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Ghost

It’s 3am, all I have left is the ghost of you You were the one I could run to; to get me through Now it feels like I’m the one to blame And now it feels like I have something to explain

You’re in my DM’s now that I have ghosted you I was the one you thought you could run back to Now it feels like I’m the one to blame And now it feels like I have something to explain

You are the ghost of my summer nights When the moon is the only light And I’m still tryna catch a vibe But I’m chasing memories You are the ghost of my summer nights When the moon is the only light And I’m still tryna chase a high But I’m chasing memories

~Nate Vickers

They say that life is a gift. In many ways, they’re right. For those fortunate enough to live awhile, eventually you realize it isn’t quite what any of us were expecting. There are so many amazing things to be had, moments we all cherish. There’s marriages, and births. The thrill of taking a joyride, in a fast car. There’s the excitement, when you finally sign the deed to your very own home. There’s the ecstasy, while making love. We all crave the comfort in knowing we’re wanted, valued, and safe. But, there’s also divorce, and deaths. There are car crashes, foreclosures, and sometimes people turn their backs on us. I can think of countless examples of things that brought me the highest highs, before taking me down to the lowest of lows.

I was thinking today, about all of this. It really struck me, realizing life’s actually settled into a new normal. Whatever normal is. I’m a bit nervous to even think about it, let alone “say” it aloud. I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point where I’m not at least half expecting the ground beneath me to cave in, again and again, and then again. This life has taught me that down can feel like up. Right can feel like wrong, and wrong can feel right. Bad can feel good, and good sometimes feels real bad. Jelly Roll sang the profound song lyrics, “she feels like she’s flying, while we’re all watching her fall”. Most of us hold within us a true desire to do right, and to be a good human. Unfortunately, our intentions can mean very little, to some. It’s perceptions, over our choices, that can make or break us. It’s not simply a matter of truth and lies, what’s real, and what isn’t. Not even undeniable proof is always capable of destroying, or of salvaging, every damaged relationship. I believe that accepting uncomfortable truths requires much more than evidence. Telling the truth takes courage, as well as humility. There has got to be trust, before truth can exist. We must find faith in something. In that same breath, we also need to admit we’ve all got our blind spots. We’re flawed and imperfect beings, who can, will, and do make mistakes.

There are occasions, when we’re forced to decipher what’s accident, versus blatantly on purpose. It’s certainly not always easy, because malice can be concealed behind deep and dangerous deception. Discernment is particularly difficult, with those we love. When our inclination is to defend the ones we care about, ignoring or too quickly forgiving their clear trespasses against us. Eventually, the inevitable can take place, shattering the supports you leaned on, leaving no choice but to decide which path to take. Do you stand up, or will you lie down? Can you stand? Should you lay down? “Right” becomes a vague and unclear notion. “Wrong” is a debate you’re suddenly being defined by, while it’s being determined based on accusation and the perverted assumptions of those whom should know better.

Whether and when it’s acceptable for you to seek out the security of a life that resembles some kind of normal, is for nobody else to fucking dictate for you! It is only your conscience, and God, who holds the authority to guide our future. You’re allowed to move on. There are days you’ll summon a strength you didn’t know you had inside yourself. There’ll be days you’ll feel incapable of going forward. Days you wonder if you’re even meant to be here, anymore. Then one day, you’re living life again, and you realize that normal has found its way back to you. Even if it barely resembles the old normal. It’s your new one. I’m choosing to embrace it. Healing and happiness might not come from what was once familiar. It comes, anyway. You will find it. Our journey through life is undoubtedly going to be filled with potholes, dead ends, and plenty of wrong turns. When you find your way back, along the path to your intended destination, very often those detours aren’t just remembered by that scared feeling of being lost. Once the road smooths out, you might actually look back and see it as an unplanned adventure. One you learned from, and could even find moments you’re grateful you got to experience. Not every ache will stop hurting, but it won’t always hurt this much. I so wanted to see even the tiniest light, inside my darkest days. I cried, and I pleaded with God to show me there was a way out. I lost hope, but discovered I’d held onto just enough faith, when I heard Him whisper, open your eyes.

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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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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.

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.

I Don’t Get Tired #IDGT

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Get it

Get fly

I got six jobs

I don’t get tired

~Kevin Gates

I spent today hanging out with my kid, and it was a blast. I woke up full of goofy energy, and it translated into a really fun afternoon, with Mj. Adam was late, getting home from work. From pretty much the first moment he walked in the door, my silly was turnt up to a 10. I suppose my unmedicated ADHD brain could be to blame, but my family laughs with me, so I don’t think it’s a problem.

Mj and I made some fruit pastries, this afternoon.

I made fiestadas, for supper, and recorded a video I’ll share here. The video quickly devolves into utter chaos, but if anyone needs a laugh, you’ll not be disappointed.

https://youtu.be/Gt4rZi9mkkU?si=cZ_s-lezAcc9zMFM

Today was a perfect day, to have a good day, and it absolutely was just that. ♥️

Take This Pain

I’m a little unsteady
I’m a little lost inside
And my heart stays heavy
I don’t say what’s on my mind

And I think it’s starting to show
Can you tell I’m losing control?
Feel like I’m broken, there’s so many pieces
Don’t know if you can fix me

‘Cause I’ve tried all the smoking and the drinking, wasting time
Yeah, I’ve tried all the running, hiding from the pain inside
I can’t lie, a broken heart is what I find, so I know
That I can’t help me

Can somebody take this pain?
I’m just not the same
I’m so lost and confused, don’t know what else to do
Can you help me? Can you help me?

Can somebody take this pain?
I just wanna change
I’m so done tryna prove that I know where to move
God help me
Can you help me?

~Jake Banfield

I can only imagine how old this shit is getting, for y’all reading this. Believe me, I’m exhausted by it too.

Monday was a rough day. Additional and very complicated pieces were added to this puzzle we’re so desperate to solve. It’s like having a box completely full of seemingly random puzzle pieces gets handed to you, and you need to, have to, find where each one fits into a picture you also can’t see. Some days, I just don’t have the energy to work on this god damn puzzle. That was exactly how I felt, yesterday. Adam got home from work, and immediately wanted to sort through some of these new puzzle pieces. I just was not having it. I kind of went off on him. At first, I attempted to simply keep quiet. I sort of ignored him, as he spoke to the air between us. I pretended to be distracted by some stupid podcast I’d had playing on my phone. I’d been listening to a narration about a tornado referred to as “dead man walking”. I’m sure it was probably interesting, but I wasn’t really comprehending any of that story. It was just a convenient excuse for distraction, in the moment. I can’t remember quite when or how things between Adam and I escalated, but they did. I told him I didn’t appreciate him literally walking in the door, and immediately diving into this pile of shit I’ve been stepping around all fucking day, because I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY. I explained how “heavy” I was feeling, and that his persistence to do these things, to talk about these things, on his timeline was as if he’s throwing even more boxes filled with bricks on top of the already “heavy” ones I’m carrying. At one point, he began to say to me, “If the shoe was on the other foot…” I didn’t even let him finish that sentence. I told him to “shut up“. Even I couldn’t believe those two little words escaped my lips, but it didn’t stop me from continuing on. I said, “Don’t you dare try to tell me you’re the only one wearing these ‘shoes’! I’m standing inside them right here with you, and I’ve got a whole fucking outfit that’s been put on me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.” I continued, growing progressively louder with each sentence, “I cannot do this today. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it! You don’t understand. I’ve tried to explain this shit to you. There are days where I contemplate every single possible exit out of this. Things from divorcing you to driving my car off a bridge. Or pulling the trigger against my head. Or taking an entire bottle of pills.” (As I pointed toward where my medicine is kept.) Adam replied, “I don’t make you happy anymore, do I?” His words only made my frustrations grow. I answered, “Are you kidding me? No. You don’t make me happy. Nothing makes me happy. Nobody makes me happy. I remember what happy is. I can pretend to be happy. I recognize happy, in other people. How in the fuck am I supposed to find happy, though? Sometimes, I try to. Some days, I think maybe I already died. Who I was is dead. She’s not coming back. I’m gone. I can’t ever find me again, and you can’t bring her back, either. But, I’m not the only one. You’re gone, too. We’re both dead. Our family, as we knew it, is dead. The life we had is over. Finished.”

The silence, following those words I’d never spoken out loud before, was deafening. I’m not sure whether the girl I used to be was murdered, or whether I’m actually the one killing her. It can be difficult to know the difference. I think it’s a little bit of both. The girl I was, has been gravely injured. Rather than sit idly by, as she slowly and painfully fades away, I’m choosing to let her go. Attempts to revive her are futile, anyway. So, I’m killing her in an attempt to relieve her suffering. Adam is, and always has been, my “life support”. He refuses to “unplug”, from me. Worse still, he doesn’t seem to realize I’m also stuck watching helplessly, as the man I knew and loved deteriorates before my eyes. That hurts as much as seeing myself disappearing. What’s left? I need a reason to fight these urges to let go. I once lost a pull-up contest by a mere few seconds. I kept my arms curled, as my hands clung to the bar I fought to keep my chin above. I finally gave up, and the host of this competition informed me that if I’d held on for 3 more seconds, I’d have won. If only someone had told me, or counted down for me, I know I could’ve held on just a little bit longer. Long enough to win that competition. That’s what I’m lacking now. I don’t have a countdown timer, promising an end to this. A successful end. Could I really beat this? Every once in awhile, the underdog does come out ahead. Every time I seem to make some real progress, I get knocked down so hard. I get tired of getting back up. I start to try not to care at all about the stupid race. They can’t laugh at me, as I cross the “finish line” in dead last place, if I quit now. Not winning this race means losing everything. Everything. If I just get rid of all that can be taken from me, and remove them on my terms, no one else can get the satisfaction of having ripped all that I’ve held precious out from under me. That’s the logic behind my thinking, anyway.

Some days, I just need a damn break. I can’t heal these wounds, but even a few moments of reprieve from the pain they cause me. Anything to distract me for awhile. I so want to remember where “normal” is, so I can find my way back there one day. Or, is it too late? Am I hopelessly lost already? Am I too broken to get back, anyhow? Normal. Hah. Back inside normal, I’d never have told Adam to “shut up”. In normal, if I had been that reckless, I wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably. When we were in normal, I knew what to expect. This strange purgatory we’re stuck in gives no predictions. What comes next is only a guess. I really, really, really miss normal.

Used to the Fall

Leave me alone, just leave me alone…

Trying to stand here, pretending that I’m really okay
When I know inside that the hope is gone
Is like sitting all alone at 5:00 a.m. in a hotel room, when the coke’s gone
I hold onto pain sometimes, lit up by the faith of my fire
Too old to be chasing these highs, when a first line is the only good ride

‘Cause soon or later, all the curtains gon’ close, and the stage gon’ fade to black coal
And everything that you ever dreamed of will be running right out the back door
Wake up at sundown, hands up, get gunned down
By myself I’m my own worst enemy
A victim to the chains of my own stupidity

Life seems like it’s just about me losing everything that I never wanted in the first place
‘Til I slip and get attached, then the devil takes it back, and it hurts in the worst way
I’ve been stabbed in the back so much that I can’t ever trust nobody
I’ve been cut to the heart so many times that I can’t love nobody

Maybe I’m damaged goods
Half the time, misunderstood
All the shoulds, all the coulds
Can’t stop the hatchet when it hits the wood
And you can talk up a fit, you can cuss, you can spit, you can dig my grave
But you ain’t putting no debt on a [woman] that done spent life beneath these weight

One day, life’s bitter like Xanax
Next day, tastes sweet like an Adderall
Maybe I hurt myself, ’cause I’d rather feel pain than feel nothing at all
I hate coming down
Touching my feet on the ground
But man, I’m used to the fall

But don’t put your trouble on me
I got enough of that weighing on me
Already got enough demons I feed
Man, leave me alone to just breathe
I hate coming down (leave me alone, leave me alone)
Touching my feet on the ground (leave me alone, just leave me alone)

Just leave me alone
Just leave me alone
Leave me alone (leave me alone, yeah, leave me alone)
Just leave me alone

~CRUCIFIX

I haven’t written here in nearly a month. The truth is, I couldn’t. It’s not that I physically couldn’t, so much as I mentally and emotionally couldn’t. A few weeks ago, I was standing alone in my kitchen. As I attempted to rinse some dishes, and load the dishwasher, I began to feel a crushing weight bearing down on my chest. It was as if an invisible force was pressing against me, stealing my oxygen. I recognized what was happening. I’ve had panic attacks before, but this time was more extreme than ever. I held onto the counter, as I tried to focus on taking slow and steady breaths of air. Despite my best efforts to regain my composure, things only got worse. The room began to spin, and then my vision completely disappeared. All I saw was black. I fluctuated between brief periods of seeing my kitchen reappearing, but still blurry and disoriented, and then the dark nothing taking over my sight. Throughout all of this, I continued to feel as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. Frantically gasping for air, as my vision faded into black. Moments later, I found myself crumpled on my kitchen floor. I laid there, sobbing uncontrollably. I’m grateful none of my kids were home to witness this. It truly is as if something very significant happened to me, that day. The tears seemed to have exhausted my hurt, worries, fears, anger, frustration, and sadness. All of these things that had consumed me and my thoughts were replaced with a coldness that, in a strange way, felt comforting. I grabbed my purse and car keys, and I left. I didn’t know where I was headed to, but I needed to escape. I drove for hours, listening to music that says what I can’t, or won’t. I played these songs so loudly that it made any thinking impossible, which is exactly what I was aiming to do.

Later that evening, after I’d returned home, Mikayla asked me if I was okay. I lied and told her I was just tired. She told me I seemed sad. I did my best to reassure her I was fine. My kids not only see that things are certainly not “fine”, but they feel it too. There’s a heaviness that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I really do try hard to shield them from these struggles, because they don’t deserve any of this. It is incredibly unfair to burden them with things they didn’t create and can do nothing about.

The next morning, I paid a visit to my doctor. I briefed him on current events in my life, and I was brutally honest about where my thoughts have led me, on my worst days. My weight had plummeted to under 90 pounds. I wasn’t sleeping, either. He spent well over an hour in that patient room, with me. I left with prescriptions for medications to help me to sleep, increase my appetite, and help me to manage my thinking. He also prescribed “Valium”. I have the full pill bottle stored in my linen closet. I haven’t taken any of those, but they’re there if the panic attacks return. I am sleeping better. I’m also eating. Not as much as I should be, but the feeling of being hungry has returned. So, I’m able to sit with my family and eat some supper on most nights. I haven’t felt the intense need to urgently “escape”, since that day, either. My thinking has changed, although I’m uncertain about where I might end up. It’s like being on a familiar road. One I haven’t taken in a very long time, but remember well. It feels “safe”, but its security comes with a price tag. It becomes dangerous, but it really depends on whether I’m willing or able to find my way back. This road calls me further and faster down it. What starts out as a barely audible whisper, grows into roaring and thunderous shouts. “Stay here, where it’s safe! Turning back is too risky! They lie, you can’t trust anyone but yourself! They’re just going to hurt you and let you down, anyway!” The loneliness of traveling by myself hurts so much less than it ever does when I trust and believe in another person to hold the steering wheel, and wind up being taken to places I never expected they’d leave me stranded. Places I almost forgot even existed. Trusting leads me into naively ignoring all the signs and signals I’d have easily recognized otherwise. So, I gradually find myself quietly shutting everyone out. I flee from anyone who gets too close. “You made me smile, so fuck you”, I say to myself. I tell myself that every attempt to make me feel something, even happiness, is malicious. It’s not safe to let them get into my head or especially, my heart. The desire to completely cleanse myself of everyone who could possibly harm me becomes near impossible to ignore. I dismiss anyone who tries to assure me “they would never…”, because I’ve got fresh scars to remind me of the hurt created by my own stupidity, believing someone else who easily broke their promises of “I would never”. Trust no one becomes my mantra, which is exactly why this road I’m on can be dangerous. I recognize all of this, and still, I can’t help but ignore every exit ramp that presents itself.

I’m not sure where I’m going, right now. I alternate between clinging tightly to Adam, and then pushing him away. And I can push hard. Some days, I don’t want to talk to anybody at all. I don’t even want anyone to see me. I search for independence, while reminiscing about the best times in my life, when I felt content and assured, knowing it was safe to depend on people. I clearly can’t decipher between what’s real and what’s just smoke and mirrors. If I could trust myself to at least recognize those things, maybe things could be different? This is all my fault. Everything. Life doesn’t just happen to us. We make choices, and those decisions create our todays. Today bleeds into tomorrow, and tomorrow spills into every single day after that. The tiniest of choices can lead to the biggest mistakes, hardest hurt, worst regret. Though we can’t ever be certain of everything tomorrow might bring, whatever happens still comes as a result of choices we make. It’s impossible to understand darkness, until all that’s light disappears. Cold is simply the absence of warmth, but when you’re wrapped inside a cozy blanket sheltered from the chill of night, cold and darkness are merely something you are abstractly aware of. It isn’t until you find yourself stuck inside absolutely frigid and pitch black misery, that you can begin to understand why I so fear allowing anyone besides myself to provide light and warmth. So long as it’s only me, relying on myself to find safety and warmth, I won’t have to worry about it being ripped from me again. I’m grieving the loss of so much that I held dear. I suppose it seems less painful to torch what’s left, than to have to wait and wonder when someone else is going to. Still, I love my husband so much. This is my conundrum. This is my struggle. The absence of pain isn’t pleasure. It’s indifference. It’s feeling nothing. I don’t know if pleasure is even real anymore. I find myself welcoming the hurt, because it assures me. I’m still here. I haven’t destroyed everything that made me human. I can still feel, and pain hurts less than feeling nothing at all.