I’ve had it all wrong…

Here I’ve been falling in these pits– black musty holes that seem to have no bottom in my life. I’ve been facing some serious challenges…things that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy, and after months of being broken, even the small things begin to feel like a travesty– falling, and falling in a world that feels out of control while in a pain that I cannot even put words to.

I’ve held stock in a lot of things that I shouldn’t in life. For instance I used to cling to the “things” that ones gave me..cards that said “love,’so and so’..” because to me, that was proof- I was loved. Stock in what others think of me. My value in what I should’ve become just because so many people in my family didn’t think I could…like a college graduate, someone living a “normal, stable” life (does that exist?) with an abolished past that I myself wouldn’t mind losing somewhere in luggage holding at a random airport that my suitcases full of that ugly thing [my past] just vanished off to to never be seen again. Stock that they would hold some kind of resemblance to a family that comes together when times are rough…or good. Stock in the hopes that she would stop talking to the grocery clerk while on the phone with me where I lay on wooden floors at one point 3,118 miles away– deaf to my pain and tears like she had been for as long as she could turn the mute button onto her youngest daughter…and that was more than twenty years ago in this twenty-nine year olds life.

So, I find people who see this…who then love me. After awhile this wall around my heart crumbles down. I am naive. Words mean nothing to some people, but to me, someone who never heard the ones I craved growing up only aged to starve for them…I devoured them the moment lips uttered the letters that were spoken in an organized fashion. ..”I love you. You are so beautiful. You are apart of this family. I can see Mr “___” walking you down the aisle someday. My sweet precious girl. Well, this Christmas isn’t a good one…it’s the first one with all the kids’ and their wives/husbands and think we are going to do just a low key with just the family.”

Knife in heart. All the “I am worthlessness” come running back in flames and on crank.

This morning, early (as I’ve been rising in the early hour for the most part) I realized something. The feeling worthless, or like I don’t matter, exist– that nobody would notice if I was gone, or that I am only good when somebody needs something ran me over the moment I opened my eyes. I’m the one that picks up the phone…and I’m not talking about on the everyday basis. I am talking about being in this never ending musty black hole, and those that have known…talking to somebody one moment- whether it be while they are standing in line at the grocery store, on the cellphone before you walk into the gym after leaving god knows what number of voicemail to someone that you held that stock in that never returned them, or sitting across from somebodies face with a wall being a computer screen– and I just can’t do it anymore. It’s a roller coaster of trust and then let downs.

I don’t say any of this without taking responsibility, let me make sure I state this. I act impulsively sometimes off emotions that are lit like fuses on fireworks that suddenly go “boom!” I’m sensitive. But I’ve just been hurt maybe too many times…and perhaps these wounds are too deep.

And maybe, just maybe, I have had it all wrong. People say things in moments because they “feel” them…and I’ve put one individual, whom I love so much, on this huge pedestal- problem with this? I had hoped for this thing to happen…to be taken in…to believe the words she said…for what she wished to happen have happened– and it didn’t. And I realized this morning something that felt so devastating…it was how much she reminded me of my “Mother of the South”…that familiar pain and letdown that I used to often feel from her. Big difference though, this person deserves to be on that pedestal…it’s just me that doesn’t deserve to be looking up at her, nor am I one of the people that are to be in her eyes glance when she looks down. I don’t belong in her world…but how nice it was for a moment wishing that it just might happen if I could snap out of it, or be somebody else…that she might treat me a little bit more like that daughter that she has said she loved  just as much as if I had been her own…

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It’s been a long time…


Maybe I should have some heroic words here– actually, that’s far from the truth. No one in my position (or lacking there of) would hold in their hands at this moment in time– let alone try and share. 

There’s one moment, and I mean merely one moment in which I can pause, glance around and hurry my eyes back to the sand that sways back and forth in an hour glass that contains the chaos of my life, and the begging for the calm after its storm.

In less than a week, I can choose one of either two things. There’s one option that will remain a door shut behind me as I say goodbye…with an exhausted body, and an even more depleted spirit. The self-deprecating individual that I am would deny that I have any spirit left, but I can’t deny that…I would not be sitting here typing this right now if didn’t. It takes just a tiny spark from a flick of a flint to get a fire started in the cold mountains on a lost night…a fire that provides just enough heat that could up saving your life. That’s spirit…that small spark from that thing “stuff”…shavings like kinda thing that you shave off of that “flint”…(sorry I was never a boy scout…or girl scout).

So there’s that flint, that provides just enough warmth to keep this heart of mine going…this spirit that I’ve tried killing, and even others– but it will not go out. But fucking A, I am pissed, and I hurt. Things happen at times when I find myself feeling completely out of control- of my thoughts, body, mind…sensations. I’ve been told that 

So I quit. I give up. I cry because I think about the people I love– and how much I miss them at this very moment just thinking about never seeing their faces again, nor hearing their voices either. No more walking around with what feels like a mostly dead me inside already anyway. No more hurting the people I love or taking out my anger on them because I am just that- angry. An emotion I am not used to, and one I do not like either…what I saw of it growing up is nothing I ever wanted near me, or associated with me.this is PTSD. I could go on to talk about what led up to why I feel the way I do RIGHT NOW- but that’s 29 years of hell, and then the past 8 months of its flames over a million third degree burns that I have all over my body- but there’s no need.

Or I can set aside my pride that I was going to stick to this thirty day “if I can’t get rid of 

this…” plan of mine and do what I’ve always fucking done: pick up my boots (figuratively speaking) and keep on. With confusion, pain, sadness, anger, and torment swarming 

through my every being like I am the hive to a heard of wasps, bees, and hornets. Do I keep living even when I am so angry? Do I keep on “truckin’” along when all the voices in my head scream at me how pathetically worthless I am– and I sit back whilst looking at the small group of folks around me…what a tired group of folks they must be at that. How I truly believe with all my heart that they would end up living a better, and happier life later down the road if I was no longer present.

I don’t know. But, I do know I could keep on…past this thirty day thing. But, what kind of life is this– one where I just try so hard to make sure those left standing in my life know I love them and now keep them safe from my pains harm.

There are no words for this hurt…this lost feeling…almost as if I’m stranded at the bottom of an empty watering well, black, dark, isolated except for this quiet and seldom tempting “drip” that teases my thirst for freedom from these chains.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I just wish I were a better person.

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Nobody expected it…

At least not until all was said and done.IMG_5003

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Fuck this shit…

I wish I could unleash my hold that I have on this beast called loneliness and self-hatred. Eyes that I know look upon me– they say, and without parting their lips, “I know you don’t really feel that way about yourself. And I know that’s how you see yourself…”

They don’t know. They do not know. And I can sit alone at the end of my day with the books that I have held onto through the two round trip moves cross country, times I’ve spent nights in my cars in the past years…my journals, where my scribbling hand writing is all the substance I am.

I deleted my facebook page because all I want to sgoay is, “FUCK ALL OF THIS SHIT!” I deleted my facebook page because this is something I do when I result to my ultimate isolation ..I no longer am just physically alone, but virtually– well, I no longer am in touch with those I know.

They don’t know that I want to go to the nearest liquor store and get a fifth of vodka. However, where I live now, is nothing like my days in Boston (which were not that long ago), where there was a booze-cooze store on every street corner.

Truth is, I am suffocating and nobody really knows it. I can’t really even begin to tell you what kind of pressure I am under…I didn’t expect to be susceptible to it again, especially as an adult.

I got a medical bill today for a visit to the emergency room that I made at the end of January. Nothing like being tied up in phone calls today to find out that the paper work I signed for the fund that pays for certain visits to the ER…it was suppose to actually covered that bill. It did not in fact cover the cost of my visit. It is quite a costly bill. What a nice a long phone call to find out the frustrations of this reality too– to have to explain the “fund” that I supposedly signed off to. Happy Monday y’all…
(thank-you strangers for letting me vent, whom ever you are out there…your eyes.)

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My Favorite Jeans are dying, and I need your help…

(This began as a FB Update)

Alright ladies, this is important: who makes your favorite jeans? I’m looking for a brand/denim that preferably does not have lycra or stretch enabling fabric in it.

The GAP was my main provider, sadly they don’t make the quality they used to. And a frustrating thing: all their butt pockets have the same design– with the exception of their 1969 line. This is a dilemma.

The new jeans aren’t faded, they don’t fall off my hip in the way they’ve been trained to, nor show the signs of life in the shaded sections of their appropriate geographically located ares on that denim of mine. The loops around the waist hold with perfection all the belts I own– like jewelry that you favor because of how it lays upon your décolletage. Telling the stories of all the times you’ve latched it carefully around your neck, as well as the times it had been taken off from another set of familiar hands. Tragically three of my favorite pairs of jeans are on their way out. And sure, I have others. Have I utilized them much since I bought them? No. They aren’t in my favorites club.

I realize that the new jeans don’t stand a chance until they start to get some play like some underdog that sits on the bench waiting to get put into the game. 

But a girl can’t go wrong with a good pair of jeans that fit her like they were tailored just for her. Ones you’ve thrown on at last-minute for a night out. You reach for a fancy top that will changes the entire dynamics of those old jeans. You head out with someone special– somebody you’ve known for years and once exchanged vows in the shape of words. And in that material around the button on those jeans it knows the soft touch of a hand resting on your body and the unbuttoning of that branded circular metal that may have numbers or the name of a brand on it. But in that moment none of these details cross your mine.


Although, these jeans I love are indeed on dying, as I’ve dramatically made clear. This began as a Facebook update asking what kind of jeans my fellow ladies may like, then I went on a tangent– remembering like everything in this world that we touch or hold onto has a story.

Lastly, along with the good stories things may carry, there are some that we may also want to forget. I’ll not lament losing a recent one that was sewn into the stitching of a favorited pair. These faded, worn, and long-lived jeans have accompanied me through times when I had no other pair to wear. And now, I am blessed in a way that I have more than I need. Even more– have a place to put them all away.

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You may feel like you are blindly walking through life at times, and the glimpses of reality you get are enough to force your will to stop where you’re at and just fall back into the unknown abyss. But, if you continue to take one step after another, allowing yourself to sit and take as much time to rest as you need, you may find yourself surprised at what life itself reveals to you when you open your eyes and see what kind of possibility lies before you– not just the glimpses of the only thing you know: a past that you’re so desperately trying to leave behind yet scared because it’s all you’ve ever known. So close your eyes when you need to rest, and open them wide when the world is trying to show you that it all just might not be a dead end street, but rather a series of untrodden paths leading you on a continuous bizarre, turbulent, chaotic, lonely, and beautiful journey: life.

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These are my words…

I’m ten thousand five-hundred and fifty nine days old…or 28 and 32 days shy of what is supposed to be my 29 birthday if one wants to get down to the skinny of things.

My hands are tired, but not nearly as much as the gears that sluggishly tick away in my slowing heart. I’m unknown here with the exception of a reader or two…this is very similar to the reality of my life. True, we all have only a select few that truly know us…the ones that we allow into the secret club of our hearts– and still that only applies to those that are able to be authentic and vulnerable with those that they do choose to share that with. It’s a tricky thing…it doesn’t always have to be, but for some of us it just is.

We’ve been burned, our hands forced to a scorching hot stove that we knew not to touch against our will…yet repeatedly we have found ourselves in situations and relationships where we placed that limb into someone else’s and allowed them that control.

I’ve wasted thousands of days in my 28 years. There have been a few that I’ve lived with the best of intentions and done some good too– sure. However over all, I feel like a fraud. I know I am not alone. There’s a world of us out there. Some struggling to hang on…some gone, and others that have went on into a life that they succeeded and concurred a past they were able to leave in just that: their past.

But here is the most important thing, I– the master of all frauds and failures have learned in the past thousands of days…

Obviously, wherever you go, there indeed you are. If you spend your entire life telling yourself you are unlovable, then you will indeed become that- so if you don’t want to become that, start telling yourself while you are young and virtuous that you are! Trust me, my heart is as black and unlovable as a retired and deceased coal miner six feet under from a lifetime of that kind of self talk...

Boundaries: learn them. Establish them. Let them be known to all as if you were to wear a sign around your neck– if somebody truly loves you, they will give you the time and space you need; even if it is difficult for them. It’s a conundrum, but sometimes in life, there are things greater than ourselves…

Love. Love it all…everyday, every single second…it makes the seasons of life bearable–  especially the the dark winters that feel eternal. Love does concur all…but sometimes concurring everything doesn’t mean you win– it just mean you gave it your all.

Forgiveness. This is essential to life. Without forgiveness you grow bitter and angry (not the healthy kind of anger that one is expected to experience as a human emotion…yes, I have been through therapy- deal with it). Because this is where the love concurres all comes into place. It’s hard to fathom for some maybe, but through the power of forgiveness, despite the scares that have remained, you are a better person for it, and breathe easier at night.

Lies. They only entangle you and drown you in a world of misery.
They. Will. Take. Your. Life.


Live the life you are intended to live- be who you are, speak your truth, as hard as it is, or as joyful as it may be– do not worry about people thinking you are too prideful- if you are happy, be happy. By all means, and I mean this for the people I love in my life, BE HAPPY and share it– be honest and authentic with it! We are not perfect! We are all flawed and that is what makes us so unique and indifferent. Embrace it. Lord knows I have tried and tried…but I have also ran and ran and ran.

Faith. Hope. Grace. God. Love. All these things are real– they exist. I have seen them…touched, tasted, been embraced by, and spoken to. Through the winds that sing in the branches of the Ponderosa Pines of Central Oregon, or the arms of someone I love dearly that I can laugh with or be annoyed at the same time and yet go, “We are doing that thing again, aren’t we?! Grr!” Or the faces of my nieces and nephews…my family.
The imperfections that I still find love in– because that is what you call love. Or taking a step out into thinking I could maybe come back to the place that I started out at. Thinking I could be the strong woman I was back in the warm summer days. I was wrong. I’ve let down a lot of people, myself included- but that will not matter in the end. What matters the most is the mere fact that I just continue to love and give as much as I can to those that I care for most.

I know a handful of my family members might argue that I cannot do that by my “abandoning” them and or my nieces or nephews in my time of asking for space– but that’s your mere small thinking. I’m sorry, but I never had to disclose to you the details of my struggles (and not that you ever believed me in the past..”oh she’s just saying this for attention”….) because they are mine, and I don’t owe you an explanation.

Look up unconditional love. Because that’s what I consider family– even though I feel like I was bron into this world with a mother’s eyes taped shut, and the rest of her family in the waiting room. I’m the wild one…who made up stories…who did drugs…who cut..who went to rehab…the psych unit…who was a lesbian…who ran away…who caused so much added stress on her parents– emotionally and finically.

What it all came down to, was the time that just couldn’t slow down for a second…the brakes that I pleaded God to just at least ease on life for a bit. From December to now- all I asked for was just a break…that’s all.

So as I prayed last night when I walked across the ferry street bridge, I pray tonight with my own will “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change- courage to changes the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

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