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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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Under The Weather

I see the men in the suits
Making all the decisions
Choosing who fights in wars
And whose son will go missing
Another mom skipping meals
Just to keep her kids fed
Getting too tired to feel
Hoping one day it ends

But they know if they
Can keep us down it keeps them in control

I know a doctor in white
Giving open prescriptions
Doesn’t care if you die
It’s a damn broken system

That’s failed
Why is it our fault when we ask for help?
And every day I wonder

How did the world get so cold
Messed up and complicated?
Why am I here alone
And how’d I get so jaded?
Maybe I’m losing hope
And it ain’t getting better
Maybe I’m just sick
Feeling under the weather

~Eddie & The Getaway

Towards the last couple days, before the weekend, I started to feel kinda crummy. It started, when I woke up with a sore throat, and stuffy nose. I thought it was just allergies, at first. I progressively continued to feel worse, into the weekend. Adam and I went out to eat, Friday evening. He went into work, for a few hours, on Saturday morning. We had already made plans to play cornhole, Saturday night. I stayed in denial, about admitting I was sick with more than just some allergies. We hung out back, and we did get in several games of cornhole. Adam had begun to catch on to the fact that I wasn’t feeling 100%, but I insisted I was fine. Sunday morning, though, I woke up absolutely miserable. I was achy, congested, felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe, and had a fever. My girls were all sick, too. Mj’s flags squad had been short several other kids, who’d been out sick with Covid. It sure seems early, to be coming down with this crap! We all spent Sunday laying around, recovering. I guess a little rest was all that was needed, because we’re all much better, today. We didn’t bother to test for Covid, so who knows whether that’s to blame, but if that was Covid it was fairly short lived.

Adam’s been making a whole lot of effort, to spend more time with me. It means a bunch to me, knowing he really listened to my pleas. He’s the kind of guy who always picks up his phone, when someone from work needs help, or has questions. He’s a guy who never breaks his commitments or promises, if he can at all help it. I admire and respect these things, about him. I think he sometimes just doesn’t realize when he’s overextended himself, to the detriment of his family here at home. He doesn’t even realize how neglected I’m beginning to feel. Truthfully, I also don’t mention it until his absence reaches beyond my ability to tolerate it any longer. At least, not to the extent it had gotten to. He invests his time, energy, and resources into what and who he believes in. Whether it’s business opportunities, or someone he cares about is in need, he’ll do what he can to build them up. It’s a very attractive quality. Though, once in awhile I do have to remind him how important it is that he doesn’t burn himself out, before he finally gets back to me. I try to be patient, and understanding. I know how much I do matter, to my husband. I guess I just miss him so much, when it’s been too long since he showed me I’m still his priority. I always want to be his favorite person. I’ll never forget, back when we were very early dating, he’d made an offhand comment. He’d told me something like he was, looking out for number one. Back then, that meant himself. I vividly remember thinking to myself, I hope that one day, when he mentions his “number one”, he means me. It was actually in this moment, when I realized I’d fallen for him. As hard as I fought to not catch feelings, my heart had made room for him anyhow. Eighteen years later, that man occupies my entire heart, and I’ve no doubts about who’s his “number one”. I haven’t committed more fully to anything, the way I do our marriage. That’s not to say there haven’t ever been any doubts. What’s so amazing, is that when one of us is too weak to fight for ourselves and each other, the other one has always managed to find the strength to carry us both. No matter what’s happened, we haven’t let the world tear us apart. We’ve been married for 15 and a half years, and neither of us have any intention of letting go of sharing as many years as we’ve got left on Earth, together. It’s pretty incredible, how much we’ve overcame. We’ve experienced things that break many people, but we didn’t give up on each other. I truly believe the reason I’m still standing, is because my husband refuses to let me fall. I can’t imagine how different my life would be, or even whether I’d be here at all, without him.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to write down, tonight. I sometimes just start putting my thoughts down, and what follows is as much a surprise to me as anyone else. I get to sort of untangle the knots, and sort through the jumbled mess that’s rattling around inside my head.

I have to make a trip over to Walgreens, and pick up a prescription. I’ve been waiting for the evening rush to pass, but if I spend much more time doddling, they’ll be closing up for the night.

I uploaded a recipe video last week, and also one more tonight. I’ll link those below, if anybody’s looking for some meal ideas. G’night, y’all ♥️

https://youtu.be/feSfXdLiSVI?is=QbawcwMpp8Mxt1Yh

https://youtu.be/AWauGkdMI58?is=tCiWIR-H-wSyMEAu

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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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Footprints on the Moon

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

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

~Gabby Barrett

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

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

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

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

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Something in Your Mouth

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

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

~Nickelback

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

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

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

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

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

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Like A Nightmare

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

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

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

~Deadset Society

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

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

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

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Cracks in My Calm

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

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

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

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

~War Torn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.