it’s never there. It isn’t always, though. For me, that’s an incredible blessing. I can do more than merely survive. I don’t need to always be cautiously playing defense, just waiting for the next heartbreak. I can relax, relatively confident that those around me aren’t plotting a new offensive attack, against me. I’ve got people who truly support and encourage me. People who comfort and protect me. People who genuinely do celebrate my successes. I’d like to say that no doubt or worry remain. I’d be lying. It’s very hard for me to trust absolutely. There are times, when my mind’s voice whispers reminders of how, and by whom, I’ve been so deeply hurt. Those seeds of fear can quickly grow, and easily convince me to question my safety. It’s much less scary, for me, to “shut down”. To close myself off to any and everyone. I think that’s why it’s so unexpected, peering into my own life, and seeing a girl who isn’t fearful and burdened. A girl who isn’t constructing illusions, trying to at least appear content in her skin. Happy, even. I’m not concealing my sadness, hurt, worry, and doubt. Hiding them behind the socially acceptable mask I wore, because of how afraid I was to let anyone really see me. Not because those feelings are gone, but because they no longer haunt my every waking moment. Hell, they’d even chased me into my sleep. The best part is that I’m not consciously putting effort into preventing the negativity from entering. I don’t have to consider it. It doesn’t require my constant attention, allowing me virtually no privacy. For the most part, if I’m honest, that seems to be contained within designated, specific areas. I do open the doors they’re behind, when I need to. It’s a rare occasion, these days, that those doors are flung open by what’s inside, or at the insistence of anyone who enjoys disturbing my peace. I don’t expect it all to disappear. I’m pretty sure there’ll be no getting rid of it. Even if I could do that, I wouldn’t. It occurs to me, banishing all the hurt feelings would mean giving up large parts of my own humanity. You’d have to be heartless, a narcissistic megalomaniac, to actually be able to banish people or things from memory, altogether. I can’t simply “turn off” the love I’ve had for somebody. I don’t hate anyone. I wouldn’t even say I don’t love those no longer welcome in my life. I truly believe I do yet hold real love, for them. Some more than others, but still, there’s love. While some will stay relegated to my past, I’m not wishing they wouldn’t continue to exist, just because it’s not with me.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to chase the new hopes and dreams I’m imagining. I’m so very thankful for what I have, and who I get to call my family and friends. I’m glad to see all the good, around me. I’m proud to know I can be an active participant in the good they count as their own blessings. I’m not just a burden. I’m a wife, a mama, a daughter, sister, and a friend. It was a great try, but hate, hurt, and selfishness haven’t won.

Mikayla and Brooklyn’s dad came to visit, last week. We had everyone, including him, over. It had been rainy, so we decided on making BLT’s for supper. My dad, and his girlfriend, were here. All my girls, and a couple extra friends, came. We all swam and played cornhole, later. We also celebrated Mikayla’s birthday. I got stuff to make s’mores and pudgie pies, over the fire pit. It was just so darned nice, having fun with everyone! It makes me happy, that my oldest girls’ father can spend time with us, and we all can get along and have a great time. I know it means a lot to my girls, having everyone they love all together. I even caught a photo of a rainbow!

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Something in Your Mouth

Crafty little lip tricks, tattoos on her left hip
She’s bending as you’re spending, there’s no end to it, so baby come on!

You’re so much cooler when you never pull it out
‘Cause you look so much cuter with something in your mouth

~Nickelback

A few days ago, my husband asked me what’s on my mind. He’d noticed I was more quiet than usual, and became suspicious. I assured him, I’ve done nothing wrong, and wasn’t keeping anything from him. I explained, something just felt off. I couldn’t determine why I felt that way, though. I told him, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve detected a disturbance in the force, is all.” That description made him laugh. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I checked to see if my period was coming. Sometimes my hormones get screwy, right before it, but nope. When Adam pulled me into his arms, kissed me, and promised I had nothing to worry about. We were good. That gave me an instant relief, and was when it occurred to me my upset was likely simply a result of missing my husband. He’s been working, a LOT, the past few months. I added up his hours, for the week prior to this one. Not even including his drive time, he’d worked nearly 70 hours in just that week alone. It leaves us little time together, and he’s functioning on like four hours of sleep, everyday. I absolutely appreciate all he has, is, and would always do for us. He provides this beautiful life for his family, and affords me privileges not available to just everyone. He does what he does, to make sure we’re taken good care of. Knowing all of this, I try hard to never nag him about his work/life balance. To him, his work is a willing sacrifice he makes so that I don’t have to worry, and can remain comfortable and secure. Still, I can’t help but miss him. He’ll come home from a 15 hour workday, and never fails to make time for me. Even before he changes his clothes, or sits down, he’s in the kitchen with a kiss, asking me to tell him about my day. He’s happy to spend time with the kids, too. I’m one damn lucky woman.

That night, as we settled into bed, I rubbed my fingers along his rough hands. I traced up his forearms, and over the bulges his muscles create, on my fingers path up to his neck. Adam reciprocated, doing the same dance across my body, using his own hands. Before long, we were both naked. He was gentle, and I understood his efforts to reassure me of his love, as we made love.

The following evening (last night), as we stood together in the shower, he continued to “pour into me”. He did his best to remain alert and present in the moment, with me, in spite of the exhaustion I was sure he dealt with. As we were about to cut off the water and get out, he grabbed hold of me, and gave me a long kiss. I pushed him up against the shower wall, and dropped to my knees. I was eager to pleasure my husband, with my mouth. His body responded, promptly. He ran his hand through my hair, brushing it from my face, and then gripping hold of it at the base of my neck. His other hand reached to fondle my breasts. Soon, my tastebuds alerted me of his impending eruption. I kept going, until finally he pulled back on the ponytail his hand held my hair into, gently forcing my mouth to let go of him. He knows my limitations. I’m neither a swallower, nor a spitter. I didn’t gag once. Which is an accomplishment if I’m being honest, but if there’s one thing I just cannot do, it’s let him finish inside my mouth. I tried, once. Throwing up on my husband’s dick isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever done. So, that was the last time we did that.

It had been months, since I’d given my man a blowjob. I felt bad about it, but dammit I’ve got needs too. I recognize my nympho tendencies, around him, but I can’t help myself. I always want him to fuck me. Sometimes, I do also need the sweet lovemaking. He’s just soooo good at giving my body that euphoric ecstasy it craves, from him. Only from him. I’d never been like that, before. He brings out these animalistic desires, within me. He is so danged good at being a man.

I’m horny, again. I hope he doesn’t get home late, tonight.

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Like A Nightmare

Cracking under the pressure
Rising up and getting underneath your skin
Feel it turn into leather
Watch it peeling off the broken bones of a discount soul forever
I’ll always be the one to watch you
fall apart then try to keep it together
At the bottom in the endless dark of an empty heart

Giving into the pleasure
Like a sliver digging underneath my skin
I’m feeling better than ever
Drag myself across a concrete floor through an open door forever
You’ll always be the one to make me fall apart
Gotta keep it together
At the bottom of the endless dark feel the fire start

I take it to the edge
I do it till it bleeds
I push it to the limit
I ain’t ever gonna sleep
I’m dying for a fight
I’m living on the run
Cause it’s hard to see the light down the barrel of a gun
I take it like a drug to try to kill the pain
Addicted to the damage I ain’t never gonna change
Cause what I want is haunting me
Like a nightmare

~Deadset Society

In many ways, being broken down presents an opportunity. You’re given a chance to take inventory, piece by piece, as you sort through yourself. You can now really examine all of your own parts, and reflect on how or why they’d gotten there in the first place. Like cleaning out an overflowing closet. Item by item, you remember when and where you got each one. You consider whether they’re still worth the space they require. Do you even like it, now? You find things you’d completely forgotten about. A twenty dollar bill, inside a coat pocket. An old receipt. Things that feel like you’re rediscovering hidden treasures. Things you no longer want or need, and plenty junk. Worn out, stained, broken, and expired items you’ll toss in the trash. Things you’ll recycle, or donate. What you’ll keep, and what you won’t. It takes time and effort, but eventually you’re rewarded with a tidy, usable, freshly clean and organized space. It feels pretty great, once you’re able to enjoy the results of your labor. This is just what I’ve been working towards, within myself.

It’s not always obvious, what I’ll find, or how it got there. There are memories attached to all of it. Some things are hard to let go of, even when that’s what I ultimately want. For awhile, I just couldn’t bring myself to begin this process. Once I was ready, just like reorganizing a messy closet, the mess spilled out into previously uncluttered places. There’s a period of time, when cleaning actually looks more like making a mess, than it does, well, cleaning. To those on the outside, it appears as if you’re just redundantly shuffling around your crap. Trust the process. It takes time. Only you can choose what’s important, to you. What’s worth hanging onto, and what isn’t. We’ve all got a “junk drawer”, somewhere in our homes. Except, it’s not really all just “junk”. You keep things you’re not quite sure whether you might one day reach for. You don’t need it, today, but you’re not certain about tomorrow. There just may come a day you’ll be glad you hung onto something you’ve kept in there. So, ya wind up with a drawer full of different sizes and shapes of screws and nails, small tools, napkins, straws, batteries. I think everybody’s entitled to a little bit of space, designated for the random things we’re not willing to throw away. Space for the clutter and messiness to be placed. Out of sight, but not gone. Not right now, anyhow. We don’t have to display it prominently. It’s no one else’s business.

In this process of reorganization and restructuring, I’m able to rebuild myself, my life, into something I hope will be less chaotic. I’ve got a drawer, a basket, or a bin, in practically every room. Spots to store all the stuff I’m not ready to part with, or not ready to sort through. That’s okay. Room by room, I’m tidying up. I’m creating spaces that are much more inviting. I move some furniture around, hang some new photos, sweep, vacuum, dust, and mop. I’ve no guarantees that my entire house will be beautifully and perfectly clean and decorated. It’s a big house. Life has a way of bringing home clutter, every single day. Progress has been made, though. Tangible, meaningful improvements. On days when I decide to tackle another closet or cupboard, things look and feel messy, for awhile. Always, with a little work, time, and patience, comes the reward of another satisfyingly renewed and comfortable space, behind another door I’m no longer embarrassed or afraid to allow anyone to open. Including myself. This is my quiet transition. The one I’m making, within myself. I’m proud of it. I’m proud of myself. I’m so grateful to have a husband, family, and friends, who share my excitement. Who also love when I’m able to show them inside each “room, closet, cupboard, and drawer” that I’ve made viable and accessible, once again.

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Cracks in My Calm

I smile like it’s fine
Keep it light for the crowd
But there’s a riot underneath
Begging me to get loud

You want polite, you got it
You want peace, I bought it
With years of my voice buried in my chest
Now there’s nothing left
But a bomb begging for the test

You don’t see the cracks in my calm
The grin I wear right before I’m gone
That twitch in my jaw when I’m holding my breath
Like I’m trying to bury what’s begging for death
I’m a breakdown looking composed
A loaded truth that nobody knows

Don’t trust the steel, I’m the calm before
The war inside that you can’t ignore
They say I’m strong because I don’t show the break
But I’m strong ’cause I ain’t snapped, not yet, for my sake
If I let one scream out the rest will follow
And there won’t be nothing left by tomorrow

~War Torn

I’ve got a fairly long list of letters yet to be written. Letters meant for family and friends, past and present. People I need to share much more than I have with. There’s a few letters, for a few people, who most likely won’t ever read them. Because I’ve no real intention of mailing them. Those letters are for me. A way to speak my peace. To pour my heart out to those who only ever existed, as I knew them, in my imagination. What I wholeheartedly believed was reality has been shattered into unrecognizable pieces, incapable of being resurrected or restored. There are people I’d genuinely opened myself up to, along with all that mattered to me. People who ultimately, it turns out, didn’t value any of it the way I had. People who pretended to be someone they just aren’t. People I trusted, while choosing to ignore evidence that hinted at all the reasons I shouldn’t have. Hell, sometimes the evidence screamed at me, and still I remained blind and deaf to it. Since the biggest upset of my life (to date), I’ve held all my “cards” up even more closely to my chest. It hurts too much, all the betrayal. I’ve stayed guarded from everyone but my husband. Even then, I don’t always go to him with my worries, my anger, pain. Not every time, and not all of it. Everyone I know has sort of a “ceiling” to if, what, and how much I share. A limit on how close I’ll allow them to get. I reckon my fear of rejection has become one of my tallest hurdles. Nothing hurts more than being told I don’t matter, by those I love and care about. Having someone I’d regarded so close to me, accept any false narratives about me. Discovering just how quickly and easily lies became the only truth they believed, in spite of every reason I’d expected would prove otherwise. It’s hard enough, when someone I’ve welcomed into my life is capable of telling vicious lies. I think it’s an even deeper wound though, when anyone I’ve trusted hears a lie, and doesn’t even question it. Won’t give me a benefit of doubt, but instead decides I’m no longer worthy, and wants to punish me for being the deceitful villain that someone else’s story claims me to be. Nothing they themselves had known to be true, prior to the lies, matters at all. No amount of testimony or evidence makes a difference. Even when opinions start to sway, by that point it’s too late. My trust’s broken. Your verdict’s pointless. What reason is there to attempt to build bridges back to somebody I can’t imagine I’ll be able to rely on, again? I can’t share my life with someone who’s shown me how willing they are to discard it like trash, the moment they decide to trade me for something I couldn’t or wouldn’t give them.

This post isn’t about the past. Not that part, anyway. I say all this to help explain my current struggle. My inability to find faith in others, that I’ll be trusted, believed, accepted, loved. To give my own perspectives, as well as provide insight into how and why, I’d have to open myself up to the possibility of being rejected. I just haven’t had the courage to do that, yet. I don’t mean here, in my blog. I’m referring to the real and tangible parts and pieces I’ve wished to sort through, outside of myself. It’s felt as if I’ve been hanging on by a tiny thread, and if someone pulls it, I’m afraid I’ll never make it back upright again.

I recently talked with my doctor, about weaning off my antidepressant medicine. I don’t want to be on it forever, and I already hate that without taking it every single night, I can’t sleep. I don’t want to be dependent on any substance or medication, even if it’s not necessarily addictive. My doctor assured me, I’m on the lowest dose of my antidepressant, and he’s never had any patients struggle to get off it. While I really do feel much more competent and capable of doing life without it, I’m not so confident in my ability to handle getting hit by another one of life’s significant blows. Not yet. My recovery feels pretty fragile, and I absolutely cannot let my mind go back to the dark and scary places I’ve come out of. I spent hours sat on the floor of our shower, hugging my legs to my chest, sobbing and pleading with God. I remember once, Adam sat beside me. His arms wrapped around me, and the tears also streaming down his own face. The only words I was able to form were, I don’t see it, anymore. I can’t find it. It’s gone. I didn’t see a way out of the awful place I was trapped inside. I couldn’t find an ounce of hope to hang onto. My past didn’t seem to belong to me, anymore. The present was unbearable, and as far as I could tell, there was no meaningful future. I was without purpose. I was useless. Not just that, I was a monster. I couldn’t protect my family. No rescue would come. All that was left, was the pain and misery I carried and brought onto everyone I touched. I didn’t even trust the person reflected back to me, in the mirror. I couldn’t tell which thoughts and emotions were real. I wasn’t sure whether my memories, intentions, or the love I’d had for those I believed I did, were actually true. I questioned my own motives in everything, with everyone. It was impossible for me to decipher facts from fiction, even and especially when it came to who I was. I wondered, am I who they said I was? Could it be, I’m just not a good person, and I hadn’t seen how bad I’ve been? Am I a heartless, selfish, hateful person? Was I trying to accomplish opposite objectives, to those I’d told myself were the intended purpose for my thoughts, words, and actions? Did I do despicable things, but somehow convinced myself I hadn’t? Am I crazy? Am I terrible? Is this my fault? Is my family in more danger, with me remaining a part of it? Maybe the solution to saving them, is by ending my life? Could things get better, for my family, or would I only manage to make things even worse? I can’t do anything right. If I pull the trigger, steer my car into this ravine, or take all these pills, will that be just another selfish piece of shit move? Maybe they’re supposed to despise me. If it meant an opportunity to give my family a better life, I’d gladly sacrifice my own. If I could spare my husband, my babies, everyone who’s been here trying to save me, from experiencing further heartbreak, I’d accept all the blame. I’d take the hate, the shame, the wrath.

I was quickly losing my grasp on reality. Spiraling through despair, down an endless portal to hell. I could conceive of no other possibilities, aside from descending deeper into that dark place. I grew increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin. I was desperate to escape. Part of me wanted to run. To get away from the tormented existence I saw no hope of getting out of. Whatever that meant. Whether it was getting in my car, and driving far far away. Saying goodbye to the life I’d worked so hard to build, and finding somewhere, anywhere else, to hide out in. Or, whether it meant giving into those incessant urges to permanently end my life. I just so badly wanted respite. This is the place I absolutely cannot go back to. I’m afraid, next time, I won’t make it out alive.

I’m not there, anymore. Thank God. I’m also uncertain about where exactly it is I’d like to be. I’m not sure what my goals or expectations could, or should, look like. I haven’t quite figured out what it is that I’d like to achieve. Where will I go, from here? What even would be realistic hopes and dreams? I spent such a significant part of my life working to get to a place that no longer exists. So, where will I go, now? How will I get there? Who’ll come with me? How far will I be allowed to get, before the wrong person takes notice? When it’s discovered, that I’m moving towards something, will that mark on my back another target? I don’t know that I’d be able to mend any additional wounds, inflicted upon myself or those around me. Not yet. Sometimes, I think it’s safer to just stay put. To let others remain arrogant and satisfied. Assured there’d be no need to pay any attention, so long as they think I’m staying down. I’m not. I’m definitely not down. I just worry about making too much noise, if I climb too high, and draw attention to myself or my family. I want to be left the fuck alone. On the other hand, I don’t want to be ignored, or hated. It really depends on who’s in the audience, I suppose.

I know who I am. I know who I was before, too. I know who I want to be, and who I’ve always strived to be. I’m contemplating the future. Which is a giant leap forward. I’ve come from a hopeless place, where a future wasn’t even an option. At least, not one I had a say in. I’ve gotten to wherever this is. Maybe it’s some kind of purgatory? At least it ain’t hell. Time isn’t a luxury afforded to any of us for long, so I’d prefer not to waste it on worry and doubt over things beyond my control. However, for the moment, I’m content. Mostly content. I’m comfortable enough to take solitude here, and enjoy the beautiful sights all around me. I’ve got something to cling to. Something to protect. Something worth fighting for. I’m taking my time, before I let most people into this place, but I do long for the company of others. I’d like to open up. There’s so much I want to say, to so many. If only I could trust that I’d be listened to, heard, and not dismissed. That I can tear down some layers of this wall I’ve had no choice but to surround myself with. Brick by brick, without them becoming the very weapons someone else will throw right back into the place I’ve been sheltering inside. I want to be understood, and accepted. I’d like to share who I really am, behind and underneath it all. One day, I will. I’m getting stronger, everyday. It’s not always an easy distinction, between building resilience and putting up more walls. I’m trying to fortify myself, but also to avoid growing “harder”. I don’t want to go to any wars. I believe in the philosophy of peace through strength. Don’t test me, though. I’m not going to keep hidden. My lips are not sealed for your protection. It’s for mine. I won’t sell my soul, abandoning my principles to fight battles which serve no one. I won’t lie, either. I’ll tell as much truth as necessary, to those with whom it’s appropriate to do so. Not on a whim, and not simply to protect some idealistic image of myself. That’s a pointless endeavor. Those who stand beside me, don’t demand these things from me. That’s precisely why they’re the ones who deserve to know. Why those are the people I’m considering, when I speak of removing the barriers that prevent us from drawing closer. None of this is for or about the ones who aren’t around me. It’s about those who’ve stayed. Who believed in me, and who’ve supported me through this hell. Finally, it’s about me. I don’t give a solitary fuck, if that makes me appear selfish. I’m entitled to care about me, too. If anyone’s upset about the light shining on and around me, perhaps it’s time to grab your own shovel, and begin the work to dig yourself out from the hole you’ve created. Find your own sunshine. You can’t have mine.

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Changes

I feel unhappy, I feel so sad
I’ve lost the best friend that I ever had
She was my woman, I loved her so
But it’s too late now, I’ve let her go

I’m going through changes
I’m going through changes

We shared the years, we shared each day
In love, together, we found the way
But soon, the world had its evil way
My heart was blinded, love went astray

I’m going through changes
I’m going through changes

~Black Sabbath

This song is much more sad and somber, than I am today. The lyrics, for me, have more than one meaning. I think of the person I called my best friend, for some two decades or so. I think of my mother, along with others, who were once big parts of my life. I also feel these words portray a sort of losing of myself, as I knew her. No one can ever steal me, from myself, but I’m not the same version of who I was. I carry all the memories, mourn the same losses, still celebrate every joyful moment, but in many ways I’m not really the same person. Life’s most significant events have always brought about some changes. Not always bad ones. There’s good, too. Changes in the how’s, the where’s, the when’s, the why’s. Also, changes in who. Who’s there. Who’s not. Who I was then, and who I am now. History makes its impact, in ways that can’t necessarily always be seen, felt, or undone. Certainly, that can never be redone. It’s funny, once in awhile I take a step back, and I look at myself from different perspectives. I view myself today, through the lens of younger me. I imagine older me, and what advice she might have for me. Would younger me be proud of where I’ve taken her? Would she be impressed, or disappointed, to find out where she’s going? Will older me be proud of how far she’s come? What would each of those “me’s” want me to know, right now? I believe they’d both tell me not to be so hard on myself. They’d tell me to quit worrying, so much. That it’s going to be okay, no matter what happens. You’re going to get through even the hardest times. I learned to do this exercise, in therapy. Something I realized, is that anytime I think of my younger self, and imagine speaking to her, my heart fills with such compassion. Almost like when I’m looking at my own children. I want to comfort her. I want her to know, I’m proud of her. That she’s capable of great things, and to just hang in there, because there’s a whole lot of amazing things to look forward to in her future. I want her to feel the love I know that she longs for, and if it were possible, I’d reach into the past and give it to her. All of this affords me an opportunity to view myself in this very moment, with more love and compassion. When I consider what future me might want me to know, I’m almost positive she’ll look back to present day me and feel exactly the same way that present day me does about past tense me. I hope that makes sense, to anyone reading this.

This current “operating system” I’m running on has been through a whole lot of “updates”. I look a bit different, than just a few years ago. My hair is longer, and so are my fingernails. My skin is actually healthier. I’m well hydrated, and those little creases from smile lines weren’t simply effects of aging. I discovered that I needed a hell of a lot more moisturizers, for my hair and my face. After finding the right amounts and products, holy shit my skin and hair look pretty darned good, if I do say so myself. I’ve gotten calmer. My ability to “take it in stride” has improved. My faith in Christ has grown deeper, and stronger. My wardrobe’s different. I’ve upgraded my closet, to include a much wider variety of options and stylistic choices. I’m the proud owner of a lot more pairs of shoes, almost entirely heels. My taste in accessories, like sunglasses, purses, perfumes, has become somewhat “fancy”. I appreciate well made, authentic options. Not everything’s required to be adorned with designer labels, and Lord knows I love to find me a good bargain, but I do enjoy acquiring nice things. I’ve developed an interest in some new things, too. My home is decorated quite differently. Color schemes, wall art, and furniture choices have evolved. I’ve really honed in on my crafting abilities. Although, far from perfect, I’ve become fairly good at making creative new arts and craft projects. I’m still kind of a “homebody”, but I also do get out more. I know it sounds contradictory, but I’ve gotten more open to new and different opportunities, while also more closely guarding my peace. I’m probably not making myself quite as vulnerable, as I may have done before. I’ve always had some “rough edges”. I’ll never forget, in high school, when a boy said to me, “You’ve got a hard shell, but you’re a good egg.” I suppose that analogy still applies. I’m often not great at giving the best first impressions. Many people mistake my “hard shell” for bitchiness. What might, at first glance, appear to be irritation or lack of interest, is very often not at all the case. It’s nearly always just a matter of fear. I’m afraid. Afraid to let you get too close. Afraid your intentions aren’t good. Afraid something bad will happen. Afraid I’ll get hurt. Afraid I’ll hurt you. There’s all kinds of things, like that, which suppress my desires for friendship and love. The world is an incredibly unsafe place. I know this. That doesn’t stop me from craving the comfort in some measure of knowing I’m safe, somewhere. Whether it’s at home, at the grocery store, talking with friends or family, I so want to feel safe. There are very limited few people and places, that I fully trust. This is likely why my circle is small, and why home is my favorite place to be! My fears and uncertainty are things I will often attempt to conceal. I hide those insecurities behind false confidence, aiming to project a harsher image of myself, so that I might avoid handing others an opportunity to harm me. I resemble my miniature Australian Shepherd dog, in this way, because he’s an “all bark and no bite” type of personality, too. He wants your attention and affection, but he’s scared of people he doesn’t know, yet. He makes himself look and sound ferocious, until he’s assured it’s safe to let his guard down. Once you get to know him, you quickly realize that underneath his growls and barks, he’s a sweet and gentle soul. And anyway, he’d never have bitten you.

I need to go get my clothes changed, and ready for the day. I’ve got a grocery order to pick up. I need to swing by the post office, and then I’m meeting a friend for a little “coffee date”. After that, I’ll pick Mj up from her summer camp, and come home to cook supper. See, future self and all y’all, I get out. I’m expanding my comfort zone. At least, a little bit. 😉