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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. 😉

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Proud of You

I’m proud of you, honey, it’s been a long road
You’ve been workin’ hard, girl, look at you go
Yeah, it’s your time, keep movin’ on
Keep on goin’, keep provin’ ’em wrong

Look at how far you’ve come now
Look at all you’ve done now
I’m glad I got a front row view
To see all of your dreams come true
I’m proud of you

Just know I always got you
Don’t let nobody stop you
Keep goin’, girl, you got to

Yeah, baby, I’m proud of you

~David Morris

One of my favorite, maybe even my most favorite things to hear is, I’m proud of you. Particularly, when it’s said from someone I love. Although, it can also be very encouraging, coming from just about anybody. My heart practically bursts knowing my hard work, or my courage, commitment, dedication to something, has been noticed. I always want to live up to the version of myself that those who know and care for me believe in. The me their eyes see. It isn’t so much that I think I need to “earn” love. I sometimes look at the beautiful and amazing people around me and I wonder, what did I ever do to deserve them? I’m not entirely convinced that I do, deserve them. I’m not always so sure if I really am as good as they can and should get. Then again, I recognize the “rose colored glasses”, through which I view those I love and care about. Those glasses have prevented me from recognizing bad intentions, on occasion. I’m guilty of ignoring, excusing, or forgiving things I really shouldn’t have. At least, not nearly so readily. I’ve got an optimism bias, with others. For myself, I often feel the opposite. I’m extremely critical of myself, when I’ve failed to meet my own expectations. That harsh criticism just doesn’t carry over into judgements I’ve made, when it comes to other people. I love fiercely. I’ll forever be your “ride or die”, providing that ya don’t fuck with my family. Even then, I’ve let plenty of cruel and potentially harmful actions go. My only real requirement is that they’re genuinely remorseful. That they’re willing to take accountability for their actions, and committed to making sure it doesn’t happen again. That’s all I’ve ever asked for. I’ve reconciled with some, who’ve repeatedly caused my family and I pain, because it’s so easy for me to tell myself that it wasn’t their intention. They were drunk, or high. They were in a terribly abusive relationship, and felt powerless to prevent what happened. They had a traumatic childhood, and simply didn’t know what healthy relationships looked like. They were hurting. Maybe it was partially my fault. After all, I’m sure there are many opportunities I probably missed, to have made a difference before it got to the point it did. Always, I can find reasons to assure myself they love me. Yes, they made a mistake. They did a bad thing, but they’d never meant to cut me so deeply. They understand the repercussions I suffered, because of their choices, and it wouldn’t happen again. They’d certainly never escalate, creating more damage than this. We’ve been through so much. There’s just no way anyone I’ve sincerely shared my entire world with, would aim to destroy it. How could even someone who hated me, let alone somebody who claimed to love me, want to hurt me so badly? I’m still unable to make it make sense, to myself. My heart doesn’t work that way. I don’t always say the right or best things. I do, and don’t do, things I regret. My words and actions are never purely motivated by intent to inflict pain upon anyone. Not any single one. I can confidently proclaim that. It doesn’t mean I can’t, haven’t, or don’t sometimes hurt people. It was and is absolutely never malicious, though. When I’m angry or upset, I don’t always choose the best method of expressing myself. I say things the wrong way. I walk away, when I should’ve stayed. I continue to argue, when I should’ve stepped away. The distinction I’m making, is that in all those situations, I was attempting to resolve an issue. I want to be heard, and understood. I want to listen and talk with a person I’m convinced is inside there. I want to help. I’m looking for clarity. I’m concerned. I’m confused. I need a little bit of compassion. All of this doesn’t always manage to fit neatly into the sort of conversations you’d see on a family sitcom, but I fight both with and for the people I care most about. Strangers can’t really disappoint me. I’ve no expectations of them. It’s only the ones closest, who are capable of the kind of deep and painful wounds caused by cruelty, betrayal, lies, slander, abuse. Strangers can’t hurt me like that.

I’m no saint, but dammit I’m a decent person. I’m loyal, faithful, trustworthy. I will move heaven and earth for you, if it’s what’s needed. I’ll defend and protect with my life. I forgive. I just can’t possibly alone take the next steps, that could lead to reconciliation and eventual reunification. That part isn’t my burden. It’s not required of me. Forgiveness doesn’t mean allowing someone back through the very walls I’ve built out of the necessity to protect what’s behind them, from those requiring forgiveness in the first place. Forgiveness is letting go of anger. It’s committing to waiving that primal desire for retribution. Beyond that, no one outside my walls is owed more, from me.

It’s especially in these recent years, I’ve needed to know someone does believe in me. To know I’m not a bad person. Somebody looks at me, and sees a girl who’s worthy. Worthy of praise. Worthy of affection. Worthy of love. Adam has told me some version of that phrase, I’m proud of you, fairly frequently. It feels good. It means more than I imagine he even realizes. I’ve heard it from my kids, from my dad, my sister, my friends, even from some relative strangers. It always matters, but never more than when it comes from my husband.

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In My Head

Woke up shakin’ and I’m sweating

Heart racing in the dark

PTSD hitting harder

Than a goddamn buckshot spark

Guns in the damn closet

Ghosts in the fucking hall

Some nights I swear

I hear the damn devil call

Every sunrise

Feels like a second chance

Every sunset

Drags me back into that trance

I’m tired of running

Tired of falling apart

Trying to stitch up the holes

In this busted ass heart

My kids deserve better

Than a half dead [woman]

So I’m fighting everyday

Just to stick to the goddamn plan

I ain’t fuckin’ perfect

Never claimed I was clean

But I’m clawing my way out

Of everything I damn seen

If I die tonight

Let ‘em say I tried

A broken [woman]

Still swinging on the North side

It’s a fucked up world

Here inside my head

Where the nightmares live

And the angels fled

Where the whiskey talks

And the pain ain’t dead

Where I’m begging God

Don’t give up yet

I’m walking that line

Between hell and hope

Trying to climb

Out on this same ass fucking rope

Every damn day

I’m losing and winning

But at least I’m still in it

At least I’m still living

Some nights I break

Some nights I bend

Some nights I swear

The shit won’t end

But I keep on fighting

With bloodshot eyes

‘Cause a [woman] ain’t done

Until the day [she] fuckin’ dies

I been fighting like hell

With the shit in my head

Demons in the mirror

Try to drag me to their death

Got a Bible on the dash

Got a bottle by the bed

Trying to walk with God

But the devil’s in my fuckin’ head

~Jeremy Bentley

This song was only released, earlier this year. It immediately made it onto my “frequently played” playlist. I’ve got every word memorized. It speaks to me. It describes, in this edgy and authentic way, just what I’ve felt. Still feel, on hard days. Some lines touch on the anger and frustration. Some lines remind me exactly why I keep going. The promises I’ve made, to myself and to my family. His words reflect back to me my own determination. My faith. This story of suffering and pain doesn’t only belong to a few. So many people are fighting their own demons, everyday, and begging not to be given up on. We shouldn’t weigh our struggles against those of others, but it’s important to remember you’re not alone. Just because we don’t necessarily see it, in the faces of those around us, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. You never know the battles being fought, inside the minds of strangers. Like another good song says, everybody hurts.

Something I’ve recently learned, is that a bad day isn’t failure. It’s okay to not always be okay. That doesn’t mean the good, in between a bad day, wasn’t real. It doesn’t undo all the progress I’ve made. I have to be mindful, not to let hurt or fears hold me inside tough moments, or hard days. I have to acknowledge what I’m feeling, otherwise it’s going to haunt me. They have already tormented me, many times. I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly rid of them, altogether. They didn’t win, yesterday. They won’t win, tomorrow. If today, it seems like they’re winning, I lean on God. I look at the people I love, and I allow their love for me to penetrate through my darkest thoughts. That’s how I have, do, and will always, find strength and light that guide me. I don’t need to be perfect, to stay wanted. I’m allowed to screw up. I’m entitled to a good cry, once in awhile. When Adam holds me, I know I’m safe. When I embrace my children, I know they feel safe. I am wanted, and I’m needed. I am given so many beautiful moments. I’m capable of creating and participating in more wonderful memories. I’m damaged. I’m flawed. I’m not irreparably broken, though. I’ve accepted, I won’t ever be “fixed”, or brought back to the way I used to be. I can still be useful, though. God has a plan for me. He’s perfectly capable of turning my weaknesses into strengths. Of providing opportunities, where I can offer my talent and time to do great things. I’m being prepared for something, always. Even when I don’t yet know when, how, or why, He does. I’m sure that, in time, answers and solutions will be provided. Many, many times, a way has been made for me. I’m choosing to trust what I can’t prove, but absolutely know is real. I’ll never outrun the past. It will follow into my future, but it can’t take it, unless I give it away. So on those days, when I hear the whispers from Satan tell me all the reasons I should give up, I remind myself of both who fights for me, and what we’re fighting for. Rather than focus on what and where I’ve been, I should instead concentrate on where I’m going. This is my true North. The gravity that pulls me back down to earth, when I’m losing my way. A bad day isn’t final. Neither is a good day, an end to all my bad ones. It’s one moment. One day. Endings are also beginnings. That’s inevitable. That’s life. Cling to goodness, even and especially in the darkness. Because, just as the sun sets, it rises again.

When I say, I’m doing much better, this is what I mean. Not that there aren’t bad days, but that they can’t scare me, like they used to. This restores my confidence, and more and more, there are glimmers that suggest my spark’s being reignited. Less images capture the despair I tried hiding behind a smile, because it’s being slowly replaced with hope. The voices of pity and doom aren’t able to shout at me. Occasionally, I can hear them, but I’m not intimidated. Not even on the bad days. Not anymore. I’m able to turn and face my demons, and it strips them of the power they’d held over me. I hear you. I see you. Now, shut up. I’m busy with things that matter.

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Get It Back

Hello from the bottom, look mama, we almost made it
Haters pay attention to the henchmen, they’re relentless
Almost lost my life by inches in an instance, it’s so senseless
Tension has been endless, I’ve never sat the benches
Jumped the hurdles, climbed the fences, dug myself out of the ditches
Face first into trenches, wiped the mud off of my lenses
Now, I’m back with a vengeance, hear the lickin’-ass repentence
My intentions never been get rich at someone elses expenses
Did my sentence standing tall, cut ’em short I hear they snitchin’
I won’t mention all the bitches that was wishin’ I was finished
Speakin’ to the real, so all my people ridin’ with me

People in the trenches hear this song, they feeling that
I been on the top and lost it all, I’ll get it back
Every word in this song, I’m living that
Somewhere along the way I got lost, I’ll bring it back

~Struggle Jennings

Yesterday, I really didn’t do much to write about. I got the house cleaned up, after our long weekend. I was ready for bed, last night! I think I was just exhausted, from all our fun shenanigans. Today, I had to go into Nashville, to get my blood drawn. My doctor’s been wanting to do that, every other month, to monitor a bunch of the things. My iron levels have continued to improve, although not as much as they need to. Anemia throws my thyroid out of whack. It fucks with my red and white blood counts. I have noticed a big drop in the amount of alerts my watch sends, because my heart rate is too high. That’s another thing that happens. My heart races. I’ve gone from 5-10 alerts, per day, to maybe one or two a month. This is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s going to take time. At least, that’s what my doctor tells me.

In a lot of ways, restoring my mental health has been much easier than repairing the damage done to my body. I blame no one, but myself, for my physical health challenges. That’s on me. I don’t eat right. It’s been strange, the way my desire for some foods, and disgust with others, have evolved. I still struggle with textures, more than anything else. I also just do not enjoy being “full”. There are lots of foods, that were always my favorites, but that now repulse me. I eat almost no meat. Pretty much the only thing I’ll stomach, is fried chicken. I’ll eat half a chicken tender, occasionally. Anything with cheese, was always my favorites. Now, not so much. I’ve got a nutritionist. It was easier to make her a list of things I will eat, than those I won’t. It’s a short list. I wasn’t always like this. I didn’t used to be a picky eater. I mean this with every fiber of my being, trying to gain weight, and get healthy, is no less of a struggle than it is for those working to lose weight. I have to take every single bite, with intention. I have to consider every calorie I put into my body, as well as those I burn. I have to be conscientious about the nutritional value inside every meal. I have to choose more than mashed potatoes, or peanut butter toast, and that ain’t exactly easy for me! For the first time in more than two years, the scale actually registered more than two digits, while I stood on it. I weighed exactly 100.3 pounds. I’ll take that win, and celebrate these little successes. Isn’t it amazing, how quickly we can fall down, but getting back upright is such a long and very hard process? Someone once said to me, “Most every person would die, to protect their family. Few of us will actually find ourselves in that circumstance, though. What’s much more common, is situations where we’re tempted to give up. Where we convince ourselves we’re useless. If you’re brave enough to give your life, for them, find the courage to live. Live for them. No matter how unworthy you might feel, you matter to someone. Your life is valuable, even when you can’t see that. Fight for yourself. Because, they aren’t asking you to die for them. They need you to live.” That really stuck with me.

My smiles are genuine. The fact that I’m choosing to laugh with my family, to live and to love this life, that doesn’t mean history no longer matters to me. It definitely does matter, but I’ll not continue to let it define me. There are parts of my past, never going to be welcome in my future. There are parts that I truly pray I’ll one day be able to share it with. The latter, isn’t entirely up to me. That’s a choice for them to make. There are people who I couldn’t quit loving, if I wanted to. I can love someone, but hate their actions. There are people, who will forever occupy a place in my heart, but maybe not my life. I can want, and wish, and pray all day long, but so long as they continue to be a dangerous threat to everyone else that I love, I can’t let them back in. There are some, who can’t understand that. Who place blame squarely on me, for my “doors” being closed to anyone I love. I’ve defended myself from well meaning fools, who’ve argued with me over the fact that my own mom isn’t in my life. They’ll claim that, no matter what, she’s still your mom. My point, exactly! She’s supposed to be my Mom! She’s supposed to keep me safe. You think I’m honestly cold-hearted and capable of pushing her out, on a whim, because she pissed me off?? SHE LEFT! Claiming to know how to “fix” my relationships, as if you’d have perfectly handled walking in my shoes, is a load of crap. Especially considering all the details and facts, that you most certainly are not informed of. It’s an ignorant assumption. One I suspect I’d also have made, in their shoes, before the last decade of my life. It simply isn’t fair, to judge. It wasn’t my decision, when anyone tried to burn me to the ground, along with all that I cared about. I didn’t slam that door closed. They did. For some people, that door is permanently locked. For others, they’ve got the keys to it. Whether or not it’s used, is entirely dependent upon their willingness to get back here. For now, they’ve yet to take a single step toward me. In fact, they’re running in the opposite direction.

The point is, how many tears I cry or for how long, are not a stick with which anyone can measure the depth of the love I felt or feel, for those not with me. My inability to move on, would no more prove my love, than my ability to move on could disprove it. Mine and my family’s life didn’t stop, just because they weren’t watching. You can’t press pause, on us, like a Netlix show. We won’t be at the same place we were left off. We’re making memories. Celebrating holidays. Having birthdays, and anniversaries. It took me a long time, to accept that it was okay for us to do those things. I held onto a lot of guilt, and it prevented me from feeling truly present in my own life. My goal was simply to survive. We existed in a constant cycle of anxiety, fear, anger, and sadness. Adrenaline propelled me forward. And then, the high of the emotional rollercoaster, was over. Dazed, exhausted, and confused, it took awhile to get our bearings. It took even longer, before I’d even contemplate a future that we could participate in choosing. Picking a direction, and moving toward something good. I’d spent so much time, just running from what was harming us. There was no place to head towards. Only what we had to go from. Faced with the ability to seek out peace and comfort, was overwhelming. My heart longed for it, but my mind trusted nothing. I’ve arrived at somewhere that physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, I can relax inside. Well, I got here long before I felt safe enough to settle in.

If there are names I don’t mention, it’s not necessarily because I don’t care anymore. More often than not, my silence is an expression of love. Speaking up, in most cases, would serve no one, and no purpose. Including, my own peace. I can write about my feelings, emotions, and experiences, without explaining every why behind them. I know why. I know how. I don’t have to defend myself, and I won’t selfishly list off all the offenses of another person, just to justify the thoughts I express. If I had to confess the sins, betrayal, and trespass of others, in order to protest my innocence in an allegation, that would usher in nothing but hate. I’d be swallowed up by it. Condemning myself to the very torment I’ve been set free from. “Setting myself on fire, hoping someone else gets burned.” I won’t do it. I’ll stay right here, where I am, because it’s the best place I’ve been. I can’t save everybody from being burned, but I damn sure won’t be the one lighting them on fire.

American Nights

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Pray the morning don’t come
These colors don’t run
Stay up and stay young

American nights

~Morgan Wallen

Yesterday was so much fun! Mikayla always “crashes”, when she comes back home. She didn’t get up, until after noon. She’s been working so hard, and I’m extremely proud of her. I’m proud of all my girls! Brooklyn decided to pursue her associates degree, and has been taking classes during the days, while also working a full time job, overnights. She’s done an impressive job, already saving up a good amount of money for herself, too. I still sometimes just marvel at how much all my girls have grown, but especially my Brooklyn. Brooklyn was born, more than two months premature. She was diagnosed with autism and sensory processing disorder, right after her third birthday. She didn’t start speaking, until nearly a year later. She can be very literal and blunt, in her thinking and her words. It isn’t always easy for her to recognize the subtle cues in how others say things, their facial expressions, things like that. She sometimes misunderstands, after mistaking someone’s intentional sarcasm for genuine emotion. On the other hand, she’s also super funny! She makes me laugh, a lot. We tease that she’s got the same personality as her cat. Whenever a stranger comes around, she disappears. Once she gets comfortable, though, she will open up. She’s a great judge of character, too. She seems to quickly recognize and discern, who can and cannot be trusted. She, herself, is sincere to the point of often being “brutally honest”. My sister’s always said, if she wants to feel good about herself, she’ll ask Mikayla’s opinions. If she wants the truth, she’ll ask Brooklyn. I admire the way Brooklyn never compromises her true feelings or beliefs, for anything or anyone else. She had to learn how to be a little bit more delicate, when sharing her opinions with others, but she’ll always tell you the truth if you ask her for it. During her Senior year of high school, and while I was working outside the home and our family were all going through the toughest season of our lives, she grew into this beautiful and brave young woman. I almost missed the subtle changes in her, for awhile. As that year progressed, it occurred to me just how strong and helpful she’d been. She took on almost all of the daily household chores. She became Mj’s second mama, and really paid close attention to Mj’s struggling. She spent hours listening and talking, with her. She did her best to make life fun, for all of us. In those firsts, like the first holidays without some of the people we wouldn’t celebrate with, she was goofy and wanted to cheer up our heavy hearts. She kept up her grades, in school. Never had missing or incomplete work. As much as I truly appreciate all she did for everyone, including me, I also felt tremendous guilt. This never should have been her burden to carry. Her last year to be a “kid”, should have been filled with fun and friends. Not dirty dishes, laundry, making sure her little sister brushed her teeth before school, and looking after her mama. I should’ve been much more present with her, and aware. I look back, and see just how selfish I’d been. Running from the turmoil, trying to avoid having to look at the damage done to our family. To my babies. When she had to have her knee surgery, I’d already begun to recognize these things I hadn’t been, but so wanted to do again, with and for my babies. Her health challenge was just the final push, that convinced me what and where I needed to do and be. I was not going to let her go through that, without being right beside her. I can’t ever “make up’ for the time I missed, with my girls, but I did do my darndest to be fully present, from then on. I’m still determined to be a better mama. To give them what they need and deserve. Now, Brooklyn is no longer a child, and is carving her own path in life. Although I do miss the hell out of her, I’m also hella proud to of her. I’m hella proud of all of them! Mikayla’s wicked smart. Like, well beyond my own capabilities. She’s doing these absolutely incredible things. Achieving her goals and dreams, like the badass she is. She’s an actual freaking rocket scientist, and she’s proving to be a damn good one at that. Brooklyn’s continuing to challenge herself, leaving her comfort zone so that she can learn and grow, and build her very own beautiful life. Mj’s grown more than hips and boobs, too. She’s maturing, quickly. I find myself having deep conversations with her. Real, grown up type of talks, about big topics. She’s doing color guard, taking after her big sister, Mikayla. She’s got a real good group of friends. She’s become awfully “boy crazy” recently, as well, which her daddy claims is making his beard turn gray. Haha! Mj is a teenage girl. A young lady, who’s figuring out what and who she wants to be. My goal is to support and encourage my girls. To guide them, as best I can, and to be a mama who they’ll always want to include, as they navigate along their own journeys.

We celebrated the Fourth of July, swimming, talking, giggling, baking, eating, and shooting fireworks. It only rained briefly, shortly after we got started with our fireworks. We sat and waited for the rain to pass, and then were able to get right back to it. Adam and the girls had a blast. I had the best Fourth of July, in years. Maybe, the best one ever, actually. I loved seeing my carefree, smiling family. I wasn’t plagued by the same sadness, that had clung to me, for the past two July Fourths. I feel “lighter”. I’m more free than I’ve felt, in a long time. I can acknowledge the aches and pains, that might bubble up from time to time, without being consumed by them. My shine is no longer dimmed. My sparkle’s back. I’ve been able to allow my present joy to fill in the spaces, where I’d held onto past hurts. Change doesn’t require that nothing stays the same. It often happens without even noticing, until more time passes. Hours become days. Days become weeks. Weeks become years. Before you know it, you’ve gotten a little bit older. A little bit wiser. A little bit stronger. It seems that I too, have grown.

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4th of July

And I’m looking at you
With the world in the rear view

You were pretty as can be, sitting in the front seat
Looking at me, telling me you love me
And you’re happy to be with me on the 4th of July

~Shooter Jennings

We were supposed to be going out on a pontoon boat, with some friends, yesterday. Unfortunately, the weather decided not to cooperate with those plans. It stormed, alllll afternoon, into the evening. Since that also meant Adam couldn’t grill our supper, he fried us some bacon. We ate BLT’s, instead. After supper, we sat around and played games. Although not the way we intended our day to be spent, we had a lot of fun, anyhow.

Today, we’re hoping to be able to spend time, outside, weather permitting. This will be our first time spending the Fourth, at home, since we moved to this house! We’ve got lots of fireworks, this year, and our neighborhood also has a big party. I’m excited to do some swimming, play some cornhole, eat some yummy bbq, and watch the fireworks.

HAPPY 250th BIRTHDAY, America!

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No More Lies

So look straight into eyes Tell me the truth and not lies So now I understand…

~Brabo Gator

If the severity of a spanking matched my level of regret and remorse, this one would’ve left me sitting uncomfortably for at least a week!

After Adam said those dreaded words, you’re going to get a spanking, all I could do was hang my head. He shut off the shower water, stepped out, and then wrapped a towel around me, like he always does. He wrapped a towel around his own waist, and reached out for me. Knowing what was coming, I froze. I admitted, I knew I deserved it, but also told him I was scared. And, I was!

In my mind, I’d committed the worst crime imaginable. I’d broken the number one rule, between us. We don’t lie to each other. I envisioned a spanking more serious than any he’d ever given, before. What would that even be like? What if it makes me cry? Would he stay and hold me, after, like he always had? In those brief moments, all these thoughts played over, in my head.

The next thing I knew, he had me over his knees. My left arm was out in front of me, pinned between our bodies, but my right arm was still free. Instinctively, I reached back, to cover my exposed behind. Adam took my right hand in his left one, and held it against my back, removing my ability to continue making feeble attempts at preventing what was coming. As much as my body wanted to, I fought the urge to kick my legs, to try launching myself from his grip. Even though I’ve done tried all these things, before, and knew I was no match for his strong arms, deep down I also knew I needed to submit. After all, I damn well knew I’d done wrong, and this predicament was entirely my own doing. As his right arm raised, and I anticipated the first smack across my now perfectly positioned butt, I gripped Adam’s leg with my left hand, and the hand he was holding my other in. I realized my nails were beginning to dig into his skin, and found myself shouting out, I don’t want to scratch you! I sensed his raised hand relax, for a second, as he gently assured me that it was okay if I scratched him. He could handle it. I did my best, not to let my long nails scrape across him. I did end up managing to keep from giving him any accidental scratches or cuts from them, too.

I won’t pretend the whole thing was a pleasant experience, but ultimately, I had no issues sleeping or sitting comfortably, after. That spanking could’ve been SO much worse, and I’d have fully accepted I’d earned it. Instead, he chose to let me off pretty darned easy, considering what I’d done. He held me in his arms, kissed me, and begged me to trust him, when he tells me that he’ll love me no matter what. He’s not going anywhere, and that there’s nothing we can’t get through, together.

Later, as I reflected, it dawned on me that it actually has been the spankings I’ve most felt I deserved, that have been much less severe than I’d anticipated. On the other hand, the most severe ones have been for things I had vehemently argued I didn’t believe were warranted. Things I considered minimal, minor, petty, and sometimes even got angry at him for determining punishment was necessary in the first place. That’s when it clicked, for me. I nearly said out loud my collective thoughts “ohhhh”, with this realization! If I’m being bitchy, arguing with him over whether I believe I’ve done wrong, that’s a great big red flag. It signals, I’m not sorry, and I’ll do it again. It displays my lack of respect for him, or his boundaries. It tells him I’m not sorry. This is almost certainly, precisely the reason he’s chosen to make sure I’d come to regret whatever it was I’d done. Maybe, it’s not about the severity of my wrongs, but about the sincerity in my remorse. Of course, I’m aware that if I lie to him again, my apologies probably ain’t sparing me. At that point, I’d have already proven I wasn’t sorry enough not to do that again. But, for the most rare instances of lines crossed, he just wants to know that I’m taking it as seriously as he does. That I mean it, when I tell him, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.

Note to future self…. Lose the attitude. Drop the arguments. Tell him you’re sorry, and try to mean it. You’ll most likely avoid getting your ego checked, with a bruised behind.

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I Was Lying

I wish I could reconcile, cause deep inside I’m dying So I put on a smile, and I pretend I’m fine
I’m just another screw up, baby don’t waste your time I told you we’d be different, but we knew I was lying

~Burden

Ok, so not exactly as dramatic as these song lyrics, but I told Adam a lie.

I’m very good at circling truth, sometimes. Adam calls this, sidestepping. Sort of leading him to the conclusion I’m intending, but without explicitly ever speaking an untruth. One thing I just never did, was tell my husband a lie. I did that, last week. For the first time, in literally more than a decade, my lips spoke a blatant falsehood, to him. When the subject was first mentioned, I didn’t lie. I sidestepped, no doubt, but I allowed him to conclude a lie, based on my statement of facts.

To further explain, we have to go back in time, to around two weeks ago. We were about to make our trip to Knoxville. I was busy, the day we were leaving. I’d run errands, got us all packed up, and made a couple tedious phone calls that needed to be taken care of. There was one more thing, Adam expected me to have gotten done, that day, but I’d completely forgotten about it. Fast forward, to Monday. Laying in bed, Monday night, I suddenly remembered what it was I’d forgotten to do, on Friday. It was late. I told myself I’d do it first thing, the next morning. Unfortunately, Tuesday came and went. I had not, in fact, remembered to do so. It wasn’t until that Wednesday morning, I’d finally taken care of it. I hadn’t mentioned any of this, to Adam. If I’m honest, I don’t think I planned to. Except, the very next evening, he specifically asked me if I’d gotten that done. What I said to him was, that I’d actually forgotten, on Friday. I told him, I remembered, on Monday. As predicted, my response was satisfactory…until a few more days passed. It’d come up, once again. Only, he was asking me to clarify that I’d handled it on Monday. I tried to dance around the truth, and asked him, Don’t you remember, we talked about this the other day? I told you I’d forgot on Friday, but remembered it on Monday. Had he drawn the same conclusion he had previously, I’d be guilty of simply sidestepping the truth, again. That’s not what happened, though. He came out, and asked me to verify for him that I’d gotten it done, on Monday. In that split second, I made the choice to lie. I told him, YES. I lied to myself, too. I wanted to believe it was just a harmless fib. I nearly fooled my own conscience, but not for long. The harder I tried to push down the guilt that bubbled up, the sicker I began to feel. I simply could not ignore it.

I spent more than a day, wrestling with my own guilty conscience. My stomach was in knots. I knew what I was going to have to do, as much as I hated to have to admit to Adam the stupid lie I’d told him, and for a stupid ass reason. I felt, at the time, that confessing my absentmindedness had gone on for more than just one business day, would seem much more irresponsible. Instead, what I wound up doing was making multiple irresponsible decisions, in my effort to conceal an insignificant mistake.

I felt so ashamed. I couldn’t hide the truth from Adam for one more day. I vowed to come clean, about all of it, that evening. Which was just last night.

I’d been more quiet than usual, while we showered. Adam was noticing this. We’d finished showering, and I began to wring out my hair. He reached for the faucet, and asked me if I was all done. The tiny pause before I replied with a weak, yes, removed all remaining doubt in his mind. Something was up. He looked at me, and asked if I was sure. I looked down. That’s when he asked me what it was I needed to tell him. I fought the urge to lie, again, and insist there was nothing wrong. I was downright disgusted, with myself. The shame and embarrassment made me want to hide. I wasn’t going to allow myself to evade accountability, though.

I laid it all out. Like one very long, run on sentence, the truth poured out of me. I watched his face, as my words landed in his ears, expecting to see the same disgust I had over what I’d done reflected back to me in his eyes. His expression was soft, though. He looked down at me, listening to every single word I was saying. I made no excuses, for myself. I made no efforts to lay any part of the blame on him. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong. When I’d finished my tearful confession, I looked back into his eyes, and told him how sorry I was. I meant it, too. I can’t remember feeling more sorry.

His hands clasped my face, as he leaned down and kissed my forehead. The first words out of his mouth were, I love you. He insisted, I have to stop thinking I have to be perfect. There’s nothing I can say or do, to push him away. He reminded me of how much we’ve been through, and that he’s not going anywhere. He told me he appreciated that I’d come clean, and that I apologized. He said he probably never would’ve found out, and although it did hurt that I’d lied to him, he was glad my lie had made me uncomfortable enough to admit it. He acknowledged that he understood that wasn’t easy to do, told me thank you, and then informed me I was getting a spanking.

To be continued…