Reflections From My Driveway

4/19/19 @ 11:43 p.m.

It's very sad and perplexing at the same time;
when you're treated as though you might be a person worth getting to know 
by someone new.
It feels like a completely foreign concept.
It hits your brain in the most awkward ways.  
Like, it almost feels like they're wrong.  
Like you're doing them a disservice by letting them get to know your insides.
There's something about rejection that does that to us. 
We tell ourselves that we know better;
but knowing something and feeling something are always going to be parted 
by the great sea of rejection 
and all other things that have wronged and ruined us,
every single time.

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"If they act like they don't give a shit about you, believe them."  Best advice I've ever received.  I'm done trying to swan dive down people's throats, my ass is too big to fit.

Sometimes the nicest thing we can do for ourselves is to accept that we're human.  It might be killing me to breathe, but I'm resting when I can instead of running around like a crazed lunatic pretending to be fine as usual.

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I'm done saying "sorry" for things that I'm not sorry for.  I want everyone to be happy, but it's also not my job to dim my light to make others more comfortable.  Your opinion of me is none of my business.  I am a nice person.  I am a quirky person.  I love hard and I wear my heart on my sleeve if I'm comfortable with you.  If I'm not, then I seem cold and removed, but I'm really just shy.  I am me, and I won't apologize for that.  Just know that I'm a good person.
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I just wanted to thank you for making all the love songs mean something

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With one look at my mother I'm overcome with an overwhelming sense of grief.

All I've ever wanted was a mother.  All I've ever gotten was an evil dictator, a boss, an abuser, an arch nemesis and a two-faced friend.

I seek to find peace for my world in pieces.
I need to find a way to relax.
All this stress from recent sadness and other life-insanity;
my anxiety cloud offering nothing but darkness, 
decompressing from my anxious mind that ending in something closely resembling Wile E. Coyote free falling 
- watching the boulder that was about to fall on him the whole way down - 
had me ready punch my microwave for beeping halfway through defrosting a steak tonight...

If you can't laugh at yourself, what can you do?

My 18 month journey into no longer reaching for familiar coping mechanisms has been tested greatly,
something that I've been trying my best to ignore.  
We all know how that goes.  

My white flag is flying for all to see.
It's not what I'm used to.

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The activity buddy
The something to do
I never intended to end up as something so lowly to a person
But what I allowed is what continued
And now here I am
Done with your shit and only myself to blame
Forever doomed with the purpose of showing you exactly how much I love you without the pleasure of ever saying it

~cynicallovebird

---------

Wrecking Ball was playing on the radio 
after we stopped spewing hatred at each other
For 350 days I never thought this day would come
The day where I don't know you anymore
I woke up this morning and the world looked like a completely different place
And it doesn't feel fair 
I saw a storm brewing but I never saw this coming.

You know that look that someone who once loved you gives you when you just became another person to them?

Yeah me neither.

It wasn't until I experienced true love that I saw that difference.

____________________________________________________________________

You don't get to make decisions for the both of us like I'm some invalid child who can't function and then wonder why I'm frustrated.

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Laying on my bed in the sun on my day off I can't help but remember that this is the kind of day where you'd be here.  Making sure you implanted yourself in my world on a beautiful day so that I couldn't enjoy ever the slightest of joy.  Doing what you wanted, never what I needed.

_________________________________________________________

My name is Jessie, and I am a sex addict dating a man who wants basically nothing to do with sex.  Because it's better that way.
___________________________________________________________________

There's always a fork in the road.
The day comes when you wake up and decide that this isn't how you want to live your life anymore;
and you'll be fine with it.  
You can walk away from what isn't right for you.
No more breaking your nails holding onto what didn't fit for dear life because you couldn't admit you might be OK.
The fear is no longer overwhelming as as you own who you are and take the next turn,
you stare it straight in the eye and walk past it.
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I know that some things are better left unsaid
I just wish they weren't the same ones that needed to be
My mouth is full of Napalm and it won't keep quiet to meet that bar you've set  in your own comfort level
I'll blast through the bullshit you use as mortar
With your excuses and explainations
Brick by brick trying to keep me contained in your fairy tale of what fuckery really means.
_________________________________________________________________________________

My IQ is higher than the equivalent of the men I've slept with combined.
This is why I fell in love with you.
__________________________________________________________________

Good morning y'all.  Yes, I am posting a no makeup selfie on my way to the grocery store to fix my hankering for cookies.  Just wanted to throw out a reminder that if all you did was wake up and breathe today I'm still proud of you, and you definitely deserve a pat on the back for making it through by any means necessary.  I on the other hand, have put the bare minimum into my self care lately and I can definitely feel it.  And you also see it in my no fucks given, didn't even look in the mirror this morning as I quickly brush my teeth and ran out the door face.  Oh well, I'm just doing yard work.  Here's to hoping that everyone walking on the waterfront today has bad vision.
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Why do single women take advice from other single women?  That's like Stevie Wonder giving Ray Charles driving directions.
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People like to coin the phrase
"My inner child is a drunken whore".
I don't have a demon,
I have a devil in a blue dress.
She likes to scratch herself at the windows from inside my walls
The word sobriety to her is a puppy dog to play with,
and she likes to curl up inside the swoop of the b and tickle my fancy.
She loves power and she knows just which heart string to pull

6/18/18

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3/26/18

I'm so tired of boys using their former emotional traumas as an out to be a douchebag.

Yes Eric, the years of cheating on your wife and the stress of everyone expecting more from you than you can give them;  and your willingness to share that fact with me, totally wiped out not calling when you said you would and not treating me with any amount of basic human decency.

You didn't keep my number in your phone for 3 years and not use it because it's romantic, like you are hoping I'd find it to be.  No it's actually quite weird.  I kind of think that only reason I want to meet up with you is so I can delete it._________________________________________________________

2/23/18

I've reached exhaustion level *Leave my keys in the fridge and then cry after looking like a mad woman to find them*.  I don't even remember going to the fridge since I got home.  I quit.

I woke up feeling more useless than the "G" in lasagna.  Going to the gym is going to kick my ass.

_________________________________________________________1/29/18

I'm pretty sure that I've discovered that a therapist recommending that you write in your blog because I'm very good at it is pretty much the equivalent of a grandmother trying to convince you to eat everything in the house.
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1/27/18

Sometimes my mind is as serene as my camp on Toddy Pond.
Other days,
like this day,
it's Thunder Hole.
Filled with crashing thoughts so loud I can't hear anything else.
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1/13/18

I have been spending the past year assessing feelings.  Figuring out why I do the things that suck when I do them.  I was honest out loud the other day.  It was painful.  Letting someone I am terrified of leaving me see me as I am.  I am an addict.  Not drugs.  Alcohol, sex and one night stands.  Getting to pretend that everything is fine for a little while.  Ignoring the fires.  I got really good at it.  As a kid growing up in mental health chaos I had plenty of practice.

I've pretty much stopped writing and modeling.  Nothing feels right.  My skin is crawling in this exposed and vulnerable state I've found myself in.

I've been avoiding social events.  It's as if trying to be healthier mentally has thrown gasoline on fear...of what though?  Happiness?

Oh for fuck's sake.

Brain, get it together.
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12/17/17

I'm so tired of feeling like I'm constantly jumping through hoops just to stay capable of some resemblence of Ok.

I don't feel like I can breathe without something else going wrong.  It's overwhelming.
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12/7/17

I'm stuck between a rock and the person I'd like to hit with it.
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12/2/17

Reighan's brain, example 5,000:
You know what I just realized?  That all the beer names sound like they were made up by someone who was drunk from drinking the beer.
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11/24/17

I'm pursuing other options because I feel like I have to.  If this was something, then it would be enough for me.  But it's not because it isn't.  I want ownership.  I need something tangible that I can talk about and not feel weird because I don't know what to call it.
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11/15/17

Self care isn't always manicures and drinks.  Sometimes, it's going to bed at 8 or letting go of someone who didn't know how to be good to you.  It's forgiving yourself for not meeting your impossible standards and understanding you are worth it even if it feels like every male on the planet doesn't see it.  Self care isn't a luxury, it's a means of survival;  and tonight my self care is curling up with my fleece lined leggings, my afghan that my mom made when I was little, ice cream, Netflix and forgetting all about the stupid planet because I survived the day and that's all I need to know right now.
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11/5/17

Let me get this straight for a second, you have absolutely no interest in dating me or getting to know me at all.  However, you have somehow managed to make it you lifes mission to sit back and watch my dating life with the eyes of a hawk, and judge the shit out of everyone who wants to....why is that?
_________________________________________________________________________________

9/16/17

Being in my shoes isn't hard.
It's terrifying.
And the creepy clown waiting in the gutter is knowledge that with one wrong move I'm going to fail at everything.
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8/7/17

A beginning and an ending can't be in the same space and you already decided which one you were going to be before I could decide for myself.

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Extended Family

My heart bruised
It's all relative 
that we're all relatives
Yet you treat me as other
DNA not the same
Some shared
But how can we laugh over the same 3 Stooges
My gifts revered
But I'm given half the gifts
But all the same hugs and kisses
You take
My heart
My love
And give half back
Not yours
Expectations high
Keeps my confidence low
A dark shadow looming over
As if I
A child 
Was something to fear
I only wanted one to revere
You
A hole I'll never fill

~ Cynicallovebird

Closure

From the beginning, we were a tragedy;
in the agonizing instant I first saw your face,
I knew that I wanted to give you everything,
and that you had already stolen all of the things I had to offer
And then when my soul saw you it kind of went,
"Oh there you are.  I've been looking for you."
My infatuation, my desire, my lust for you was all consuming
Hell, I even trusted you

I miss you
Like, really miss you.
I feel the squeeze in the bottom of my heart when my mind says your name or sees your face.
When the wind whispers your voice.
The 4am sleeplessness,
not caused by writers block but by the whirlwind of dreams and memories dancing in my brain
The smile that forms when I imagine your laugh
that stupid grin you make when you see me doing something stupid.
I miss you.

I wore longing in my hair for a man who did not deserve to pull it.
But one thing that I will always be sure of
is that I'll never be sure how to know how to end and be a memory
I'll always be sure that I'll never be sorry for letting the world make me strong
I hope you hurt as you realize as you sift through the rubble of our memories
Admitting that your definition of love wasn't love at all;
But more a manipulation of hope.
And when they ask you about me and you find yourself thinking back,
don't lie like I meant nothing.
I hope you ache in regret as the truth hits you like a bullet and you find yourself replying:
"She loved me more than anyone else in the entire world and I destroyed her."

I went to our spot where the ocean devours the sand.
Desperately trying to ease my messy thoughts
I laid my body down on the cold ground waiting for gravity to cease.
I thought that maybe that's what it would take to move on from you.
The things you have done said that this was it,
that there was nothing here worth saving
and that we should set it ablaze and bury the ash
Which shocked me to my core and sort of confused me because
I thought you already did that.

I would like to say it's water under the bridge, but I'm not quite there yet.
After all, it was the water I nearly drowned in and the bridge you stood on, watching.

I Did A Thing

I am a person who helps myself out of my stress and anxiety by helping others.  The worse things are within myself, the easier I find it to just help another person or stay busy baking yummy concoctions for my coworkers to enjoy.  Doing something, anything, on a crappy stuck in my own head time to get outside of myself.  For years, and mostly driven by my childhood I have wanted to support others in their journey with mental health struggles, but I had no idea where to start because I like my current line of work and I don't know where to start or how to do it.

Given my ongoing struggles with some behaviors that aren't healthy used as coping mechanisms to deal with my own personal hell, I've been dying to connect with a support group but I didn't know of any in my area that would help me.  Yes, I drink, but I don't feel that I belong in AA.  Yes, I love sex and have had more 1 night stands than I have actual relationships with human beings but I don't belong in SAA.

Rewind to 4 years ago.  I was working at the switchboard of the hospital and something was shared via a colleague.  It was a call Mental Health First Aide certification training.  I was intrigued.  I looked it up on the NAMI website and I was hooked.  I took the full day training and it opened my eyes.  The certification was good for 3 years and I'm due to go to another training - I even got my group at work to bring the training to the hospital but was unable to make it.  I've kept an eye on their site but nothing was in my area.

Last year, I found a 2 day training that NAMI was having for a Support Group Facilitator certification.  It was on the weekend so I didn't have to take time off from work.  I signed up and I was so excited.  My therapist was excited because he is on the front lines of knowing how helpful something like this in our area would be and how badly it's needed.  I couldn't make it.  I say I was sick that weekend, but honestly it was my Dark Passenger that took over and I was not functional enough.  Looking back on it now, I was really struggling a lot and wasn't reaching out for help at all.

Anyways, that isn't the point of this post.  Over the past year I have managed to find ways to deal with my mind.  2 weeks ago, I got an email from the coordinator for NAMI in my area, alerting me to another facilitator training being held in BELFAST!!!!  I fell on the sword of my supervisor and she was able to get the time scheduled for me to go.  I get 8 hours of education time for conferences/trainings so I didn't lose out on pay or have to use my vacation time.

I loved it!! I have learned so much that I can't wait to share.  I am ready to hit the ground running.  

Wish me luck!

Sympathy For Dorothy

Lately 

I feel like a house has been dropped on me

But the problem is 

That it's my house

All the problems that I keep putting away 
For the sake of maintaining a mask

Are the whirlwind
Longing for solitude
Yet always on a quest for connection

My head is filled with thoughts like Flying Monkeys 

On orders to seek and destroy

Me

Wishing the clicking of my heels that 
I've tried a multitude of times would reset everything

Waking to find the hell to be just a dream

There's no Lollipop Guild

And I just want my Auntie Em

~Cynicallovebird

Fucking Fuck

People always say that they look up to me, I guess I'm just more successful than they are at being a people person because I remember things that I learned when I was a kid. 

If it doesn't belong to you, don't touch it.
If you don't like something, you are perfectly capable of saying so without being an asshole about it.
If you get offended by something, it's perfectly fine to state your opinion about it, but talking about a problem without proposing a solution is whining. 
Whining get you nowhere and makes you look like a jackass.

I'm a tad frustrated at the moment.  The first time in months that I actually have something to say and I turn on my computer, only to find that half the keys on the keyboard aren't working and that all of my pictures are missing.  Fortunately I have a keyboard that I was able to plug in and use and the dear friend who helped me "fix" my other computer problem completely backed up my pictures on his drive so nothing important has been lost.  I wish there was an easier solution to fix my brain.

I've stopped drinking.  I've stopped fucking around.  The latter is a different post entirely, but the point I'm getting at is that I stopped doing all the things that were keeping me together.  I, at the moment, am a broken vase. 

I don't know what it is with love that makes me freak out so much.  I've never had it really;  but the mere thought of it growing up would make my throat tighten to the point of a full on allergic reaction to human relationships. 

I'm in therapy.  My anxiety has been through the roof.  This time of year does things to me.  Nothing fun.  He wants me to start medication other than PRN, but I can't do it.  Pre-2016 I could manage. Which also goes to say that pre-trauma; pre- my entire world turned into a psychopath's pretty human skin suit dress, I was fucked up, but I managed. 

This afternoon I spend 3 hours finally cleaning my basement that I haven't touched since it flooded 3 years ago.  There's a lot of crap there that I am throwing out and it's kind of nice to find things that I knew I wanted to start enjoying again.  I talked my son into cooking dinner which was nice.  I was way to tired to move after that.  I'm watching the movie "Love Actually" for the first time.  Several coworkers and my best friend that I miss dearly (hello, Matt) consider it to be one of the best Christmas movies in existance.  I have avoided it, of course.  I was damned if I was going to watch something about love.  *Also coming from the woman whose favorite movie line up includes mostly RomComs*.  I was sitting here in my angry, cynical, fuck everything usualness, and then I had to pause to watch the movie.  And I love it.  Of course I do. 

I've found that despite all the cynical overlay in the core of my being, there is something in me that has opened up.  I'm becoming quite a sap lately.  I'm more excited for Christmas this year than I have in about 5 years.  I'm sharing my feelings and my life with people and I'm starting to allow relationships that I never thought I'd want to have.  Without going into details at the moment, I'm finding that my life has the makings of an interesting RomCom story myself. 

I had surgery.  I made it through despite some complications.  It's been a long 2 month journey. I had to relearn how to talk and swallow but I am.  My voice doesn't sound like a cartoon character anymore and I am eating again. 

Before Thanksgiving, my therapist gave me homework.  To think about 3 overdeveloped coping mechanisms and 2 underdeveloped ones.  To think about them, talk about them, write about them.  I have mulled them over in my head.  I'd love nothing more than to say that nothing came to mind, but then I'd be a liar.  And a liar, I am not.  I'm working on it.  I'll get there eventually. 

Maybe I'll find some gold  to fill in my cracks like they do in Japan to their broken vases in the meantime.

Needful Things

I don't need to be in a relationship to be happy,
but if I'm being honest for a minute;

it feels a hell of a lot better to have your open wounds
kissed by someone who doesn't treat the things wrong with you
as if they are disasters to be avoided.
My needful things are not to be dismissed.

And besides, 
someone needs to hold my purse as I put out my fires.

~ Cynicallovebird

Fumbling For Words

My heart is a messy bedroom I never take the time to clean.
The walls look as thick as an iceberg,
but if you take a closer look, 

you'll see they're actually papier mâché.
I like my body the best when I'm not worried about how much space it's taking up.
I've never been this myself around anyone.
It's freaking me out a little.

Sometimes my mind is as serene as my camp on Toddy Pond.
Other days, it's Thunder Hole.
Filled with crashing thoughts so loud I can't hear anything else.
You went into this knowing I was a total creep,
don't quit on me now.

Sometimes all I can say is "Hey", 
and when I say "Hey",
I mean I adore you.
And when I say that I adore you,
I mean I will check your horoscope.

Everyone loves to tell me to
"Trust my gut", 
But the truth is that most days my anxiety
Blocks out the sun
And my gut is begging me to abort mission.

I know you don't know this,
but there are balloons that you carry in your laughter
and I like them better than flowers.
And flowers are something that I don't understand 
unless they're still in the ground 
because how on Earth would you love a gift 
of something that's going to die?

So, I just blew on my ice cream.
Apparently, my brain thinks it needs to be colder.
And as I was contemplating that thought process,
I also blew on the following spoonful.

Sometimes I feel like the world is spinning out of control 
and then suddenly there's one face;
your face,
saying one word that makes it all stop.
The mind that is busier than the streets of New York and Tokyo combined
Just.  Stops.
And then the spinning becomes more like a dance move.
And I'm no longer fumbling for words because we understand the steps of the Tango.

Hey.
I'm a Pisces, how about you?

The Caterpillar

Happiness turned to me and said - "It is time.  It is time to forgive yourself for all of the things you did not become.  It is time to exonerate yourself for all of the people you couldn't save, for all of the fragile hearts you fumbled with in the dark of your confusion.  It is time, child, to accept that you don't have to be who you were a year ago, that you do not have to want the same things.  Above all else, it is time to believe, with reckless abandon, that you are worthy of me, for I have been waiting for years."

Last summer, I saw this meme:

2016:  The Caterpillar
2017:  The Cocoon
2018:  The Butterfly

I remember saying FUCK YES and saving it to my phone the second I saw it on my Instagram feed.  Three months ago I was so done being a Caterpillar.  To me, "becoming a Butterfly", meant that I'd finally overcome all the trauma, my finances were more in order and I'd be back 100% to loving my body as much as I used to.  That I would finally be on speaking terms with the Universe again because I could trust.  Becoming a Butterfly meant that I'd reached the end of my tunnel.  That the light wasn't just some moron with a magnifying glass.  So when the clock struck 12 on New Year's Eve - I was asleep - but the next morning I awake exclaiming "This is it!  My bullshit free year has begun.  I've paid my dues and I'm going to finally be a Butterfly!"

But that's not exactly what happened.....

I had no "Great Awakening".  My bruises from 2016 - or any resurfacing from childhood - didn't magically heal.  My health didn't instantly get better.  My stress level could still knock over a horse.  I didn't wake up on the first day of 2018 without the urge to spend every dollar in my wallet on the useless stuff at Target or fitting into the pants I've been holding onto for years.  Instead, I woke up the same person I was the day before.  A little more hopeful, perhaps, but the same old Jessie that existed the day before.

If the last few months have taught me anything, it's that the great awakening that I've been busting my ass for isn't going to happen.  At least not like I've hoped.  I've had many "awakenings" in my life, moments I learned hard lessons or experienced deep healing, but none of them completely transformed me into the flawless and perfect human I desperately wanted to be.

I'm not at all saying that I'm the same person that I used to be.  I'm definitely a stronger, more resilient, more real and more vulnerable version of myself.  I'm proud of who I've become!  I'm not perfect, nor do I ever want to be.  

And instead of looking for the light at the end of the tunnel, I've learned to be ok inside that tunnel and to create my own light.  

What if instead of waiting to evolve into Butterflies, we mold our world around the fact that we might remain a Caterpillar forever?  

What if we never get "there", but wherever we end up is good enough?

I think I might always be a Caterpillar.  Life will always be work and there will always be things that I can't control. And it's finally becoming ok with me.

Love yourself.  You're the only one you've got.
Be good to each other.

~ Cynicallovebird

The Glued On Smile

Every single time that I feel the rain of okay and it's tiny miniscule drops, I find myself treading in gallons of not okay and I end up just drowning in exhausted frustration.

If glitter is the herpes of the craft world, then mental illness is the glitter of the Healthcare Community. Hollywood absolutely loves it, but everyone is expected to clean up their own mess.

It's forcing yourself to find the capability to help a child that you can't even help because you don't even know how to help yourself.

It's adjustments; it's exasperated crying in the bathroom alone with every milestone that you never thought you would even hit, and then binge eating cookies when next week that milestone shows itself as the first step on Kilimanjaro.

It's dealing with a monster inside of your own mind that you don't know how to tame and then the next minute your child is the monster.

It's the I'm sorry that I'm late the 10th time but we couldn't find the other purple shoe and she just couldn't wear the black ones and yes, I understand that she's 16.

It's the you driving yourself crazy every second of every day feeling and looking and sounding exactly like a drill sergeant only this isn't the army and you aren't getting paid for any of it.

it's a hell that you've created with your own body.

It's being the most sarcastic person on the planet with the child that has the mind of a scientist and you're damn right that we're going to dance in the grocery store aisle for no reason.

It's knowing when to pick up the expensive stuff that she'll eat when she's having a crappy day because you know damn well she isn't going to eat anything else.

It's the drowning in not okay with exhausted frustration until you are bombarded with a huge wave of hope that brings you to the dry land.

But some days, there's a drought.

Happy Fucking Holidays....A Rant, of Sorts.

Let's start from the beginning and state for the record, that I have shed more tears in the last 2 weeks in December than I have in an entire year.

It all started on the 15th.  I had a 3 day weekend.  I started it, by breaking down in tears in the office of my daughter's doctor;  trying to get the point across that, when I say that if I am not there prompting her constantly to do things, it doesn't happen.  Because I did what she suggested for an entire week;  and NOTHING happened.  She didn't go to school for 5 days.  She didn't shower for over a week.  She didn't change her clothes. She didn't get out of bed.  She didn't eat.  I feel like I have tried everything that I possibly can, and nothing is working.

Fast forward to Saturday.  I got a new dryer.  That was fantastic.  It was not fantastic however, that my house was a disaster and it was the first time in almost 2 years since I have had a man in my house other than my son and my dad.  Leading to the food for thought:  who dates someone for 18 months and doesn't even flinch at the fact that they've never invited you over to their house?  The story behind that is for a different post;  long story short, it was very bad for my anxiety.  I made my son go to the town dump with me and he did it.  Every single thing I asked him to do all weekend long had to start with a 5 to 10 minute lecture and screaming fit about it first (on his part, not mine.).  My daughter barely got out of bed.  Nothing got done around the house because I had no energy to do it.  I was in so much pain I could barely stand.  The day before, I had it in my head all day long to check the oil tank and call for a delivery because they delivered M, W, F in my area and I didn't.  I checked it when I was downstairs and low and behold, I was almost out and if I called them I didn't think I was going to have enough until they delivered Wednesday.  My sister called me to chat out of the blue and I was just done with the day already.  I told her what was going on, and she said for Christmas that she would give me $100 in oil and that she would call and have it delivered.  I burst into tears.

Onto Sunday.  Still no kids participating in life, let alone basic human decency.  It was my son's potluck and Yankee swap for Boy Scouts that night and he was on edge making sure that we had all the ingredients to make the mac and cheese that we signed up to bring.  He was acting like a 50 year old impatient man of the house from a stereotypical sitcom set in the 70's.  By the time rolled around to bring him, I was so fed up with the universe that I dropped him off and left.  The second my tires hit my driveway, I was swimming in hatred for my life.  By the time I called my aunt and she answered the phone, I was drowning in tears of frustration and sadness.  What parent genuinely hates their kids?  At that moment, I sure as hell did.  I sat in my car for an hour in the freezing cold, bawling like a someone who just watched their dog get run over.  Because that is what happened:  I wake up with a little cloud of hope, and some jackass always seems to find suck all the air right out of it.  I called my dad and asked him to get my son and bring him home.  I didn't want to see another person on the planet.  I went to bed and stayed there until work.

Monday came and I tried to keep my hate and discontent to myself.  I made it through the day without swearing at anyone.  My son called me after he got home like he always does.  To tell me....wait for it:

that he had just taken the bottles back (a never-ending battle in my house...and they get to keep the fucking money if they do it!).  And asked me if there was anything else that he wanted me to do.

When I got home, I was greeted with a hug.  All the clean laundry that I had done was brought upstairs and the clean dishes in the sink were put away.  He said he had let the dog out like he was supposed to.

The whole night was like I was in the Twilight Zone.  He asked me how to show him how to work the new dryer, so I did.  I also showed him how to work the washing machine.  Then he proceeded swap laundry three times.  Now make no mistake, I am not complaining.  It's just that we have lived in our house since 2009, and every time I have tried to show him how to use the washing machine, he says he can't remember how the next time I ask him to do it.  WE HAVE THE SAME FUCKING WASHING MACHINE....  Then he was super impressed with the dinner that I made.  And he made me a cake....by himself, not asking me for a single thing....just reading the directions on the box.  And shoveled the porch off.  And then, he put the Christmas tree up all by himself.

I was so busy googling which alien species might have taken over his corpse that I couldn't even enjoy the moment.

Thursday at work was fantastic.  It was the Yankee Swap at work and I got a $20 certificate to the local casino and we snacked throughout the day.  I made sugar scrubs and lotions out of coconut oil and a coworker ordered some off of me.  I ended up making a bunch and selling it to other people, made almost $100.  We closed early and barely had any patients that day.  That evening it was the Star Wars:  The Last Jedi premier.  It was amazing.  If you haven't seen it yet, YOU MUST!!!  It was like the Super Bowl, but for nerds.  Jesse was over the moon that he got his picture taken with both a Storm Trooper and Darth Vader.  John had picked up tickets for Jesse and I to go to a different showing than the one that he was going to with his ex wife, her husband and their oldest daughter to avoid "conflict".  Don't get me wrong, I get it....but I also don't.  Again, another post.

And then on the way home, my son;  who regularly pushes me to date/get married/find him a dad, but doesn't really talk about his own, asked me questions about his dad.  As fate would have it, I was talking with my therapist about this very same thing happening the day before.  I answered his questions, not really knowing where he was going with this;  and then he says "You do realize that you just gave me everything I need."  I asked him to clarify.  He made it clear that the information that I gave him was all the information that he would need to find him on the internet.  The person that he has not seen since he was 3 years old.  11 years ago.  The person who was court ordered in our divorce to maintain contact with them via phone twice a week if I was to allow visitation, and hasn't called since 2009.  The person who has not once given me a penny of child support.  I slowed my brain down a tad, and just made him promise me that he would not do anything like that until he was 18.  And he promised.  And we left it alone.

The next day, was all planned out, or so I thought.

I was supposed to go to Bangor, do my Christmas shopping for the kids and then go home, get ready to go to my grandparents, and have a great evening.  I had worked a couple of extra shifts that were supposed to give me overtime for Christmas.  What really happened, is that I woke up to half a pay check in my direct deposit.  Upon calling the payroll department to find out why, apparently the coworker that my manager assigned to update payroll when it was due didn't read my slip and 2 days didn't get factored in, and I was missing a bunch of vacation time.  She wasn't sure that they could get it corrected in time to cut me a check, and I was beside myself most of the day.  I went to Bangor and shopped for my son's stuff and some random things that I could think of.  My daughter just wants money.  She doesn't know what she wants until she actually sees it.

Things eventually worked out, I found some cute stuff and everything on my son's list at Home Depot came in under $50.  I got home, carved up the ham and put it in the crock pot.  My aunt was planning to meet the kids and I at the waterfront gazebo to take our pictures for cards and other things, but I couldn't find the battery charger to my camera.  Then the kids wouldn't wear what I wanted them to wear.  And it was freezing cold.  They were miserable, my daughter wouldn't smile because I wouldn't let her wear her hair in a scarf because I love it when it's combed out.  And then, when we got something that was good enough, my son locked the keys to the car in it.  We waited outside in the freezing cold for 27 minutes before the garage that was 10 minutes up the road could show up.

 I got to my grandparents in one piece and in a relatively good mood.  Hanging out with my mom's side of the family always puts me at ease.  Aside from the exception that my mother was not there.  That too, is another post.

I love my dog, dearly.  However, he seems to operate under the belief that it's his sole duty to be the most disgusting animal on the planet.  On the way home from my grandparents house, the crock pot was not put in the back of the car right and it fell over, spilling ham and pineapple all through the back.  When I got home, I did my best to clean it out, throwing it all off to the side of our driveway and the crock pot fell out of the car and the drippings got all over the driveway.  The kids go to the house and let the Jack out, and he immediately bee lined it for the ham mess before I could see him.  He rolled in it like it was the best thing ever.  Then, he picked up a piece of ham almost the size of his head and thought he'd play "my precious" with it while I chased him all over the yard with it.  I was finally able to entice him with a smaller piece that I "traded him" in order to get him back in the house.  He ate it on the dining room rug, and then proceeded to roll himself on the rug before I could get to him.  I had to pick him up, grease-ball and all, to give him a bath - which he loves, by the way.  He gets himself as disgusting as possible, and jumps into the bath tub grinning from ear to ear.

I get up Saturday, again, with a plan.  It was going to be great.  I ran to Belfast to grab my check and get it deposited.  My son had breakfast one on one and it was fun as always.  I had ordered prints online for my step dad for my siblings "covert operation" for our Christmas present to him.  You see, my mom had taken all of the family photos with her when they divorced and they used to be all over the walls.  So I, got the idea that my siblings and I would get an 8x10 picture of our own families taken and framed, and that I would sneak over to his house and hang them up when we were all over at my brother's celebrating.  I get to the Bangor Walmart, and the kiosk is completely closed.  I flagged down an employee who said they couldn't help me because all the systems were down.  Even though my pictures were probably sitting in one of the drawers.  I was upset, but it was not the end.  Again, I am determined to make a great day.  I called Brewer Walmart to see if their systems were working.  "Yes, absolutely.  Come on over", said the representative who was working AT THE PICTURE KIOSK.  I get there, fortunately I had the pictures that I ordered on my phone also, so I hook it up and place my order for the 1 hour photos.  I do my shopping and get to the checkout isle.  My card is declined.  Weird, I had just deposited a check that was drafted from an account AT THAT SAME BANK.  I call the branch on Broadway that is usually open until 4, no answer.  I said screw it and decided to drive back to Bangor to discuss this with them - it's 2pm by that time.  I show up at the branch, and it's closed.  I proceed to completely break down in front of my son.  I called my sister to tell her what was going on.  I was ready to just give up and go home.  She wired me $200 via Western Union - both of our banks were closed, insisting that I don't give up and trying to do everything that she could to help me all the way from Virginia.  That money wasn't made available in my account until Wednesday.  I get back to the Brewer Walmart, I get to customer service where they were holding my stuff for me and I paid for it.  Then I get up to the back of the store where the picture kiosk is.  There is a line halfway through the store to that desk, and one person is telling everyone that because they were so backed up, that our pictures were going to print sometime during the week and that they would call us when they were finished.  I didn't get home until 4:30 and I was supposed to be at my brother's at any time.  I got there at 6.  The rest of the night was good.  It was the first time that both of my dads were celebrating a holiday together.  My mother was not there.  No call. No text.  Absent;  like a shadow you can feel in the back of your mind when you're watching a suspense thriller.  Like that dark secret you try to figure out the heroin has.  I did my best to ignore it and move on with the day.  I got stuck in my brother's driveway and had to be pulled out of his ditch by my brother and dad.

I worked Christmas Eve.  That was a nice break from the chaos.  Christmas day the kids were happy with what I got them.  We stayed home.  It was quiet.  Nothing went wrong for a change.

But there's my daughter, who is going on week 2 with no shower.

Oh 2017, I am so glad to leave you right where you are.

The Holidays

"Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine.  The landmine is me.  After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together"  

~ Ray Bradbury

I don't need to be fixed.  I just want a place to rest my broken thoughts until I don't feel like I need to be repaired.

~Cynicallovebird

Before I even attempt to get out of bed I pep talk myself on my attempt to get ready for the day "Hello you goddess, you are gorgeous AF.  You are doing amazing things.  Who cares what others think because I'm proud of who you've become.  Don't be stressed, you've got shit to do.  Keep slaying and remember;  ZERO fucks today!!"  Some days, you've gotta be your own biggest fan;  but it never works out that way.  I give all the fucks, all the time.

Even when I say I give zero, I mean more like 30% is still hanging on for dear life.

I agree with the voice of my mother in my head telling me that nobody will ever love me because it's easier than admitting someone might.  It's easier to believe that I need no one than to hold onto the hope that someday I will need someone.  It's easier to believe that I am a broken hot mess than a whole person who's worthy of good things.

The fall has always been a hard time for me.  September and October have always been my favorite time of year.  Suddenly the week before Halloween, I get this ominous black cloud swooping over my universe.  A lot of bad things have happened in my life surrounding this time of year;  illness, surgeries (3 of them), pregnancy, birthdays of some of the worst people on the planet, mental breakdown...I could go on, but the list would require a scroll.  And then if I did put it on a scroll, all kinds of weird things would go on and it would just look like something out of The Lord of the Rings, and my anxiety can't handle that right now and I'm too pretty to turn into the weird troll guy who's all "My Precious".....So I'm writing this, here, instead.  I knew it was coming.  I could feel the crushing pressure of anniversaries coming like an arthritic person feels a rain storm in their knees.

Something suddenly happened to me over the past two weeks that I can't really explain, but it feels like Superman swooped in and disintegrated the big flat rock that was turning me into a spiritual pancake.

The "Holidays" are hard for some of us.  Here's to everyone walking laps around the block, drinking in the basement, hiding in the bathroom, staying home because they can't put on the act anymore.  I salute you, all those who will keep silent to keep the peace, all those who've finally had enough and call them out, all those who walk away, drawing once last line the sand.  Some people get lucky and have functional families.  Then there are the rest of us, left here wondering why things have to be this way.  Having my mother gone makes some of this better.  Some of it, worse.

I will say with a definite burst of joy that this Thanksgiving was the best that I've had in 10 year, at least.  Both of the kids made their pies.  I've discovered how to make a new dessert:  Piecaken!  If you've never heard of it, look it up.  It's revolutionary! My combo was a pumpkin pie (made by Reighan) and carrot cake.  Also a new family favorite side that I made, stuffing muffins.  I had Thanksgiving day at my aunt's.  It was nice.  For once, nobody was fighting with someone.  Everyone talked and it was relaxed.  We all sang karaoke like we always do when we get together.  It was nice that my kids got to experience what I had when I was a kid - after all the stressing that I spent wondering if that was gone forever.  The kids even sang with everyone.  My heart was so happy that I the second my head hit the pillow I ugly cried.

I spent Friday dead to the world because of stupid autoimmune crap.  Then Saturday I had dinner at my brother's.  My niece Aurora turned 1, her party was Sunday.  Are parties for a 1 year old even for the kid?  Let's face it:  it's more of a celebration of keeping a tiny human alive while you were so sleep deprived that no other human would be functional.  I'm still pulling for it to be mandated that every new parent be given a rug washer upon leaving the hospital.  My spawn are 14 and 16, and I'm still getting my money's worth out of that thing.

And I've been reflecting on why my little Grinch heart has swollen so big this year, given that under the surface I also feel a tad like a volcano;  but that's for another post.  And then, sitting on John's couch it just fell out of my mouth:  "I feel a lot better once I learned to stop being a people pleasing pain in the ass."  And for anyone who knows me prior to this past 18 months.  Before right now, I was constantly worried about everyone except my own happiness.  I made sure everyone had what they needed before I would take a second to recharge my own batteries.  I've stopped apologizing for things that I didn't do.  I stopped caring - not on an asshole level, but on the no longer giving energy to anything unnecessary level.  I feel like once I started giving my energy to what actually mattered and started paying attention to what I need, everything else is just falling into place.

But then there is the giving of all the fucks.  All the time.

The Motherless Mother

Something that is missed sometimes as a writer is the toll it takes on the mind to have so much to say, and it can't be said without ripping out my heart entirely.   Acknowledging that feelings have an existence in my being leaves my heart feeling like a squished grape.  The past 18 months have been hard for two very specific reasons, and the other day in therapy, I was given a homework assignment to write about this one.  My mother.  This time of year has been hard for me, because the holidays were the one consistent thing throughout my entire life.  No matter what place our relationship was in, no matter how much she imagined she hated me at the time, the holidays were the most important thing on the planet to her and everything had to be perfect;  and because of that, they were mostly the same. And now they're not.  Because she isn't here.

Mothers are all slightly insane. It just so happens that mine is more so than others.
~ JD Salinger

If my Facebook news feed is an accurate representative sampling, my friends fall distinctly into two categories: those whose mothers are alive and well, and those whose mothers are neither. Mine however, is alive but unwell. She is here but gone; physically present but absent in every way that counts. And as I have learned the hard way, nobody throws a wake or sits Shiva for your ambiguous loss. There are no well-wishers, no little black dresses, no bringers of casseroles; you can’t eulogize a woman for living when she never died.  She just sort of, left.  Both physically and mentally.  My relationship with my mother has always been one surrounded by control and was anything but stable.  At 36 years old, my mother went from someone that I would talk to several times a week and shop with at least once a month, to someone that I saw 4 times in a year.

My mother is broken.  Borderline personality disorder, broken.  Extreme up and down, broken.  There are things surrounding the early years of her life that if gone into detail anyone would understand, but I won't.  I am most definitely not one to poke fun at mental illness of any kind (I myself inherited more than just my mama’s good looks). But my mother is not seeing a therapist, taking meds, or conscientiously managing her mental illness. If she were, I would see her as a survivor to admire, she would be someone I could talk to, someone with whom it was safe to have a relationship. My mother refuses to treat her condition, to her own very real detriment and that of those around her, despite the devastation she leaves in her wake.

And growing up with an emotionally unstable person who says to you the worst things that no child should ever hear from anyone, let alone the one person who should never even think them about you does a number on you that you won’t soon forget. When you become a mother yourself, the impact of growing up with a mother who has mental illness becomes more clear.


1. You will always feel like an impostor.

Being a motherless mother, you permanently feel the sting of being the odd one out. You are forever the last kid picked in gym class. You will listen, somewhat incredulously, to your friends swap stories of their mothers’ support during their pregnancies, labors, and other momentous kid-related events. You will, much like Chief Brody sheepishly eyeing his appendix scar in Jaws while Hooper and Captain Quint trade shark attack tales, stand awkwardly to one side, lacking a frame of reference for even comprehending these narratives.

I never told my mother anything until I didn't have a choice because I could never count on the reaction I was going to receive.  My pregnancies were discussed only after someone else already said something.  I told her about my marriage;  to which she flipped out and cut me out of every picture she had with me in it.  She didn't approve, or have a hand in controlling my decision; I was dead to her.  It never mattered if it was where I chose to work or if I was OK with my son's choice to go commando for the day.  Do people call their mothers about these things and not die spiritually?

2. Nobody taught me how to do mom things.

I don’t live in squalor, but my domestic skills lack finesse. I don’t have a natural barometric gauge when things are clean or dirty because I was screamed at if I left a shirt on the floor.  Hell, if I can walk through your front door without climbing over a waist-deep obstacle course, it looks great to me. People have teased me my entire adult life for loading a dishwasher like it’s a precarious game of Jenga and for not knowing how to mince garlic until the ripe old age of 30. Growing up, I was something to control, and I was never taught the basics of life - how to balance a checkbook, how to pay taxes, how to manage bills.  My mother didn't work when I was growing up.  When she did, it was babysitting out of our home.  She doesn't know what it is like to bust your butt all day and then find the energy to cook and clean and make sure the tiny humans are in one piece.  She always had someone there to help her - my aunt came to live with us when my brothers were babies because she couldn't handle 4 kids on her own all day.  She was always in a relationship.  She's never experienced what it is like to have to work your ass off for everything that you have.  I was kicked out the second I turned 18 halfway through my senior year because my aunt needed a nanny, and tag, I was it.  I sometimes have to take a step back, take a deep breath, and extend myself some grace. Nobody taught you how to do this, lady. You’re doing just fine. But I have a lot of anxiety about imparting this particular set of life skills to my child when I perpetually struggle with it myself.

3. You won’t have anyone to call when things are really, really bad.

I'm a single mother.  I was working full time with an infant and a toddler.  Alone.  I couldn't rely on her support to watch them when I was sick or needed a break.  I considered returning them, but the warranty had expired.  Now, they're 14 & 16.  I don't know what to do or say to them half the time, and I sure as hell wouldn't say anything that she said to me as a kid.  She did take my daughter to get her first bra, but that was around the time that things started to really go downhill.

And you know when you’re a kid and your world is imploding on itself, and it all fades to black, and you just want your mommy? Yeah, I get that too, only my mommy is usually stuck up her new boyfriends ass and coming into my house when I'm not home like a stalker, and fighting with me through text message about how "insert family event she wasn't invited to because she abandoned everything and everyone for her new life and hasn't spoken to anyone for months".  I have had to rely on my own lousy instincts, and Facebook crowdsourcing, and sometimes my aunts. When my son’s fever spikes to 103 degrees, I have no one to call to ask how high is too high and whether or not I should I go to the ER. I have never had that person, and sometimes (every second, of every damn day) it sucks like a whorish Hoover.

4. …or when they’re really, really good.

Conversely, I will never have a mother to call about the good stuff. She wasn’t there to hear about it when my kid successfully had a sleepover. She refused to read anything about my daughter's diagnosis of an ASD until 2 years after she got it because she was so hell bent on painting me as a horrible mother that she wouldn't see that the problem wasn't me.  She won’t be there to ooh and ahh over their prom pictures. She wasn’t at my wedding; I doubt she’ll be at theirs because she has alienated them so badly with her control and random bullshit statements that kids don't need to hear from someone who should (but doesn't) have any idea of how to love someone unconditionally. She is too busy pursuing the extravagant desires of a broken mind and doesn’t give the flyingest of fucks that by doing so she has jettisoned everything that really matters.

And you can reassure yourself all the live-long day that it doesn’t matter, that you don’t miss her, that you didn’t really need anyone to call and tell that funny-gross story about the mishap in the bathtub. And you don’t. You’re tough. You will get by. But sometimes? It’d be nice. Because no one would appreciate a good mishap-in-the-bathtub story more than the mother you don’t have.

5. You will fear for your children and question your own decision to procreate.

It should go without saying that mental illness has a biochemical basis and a major genetic component. Mood disorders and schizoid-spectrum disorders in particular tend to cluster in families. Every time you look into the big beautiful eyes of your sweet baby, you will be overcome with the irrational fear that they too, will go crazy.

Will he inherit the family curse? Is he a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate? What kind of life have I wished on this poor innocent child? And perhaps more fundamentally, was it selfish of me to bring a child into this world knowing I could be passing on such a terrifying legacy? And even if it was, what can I possibly do about it now? But the full-scale horror of the as-yet-unknown—ay, there’s the rub.

6. You will fear becoming your mother.

When you aren’t worrying about your child becoming your mother, you will be worrying about you becoming your mother…and leaving your child to pick up the broken pieces. That time that you got so stressed out that the idea of just up and leaving everything sounds so wonderful - but wait, your mother just did that.  And then the pain of everything that you've gone through catches up to you and everything snowballs and before you know it, you're at Target buying your son that game he begged you for a hundred times and you refused, but look at you being the awesome mom.  The thought of your kid coming to resent you the way you resent your own mother is heartbreaking enough. Couple that with debilitating lifelong guilt for feeling the way you do about her and the logistical nightmare that is the care and maintenance of a psychotic adult, and you’ve potentially bequeathed your kid one hell of an inheritance.

7. You will have very little from your childhood to share with your child.

When your childhood memories are steeped in chaos and trauma, it doesn’t mean that no good things ever happened to you. It does mean you have a very difficult time recalling them. And when your primary caregiver was as neurotic and unstable as mine was, family traditions went by the wayside and day-to-day survival was all that mattered.

Both of my parents were in long term relationships after they divorced, so holidays were spent with every branch of my family.  It was chaos, but it was wonderful because my mother was so focused on making good face, that I was allowed a little freedom to enjoy myself.  There was always small traditions that my mother held onto.  Each of us kids had our own ornaments that were seperated and we took turns putting them on the tree at Christmas.  Some of the decorations she used to have I have now and every once in awhile, when things get really bad, I take out the candle holder that she passed down to me and smell the old wax.  It never changes, the faint hint of cinnamon that I've smelled since I was little.  It's also, the only time I let myself be sad about how bad it sucks that she's gone from my life. I can't listen to Christmas music without getting angry.  And then crying because I'm angry.  Or being happy.  And then feeling guilty that I'm happy.  And then crying because I'm happy.

I don’t have a cherished “Mom’s German Chocolate Cake” recipe. For a highly creative person, I’m rubbish at making up holiday traditions. I almost feel like I don't want my children to feel like they're being forced to do what I want to do.  I want to pass these things down to my kids, but I keep coming up empty-handed. Manufacturing a whole new childhood for someone else from scratch is hard work.

8. Your kid is missing a grandma.

My grandmas were both pretty badass.  They both love me fiercely and I can talk to them about anything.

My kids, on the other hand, will always have a gaping hole in their life where they are missing 100 percent of the whole grandmother equation. I can’t tell them she died. She didn’t die. She simply has no interest in having a relationship with them, and even if she did, she is toxic and unsafe for them to be around.  Unfortunately, both of them came to that conclusion long before the "big change" and my son cut as many ties with her as he could beforehand.  How can you possibly explain to the bright eyes and precious dimples peering up at you and asking the hard questions that while some people’s bodies are broken, Nana’s brain is broken? That she doesn’t love us in a healthy way because she can’t?

9. You will learn that it’s OK to question yourself as a mother.

In time, however, you will learn to forgive your own mother (albeit imperfectly) for what she couldn’t give you and, more importantly, forgive yourself for what you were not given. This is not to say you will absolve yourself of doing better by your child; you will make it your paramount priority. But you will eventually shed the layers of hostility you feel toward yourself, although perhaps not all those you feel toward your mother.

You will learn to treat yourself with a little kindness; you will learn through trial and error that you yourself, as much as anyone else in the universe, deserves your love and compassion. You will learn that you are not a failure for having failings, and that the very fact that you are questioning yourself as a mother means you are already a good one.

Lately....

I have been told that I have a glacier surrounding my heart.
Take a closer look
It's paper mache.
~ Cynicallovebird

Being in my shoes isn't hard;  it's terrifying.  And the creepy clown waiting in the gutter is the knowledge that with one wrong move I'm going to fail at everything.

I've been a mess.  I've come to figure out that I've got many different types of messes.  I compartmentalize way too easily;  and it bothers me.  Lately though, I think my "piles" are now look like the desk of a mad scientist rather than the organized, perfectly put together June Cleaver type that I'd like to project.

This chaos in my brain has left me wishing that this was Nightmare Before Christmas and I lived in Halloweentown, because then if I popped off my head and traded with someone else for awhile, much like I want to do right now, it wouldn't be weird.

Something about transitioning times of year that have been espeically hard on me since I was a kid. I'm not going to lie, I've been having a tough time lately understanding the difference behind what I'm feeling;  is this thing that's taken my breath away PTSD, anxiety, depression, fibromyalgia.....what is my problem really.  I think that taking the time to actually evaluate my problems and feelings have actually caused me more pain and anxiety than doing the old fashioned "just putting it away".  I know I've reached the point where it's something that I'm no longer capable of doing. 

There's more, but I think this is enough thinking for now.

Coworker

He was the perfect specimen of man that her soul desired.  Even in passing as a complete stranger in the halls she wanted to know him.

One evening shared was the awakening that she wasn't even aware that she was waiting her entire life for.

She had never been so honest; he wasn't just some toy to play with.  He was different.  Special.  Settling.

Slowly but surely, contact dwindled.

Her soul craved their connection, knowing it wasn't to be.

"Don't shit where you eat".  Isn't that the saying?

She didn't collect people.  She no longer desired empty connection.  Unfriend button hit.

Why?

Because he stopped talking to her, and she got tired of wanting him to.

Shitty People

I have been single now for 2 years, and I would like to know just one thing:

What the fuck has happened to the idea of human interaction while I was out of the dating pool for 7 years?

I mean, come on!!!

Since when is it okay to treat people like they're amazing one minute and then just randomly stop talking to them the second that you find something better?  Whatever happened to honesty and integrity?  Since when is it okay to not put any effort into getting to know someone before jumping in the sack with them?

I'll tell you:  we've become a society of convenience.  We do what's easy.  There is no need for effort, because the second you get in a fight with your significant other, right there on any social media platform you choose there's a person ready to step in.  And then whenever you get sick of them, you can start the dance all over again.  Hookups are easier than taking the effort to become emotionally attached to someone.  Coming from someone who was a big slut for years because of all of my emotional baggage, I am totally familiar with how it works.

And I'll tell you what;  when you are no longer in a place where you want what's easy, and actually want something meaningful, the world fucking sucks.

It.  Sucks.

People are just shitty to each other.

I've been writing.  Nothing that I'm ready to publish yet.  Stay tuned.

Breaking Point

When you finally reach the point where your place inside that you stuff everything into just to make it through the day has breached it's breaking point,

And everything bubbles up to the surface because there's no other place to put it;

Things really suck when you take a moment to actually experience what you've been putting away.

More later.

I just can't right now.

Inevitably

So what if you think I talk too much?

I'd rather be a burning mess

of expressive chaotic passion

than a Pinterest perfect coward.

That,

and I'm doing my best to keep my cool when my entire being wants to

break the sound barrier to get to you

and kiss that face that won't leave my brain. 

But instead

I'll put another coat of paint on my door and wield my hammer

in the name of mindless busy work

to avoid the inevitable....

Thinking of you, that is.

                         

                      ~Cynicallovebird

Irrational

Whenever I get super stressed out, sometimes I do something productive to get rid of the nervous energy that goes along with it.  The weeks shit-losing session ended in me doing all the laundry.  All of it.  Cleaned the bathroom.  Did all the dishes.  And then cleaned out my black hole that is my refrigerator.  With gross teens, that's a lot of groady.

I keep wanting to write an open letter to teenage girls about dating and boys.  But I won't.  I don't have real advice to give, other than DON'T DO IT.  That in itself is all the advice you need, really.

They say this soul mate hunting will cost me my mind....
I say I'd go insane if I stop.
You might wonder how much you can hate someone you once truly loved;
But how can you not:
When they squander your kindness
And make you feel miserable most of the time.
When they flatter you out of their own convenience 
And disregard your needs
And shrug as they glance over their shoulder rather than take heed.
The real question begs: how could you have fallen for someone like that?
I have a tendency to ramble
And if it doesn't hit my ears sweeter than Cole Porter I don't want it anymore;
I was never really one to enjoy playing the part of the whore.
I'm still figuring out my place on this big blue marble
And then I remember the one place that always made room 
for my jagged edges.
Forgive me;   you.
It was always you.
I hope you know that you are loved.
Bizarrely and irrationally,
But loved entirely nonetheless.

~ Cynicallovebird