Dried flowers hang above floating books while fresh ruby sunflowers dress the space below. Coffee wafts in the air from a candle I lit while cleaning as I dance and sing along to my current playlist. For a moment I forget about the stresses in my life that climb onto my back like a live action caricature. I haven’t developed some new tactic to control the fear and darkness flowing through me but rather I found something worth much more than surviving simply with masking or restructuring who I am for the rest of the world. I found the one who makes me believe in magic, the way I did before the universe beat me down. I may struggle and panic myself into another galaxy but I feel safe when you’re near. To fight my demons, to dream, to hope and to love. So fuck you for that, but also thank you.

P.S. Does this count as writing?

listening to Tenacious D from The Croods a new age

She hid away once again as the pain was far too great to bare and though she longed to feel joy, it made her skin itch and her bones ache. Her scars continued to bleed, drowning her hopes and fears. She began to fade into the warm comfort of darkness because her gift was for others and they craved it but each time it killed another piece of her and would continue to do so until she was merely ash and memories. She wondered if then the evil in her nightmares would finally set her free. 

I am about to get real honest with my little ‘summary of the last year’ as I start over… again.

I didn’t go to my graduation. I couldn’t afford the regalia. I regret it a little now, not being able to walk across the stage and have my hard work acknowledged because it truly was grueling. My GPA dropped below the 3.7 I had held throughout my 3 years at university, after the incident. Yet, I managed to finish my bachelors degree. Even through the interrogations from my now ex, boyfriend. I felt unsafe. Around others, alone, out in public and even in my own home. I was terrified of people but especially any male friends.
“What were you wearing?”
“How drunk were you?”
“Are you sure you told him he couldn’t stay there?”
“Are you sure nothing happened?”
Others were shocked and asked, “are you sure you’re not interrupting the situation wrong?” Adding, “that doesn’t sound like him.”
I stopped writing. Turned down acting jobs. I didn’t apply to the nursing program after completing my psychology degree with a minor in public health and all of the prerequisites required, even though that was the plan I had been working toward for years. I felt unsafe, unheard, ignored and the normal feeling of “are you over this yet” leeching off of people was suffocating. Over a decade of therapy, 4+ years of trauma therapy dealing with my bipolar, CPTSD, ADHD, anxiety and severe depression. There I was in another hole like trash trying to fight to get out of it. I’ve cut many people out of my life. People I cared deeply about knowing I will never be anything more than a survivor if I don’t drastically change my life. I know I take some things to extremes to avoid plausible risks and I also know that I have allowed some behavior because I was worried that I was overreacting or just reacting to an extreme. My plans to create a better future for my son were unravel by my own hand and a missed threat assessment and plainly, poor character judgment sandwiched between all the stress from my overflowing plate. Nobody is perfect so just be honest and real. Fuck people’s potential. Fuck my potential. Just be who you are.
I will keep working on how to trust again, mostly I mean myself. Which reactions are good instincts versus those that are a trauma response. Until then, I’m not available. To anyone, for anything. Those I chose to be in my life, are. There is no confusion. Everyone else, Godspeed, I hope you’re healthy and happy. Don’t contact me. I need to heal. I need to feel safe. If that wasn’t fucking apparent by now.

One of the worst parts of having CPTSD is knowing a conversation is too much, being incapable of saying that and just experiencing it like an extension of trauma. All while going through therapy to deal with whatever trauma caused the shit in the first place. All while loud sounds have you jumping out of your skin. People who thought you knew they were walking up to, seem to suddenly appear before your eyes, startling every fiber of your being. Your memory is blank for so much of your past that you clutch on to random memories trying to find yourself lost in the matrix. Then there are the nightmares, which fight through your ambien because the one thing you need is rest, to feel safe, to unclench every muscle in your body and breathe for more than just survival, but not tonight because they scream. They scream twisted versions of everything you’ve survived, every night. Everything you might have to survive in the future. 

And disassociating, is somehow the worst of all. You’re not present for the trauma (incident/s,) maybe you remember or maybe you don’t. Maybe you just remember the stories of it, or rather the stories told to you. But the guilt. The consequences, of whatever may have happened during the time you disassociated, they live on, they replay, fester and torture. 

And all of that makes being bipolar look like a walk in the park. Because hell, it’s just a handful of manic days where you have a really good time being yourself and everyone thinks you’re amazing and a long string of depression filling up the space in between. The ADHD, is simple and barely worth mentioning. With no ability to focus and the constant dread of being overwhelmed while simultaneously bored, because you just go really fast in your head while your body remains cocooned in a blanket like a hostage negotiating burrito blanket.  And when you sandwich all of that together, you get me. A walking, talking disorder pamphlet just trying to get through the day without blowing up her own life or anyone else’s. Pretty, smart, talented are an irrelevant bonus feature. Survivors  are just victims who are still here. 

Experiencing a menstrual cycle is basically like, a bunch of teenage demons are trying to do a seance to steal your “life creating” magic. Because it feels like gravity is trying to drag your uterus down to hell. But, with a blood sacrifice, you get to keep it! And those pesky demons have to wait a month to try again. Every month for years until they finally lose and for winning this battle you get to experience “the final period” with hell fire hot flashes and more. 

I always walk into the face of danger, into the chaos and any other storm many may shy away from with an unbreakable fearless strength. I dare it to test me, I’m ready to fight and do whatever it takes to defeat it; to defend others and even more so if they are the ones I care for. To protect those I love, those who will not stand up for themselves and those who do not feel worthy of that sort of love and kindness seems as interchangeable as the blood in my veins as it pulses behind the skin wrapped around this damn meat suit I’m trapped in, inside of this shell they all claim to admire or even love.

Chaos is simple. The storm and the fight is simple. This is where I feel the most alive. This is where I feel whole. The thunder in me beats like a drum and I thrive and move with its rhythm. It is where I feel worthy.

It ends there. It has always been a struggle to hold the same sort of savior complex it seems I bare for others; when it comes to my own heart, soul and mind. I’m not even sure when or why I decided I was unworthy of such decency. Truthfully, that is what it boils down to isn’t it? Compassion and human decency on your worst of days, the days where your true character is challenged and all you are and have been taught what you are worth comes to light like a supernova, and everyone’s perception of the event is clouded by their own experiences, including your own.

Continuously plagued by nightmares and I still can’t understand how my own brain is capable of putting me through such terror, nearly every night. Reliving traumas that some nights I can no longer tell if they have even happened in real life or if they are only wicked fantasy horror’s far worse than most could even imagine I have thrusted upon myself as some sort of penance for still existing. Often wondering where the line of horrible truths and the relentless combination of horrifying theatrics and creative viscous genius; actually lies.

In the day, I am always fighting for a better a future for my son and for that to include me in his life as someone worthy of that extraordinary imagined existence. Each morning I wake I fight for my right to love and be loved and setting goals to earn such love by being better in all aspects of my life. Yet, I fear I am not fighting for it in a way that shows I believe I truly deserve it. Deserve love, peace and even joy. The words I recognize and the rational part of my brain knows I do, cause fuck, we all do. We all deserve so much more than we ever give ourselves credit for. I don’t know how to believe I do. To truly believe it and feel it when in the depths of me this poison has taken hold of me over the years. Seeping in slowly and steadily, in the shadows of all of my best intentions and valiant failed efforts.

So, why does this nagging cruelty nag at me that I am meant to suffer and to endure for the rest of my days? Why is being vulnerable the fasted to trip to numb or dissociation without a moment to correct this ridiculous notion thrust upon me? Why does the lack of control drive the deepest anxiety I have ever felt in the marrow of my bones where I swear I will drown in it and feel as if I am drowning regardless? I am often asked to trust only as swiftly as I am reminded not to. Then there is love, if and when I feel what I associate the feeling of love it is accompanied by a nagging question of is this a risk worth taking? Am I even capable of breathing in love and all the good reaching toward me from it knowing all the while a million fragmented images play behind my eyes like some sort of madness of all the ways every situation could go drastically wrong if I succumb and relinquish control, trust, exhale, try and allow myself to feel love?

Someday I hope the thought of being vulnerable isn’t quite so exceptionally painful. That the word control, is associated more with driving a car or a single turn playing a board game than this intricate woven waking nightmare of reality where every molecule of surviving this life is what life is. Someday where the idea of love shoots a calming recognizable warmth throughout my cold clenched vessel, filling me with peace, happiness and relentless joy. Where the idea of trust isn’t a trigger but rather a matter of fact welcomed component of my life. Where life is about balance and not about preparing and accepting the worst but truly allowing myself to hope for the best and maybe accepting days will be good and bad and how it goes is about how I react to it rather than some cosmic retribution.

Fear is a powerful force.

Be kind to others and please be kind to yourself.

Talking about my past with a nonchalant viewpoint is either proof I have moved beyond my past or that I have buried it so deeply into the depths of my being from the realization it doesn’t serve me to dwell. There comes these defining moments in your life where you have to make seemingly hard decisions (at the time) about the future, about your own future and about what you are willing to accept and what you are not. Whether you are willing to suffer or to hurt someone else. When I started to look at things in the perspective of “does this serve me?” and “is this the person I am?” or “is this the person I want to be?” as well as, “Is this what I deserve?” Everything changed as I imagined who I am, how far I’ve come, who I wanted to be and admitted to myself I do deserve more out of life than the sentence I gave myself so many years ago. When your mistakes haunt you past the point of forgiveness because you in fact do not forgive yourself, is it the price you deserve to pay or is it as simple as you not believing you deserve more? Making mistakes is a natural part of being human but I have found when you find your people, find someone you care deeply for, even love beyond your own normal comprehension; and they forgive you for something you deem unforgivable, well it is far more difficult to accept. Far more than any suffering I have endured and far more than I had ever imagined was even possible.
I have busted my ass for years working toward a better future, for myself and my son. To be worthy of that sort of forgiveness and to return that to those that have wronged me. I find myself more mentally, physically and emotionally stable and continuing to work hard in all aspects as we all are works of art in progress. I’ll admit it’s been a shit show of hard work folks but I am getting through it and isn’t that the point? We can all get through our struggle and face anything if we can find a way to believe in ourselves a little more. It’s important I see how far I have climbed from the belly of the beast that tried to consume me, feeding on my darkness. Each day I take a little more effort into believing I deserve more and sometimes I say it out loud and cringe in disbelief. Each time I say it, though I know it has begun to break the walls I erected around me a little more each day, I feel the cringe as my body clenches in the muscle memory scream of “No!” Each day it turns the volume down a fraction, the strength behind the response is less severe and releases me sooner. I put these walls up to protect myself from outside forces because I had learned that people break your trust, break your heart and break you. That particular venom that spreads and festers begins with trust, hope and love. Sure, being the one who loves a little less than the other protects you when things crumble to the ground but when starting anything with this sort of foundation it becomes a self-fulling prophecy of “see I told you” when things crash or burn or on the bad days when it feels as if everything is and will go wrong. In the end being right does not result in wining, in happiness or becoming the best version of yourself. You can’t really be a part of something magical if you’ve got your heart on the safety eject button. There has been too much pain in my life that I have experienced and witnessed in more fashions than I would care to admit and have felt in ways I wish I had not that I can truly understand anyone unwilling to be vulnerable enough to surpass those fears because hell, I am terrified of that. Sometimes I even think I am incapable of it. Anytime a true feeling emerges from me it feels as if every cell in my body treats it as an infection it needs to fight and it goes to damn war. I used to revel in the idea of being a jaded, cynical pessimist. It’s not that I feel its an entirely mistaken point of view but rather closed minded, a view of someone who from experience has been hurt. It’s one sided and the universe is nothing if not in a constant battle of balance always working toward some version of harmony. In those terms I can relate, as I had always felt the struggle to balance those parts of me at war. As I experienced joy and happiness a flicker of terror surfaced instantly just below my skin with warning of pain and hollowness that will infect me when whatever it is that is making me feel, is gone. Feelings are contagious terrifying lapses in judgment. As much as my rational mind knows it’s not true, some days thats more difficult to remind myself than others. Feelings ache in my muscles and joints, burn my skin, swarm in my mind, revoke my sleep and plague me until I succumb to them, numb from them or allow them to consume me. As I grow older; listen and watch more versus reacting, I have found my defense mechanisms do not serve me and I’m not going to lie, this is a hard pill to swallow and even more so to change.
Here’s the thing though, I still dare to try. To risk my sanity, my heart and as terrifying as it always is there are these moments where things do actually work out. (Also terrifying btw) That is where you find yourself, where you find your connection to others, to love and to hope. To be more vulnerable is scary as fuck and a gigantic struggle for me but I will continue to try.
To live, to love, to be open to all the alternative versions you can be if only you allow yourself to be the best version of yourself and strive to better than the version of yourself yesterday, is a purpose I can stand with.

Hindsight teaches me the lessons I needed to learn and peace, it comes from letting going and learning those lessons.

Be kind to each other and be kind to yourself.

Psychological and emotional triggers have been a plenty in 2020. Sometimes it is hard to see the good in your life, in yourself or in other people. One of the most difficult things about my progress is how I look and seem “good”. I have survived for so long that attempting to do more than only survive has brought up an infinite amount of challenges. This year has muddied the waters on what defense mechanisms and coping mechanisms I still cling to and which I need to let go of. The eery truth is though the world basically looks like it is on fire, I am more at peace or at least closer to reaching it than I ever had been before. I am more calm in this chaos as there is a tangible reason or explanation for it, and so I am less stressed. Stress has been eating at my insides, dancing between my skin, seeping into my bones for such a long time. I still struggle with distressing and the actual concept of relaxing is still nearly impossible for me to put into practice, so much so that if I feel relaxed at all you can bet your ass, I’m passed out within seconds. I know most of my triggers and I work hard to not react to them. To not fall into my defense mechanisms and relapse. It’s my son and I against the world, or for it. You can be damn sure I will do everything in my power to give us the best life I can. A happy, peaceful life where we can be proud of who we are, love with open arms and feel safe to walk away from things and people who do not align with our needs at living a good life. The only way for my son to understand this, is to show him. Because actions or lack there of always speak louder than the sharpest or hollow words.

I am on my first break between semesters since winter break at the end of 2019 going into 2020. The worst I have been emotionally and mentally has been on this month break, the lull in my exponentially busy schedule. I have completed my first year in the mortuary science program with an overall GPA of 3.50. I was always a C student but between WSU and OCC I have from Fall 2019-Summer2020 earned; 6 A’s, 3 A-‘s, 2 B’s, 3 B+’s and 1 B-. So I suppose I am not a C student after all. I wish I could say it is because I am passionate about what I have been learning this year and for a few classes that may be true but for most, it isn’t. I suppose I didn’t realize how much I needed to be busy both physically and mentally to stabilize my mood. In the spring I began a huge project of clearing the yard for a garden. I grew from seeds and planted small starter plants and now in August, everything is lush, producing food and gorgeous flowers and looks a little like a scene from Jumanji at times. I had no idea gardening was such hard work! It is and my body and my mind absolutely have loved every second of it. I put up an above ground pool for my son (and let’s be real, for me too.) We’ve spent the summer on hammock’s, the swing set, in the dirt, in the pool, under the gazebo, bbq’ing most meals all while surrounded by fairy lights I put up along the fence, the trellis’s and some trees. It’s our little slice of summer heaven.

My son has had quite the adjustment period during this pandemic. His routines stolen, school’s closed, lack of socialization, inability to go shopping and so much more has been extremely difficult. Being able to spend so much time outside has been our greatest alley but I know another horrid Michigan winter is coming and they last often for 6 months and neither one of us likes that garbage. 

So here we are world. Learning, changing and growing like my crazy garden, together. Looking for some peace in a time of chaos and uncertainty because together we can make it through this and I know that means we can make it through anything.

Be kind to one another, we are all scared and unsure of what’s to come.

Trigger: Cause (an event or situation) to happen or exist.
Examples of Emotional Trigger: someone rejecting you, someone leaving you, someone blaming or shaming you, someone being unavailable to you, someone ignoring you or discounting you, someone being critical of you, someone too busy for you, someone trying to control you, someone being needy or trying to smother you and helplessness over painful situations.
Psychological triggers: A trigger in psychology is a stimulus such as a smell, sound or sight that triggers feelings of trauma.
Defense Mechanism: a mental process (e.g., repression or projection) initiated, typically unconsciously, to avoid conscious conflict or anxiety.
Relapse: A deterioration in someone’s state of health after a temporary improvement.
Coping mechanisms: are strategies people often use in the face of stress and/or trauma to help manage painful or difficult emotions.
Stress: a feeling of emotional or physical tension.

All I really want is some balance. Balance between much needed alone time and time spent with creative adventurous people who are still unflinchingly kind on their darkest of days.
People who make you feel safe while seemingly doing nothing at all. People who love animals, nature, books, hot summer days, time in the water, random creative outbursts, adventures, traveling, nights on the town, nights in, late night conversations, being crafty, etc. People who love to try new foods and break bread with passionate conversations (and a little bourbon or wine.) People who support other people’s dreams, who are filled with compassion and confidence in who they are. People who put other people first without expectations.
My time and energy is valuable and I’m all for spending it with like minded souls. Especially with all that has transpired in 2020 and all that has yet to come.
Enough of the energy vampires, negative lusters, refusal to change or grow people, what about me people and whatever other soul sucking mantra people feel the need to live by walking around with their blinders on because true growth, change and happiness is actually hard work you have to do yourself but sweet fucking damn the reward is everything to love yourself, your life and the people in your life. It is like living in a place filled with magic.
End of rant.
Stay safe all. Xoxo

As I near the end of this semester with 5 finals looming over me, I stopped and took a moment to appreciate how far I have actually come. This year I have made huge strides in trauma therapy, though I know I still have so far to go. I FINALLY finished my associates degree this year, something I began working toward back when I duel enrolled in high school (circa 2002). My son is growing up and his personality in all its growing pains is emerging and for the most part he seems happy and is healthy. I applied, interviewed and was accepted to WSU and the mortuary science program there.
I finished the first book Jezebel, in my new series early on in the year after working on it for nearly two years and even began the second book. Two months ago I finally joined a gym again and I am even working with a personal trainer twice a week.

So I sit here before one of my last classes, attempting to study for finals, to take a break and just breathe. To remember how far I’ve come and how much I’ve survived. I’ve met so many people in the last few months and all of them seem surprised to find out I am Bipolar, have PTSD and suffer from anxiety. I wear my scars well, I’ve been told. Surviving doesn’t come without great self sacrifice. I have buried myself in my studies, my son and often Netflix and its time to live a little a more. Or at least try to. Truth be told, I don’t know who I am without the darkness I’ve carried around with me my entire life. As I progress through therapy I find I am much more easily triggered. Triggered by things I couldn’t see coming. Triggered by shows I watch, people I love. The truth is, my truth anyway, I haven’t been okay in a long time. “Fake it until you make it,” was drilled into me during my more prominent acting days and it seeped into real life. I’m not a fan of explaining what I want or need especially because the safety of doing it myself and not needing anyone quiets the noise in my mind, quiets the shake in my bones. I will as always keep fighting, keeping pressing on, keep chasing dreams old and new alike, keep pretending until I no longer can bury it and it explodes into a supernova of sorts. I will keep going to get through, to survive until I find some relief and can exhale again. But, I am not okay. I haven’t been in a long time. I have bursts of okay and better. So if I haven’t been there for you the way you wish I was or needed me to be just know I wanted to be so badly it hurts but in order to survive and one day truly live, I can’t be what you need. It’s time I am what I need.

Invisible. Invisible illness, invisible pain, invisible struggles, invisible sacrifices, invisible compromises. My mind roars violently as it whispers things to me, things to me it always has. Things no one should hear from their own mind. Nightmares brew and rumble with agony and vengeance, echoing throughout the day. Exhaustion is just life sometimes when your own mind wages war upon you each and every night. Restful sleep is as much a fantasy as understanding , patience and reprieve.

Perform my dear. Perform the greatest performance of your life that all is well and you are strong and content. Perform so well you fool yourself while you snuggle into darkness and finally feel safe and when you faulted all you love will punish you, ridicule you and deem you selfish. My mind is a wicked, cruel beast.

Dreams have been mistreated, broken and lost. Hope is for other people and once again I am left to survive and endure when my mind wins yet another foolish battle I refused to court.

The more I smile with mascara laced lashes looking confident and proud, the more I am losing this war. Each hand that reaches toward me, the more I recoil and clench.

One soul keeps me grounded, existing, trying. Forever I will fight my demons for them but that is all it seems to be anymore. Fighting the hungry demons from crushing my bones to protect you.

Perhaps, some day it will be more than that. Perhaps some day I may lose.

 Circumstances do not change unless we change them. If we do nothing then we accept those circumstances. If the path changes we cannot bury our heads in sand and think of only the past. We must always move forward as the sun continues to burn and when it no longer can and all is over we will all see complacency was a mistake we all chose a time or two. 

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It’s hard when you have a diagnosed mental illness. Even if it is a neurological chemical issue. Some people may be more understanding than others. I’ve learned over the years it is nearly impossible to fully comprehend the depths of a mental illness for some even if they themselves suffer from one or another and I too am guilty of this. Though I struggle with bipolar disorder, anxiety and I struggle with admitting to myself, PTSD, I find it especially challenging to deal with the continuum of others mental illness’s. Something I never have wanted to admit. Even with the frustrations I have watching those I care for struggle to deal with my own, I never wanted to react in the same matter but I know sometimes that’s exactly what I do. It hurts when someone you care for can not understand your illness or struggles and becomes frustrated with you but I do understand why it happens, if only simply it being human nature and self preservation. Some times you just cannot see past your own trauma and turmoil to another’s. Sometimes it’s about the way they cope or don’t while you fight to battle your own conditions. It’s not fair. To any party involved. No matter the depths of my despair and suffering I always think of these people I care for regardless if I cannot help.

I cannot be what they need and that hurts. It hurts me deeply and it hurts them. In the end I try to remember most that we all fight our own battles and we do so in our own ways. Some want you to need them while you may need them to want you and not need you, and this can be volatile. I do not wish to hurt anyone and if I have, I am truly sorry. I always will admit or at least try to, my part in how things transpired to where we stand, even if they cannot.
Sometimes people are in your life for the duration and some for only a short time. Neither is wrong, as life continues and remains fluid carrying on with or without us. I feel no ill will to those who are gone, those who needed space, who have walked away or I have walked away from. I hope the same things for them as I do for myself, for happiness, health and some peace.

Remember, be kind.

It has been quite a while since I have allowed or even tempted to have my fingers dance upon the keys of my trusty laptop. I am continuing to fight through life in a way that brings purpose to it and with many goals that show light at the end of the tunnel. After busting my ass I passed my last semester of community college, finished my first draft of my current book and after a terrifying long two weeks a medical test result came back normal. You would think I would be more at ease but the emotional rollercoaster of the last few weeks, hell the last few months has been taking its toll. I look strong and I am but I struggle or I shut it all down and away into the darkness unable to live through it otherwise. I take the blame, the guilt, the hurt and swallow it. I lost. I can admit that but I could not survive going through the motions any longer, repeating the same miserable day. I have had diagnosis after diagnosis and I offer them as an explanation and not an excuse because depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety and PTSD; they are all real. I’m not sure why people think they are exception to the rules of my life. The disappointment dripping from their everything kills a piece of me each time.

So I will continue to do all I can to provide the life my son deserves, the life I deserve. I will take the blame for the sake of those I love but I will no longer stay complacent in this horrid fantasy they have for me. Alone is just fine. After all, it was the one thing I asked for that no one has ever been willing to give me.

Life has been a whirlwind roller coaster of chaos lately. I’m not sure if I haven’t written because I had nothing to say or too much. My life shifted in some extremely uncomfortable ways and as I purge through the trauma of my past blindfolded, the emotions and feelings tied to them erupt seemingly from nothing.  I have been attempting to make choices in my life that effect my life in a manner towards what I want or need for myself and as always when it effects others in a way not pleasant or simply not what they want or need, let’s just say it hasn’t been going well. I am so exhausted of putting others ahead of myself and simply surviving. Though at the moment all of the consequences of my choices have not been evoking warm and fuzzy feelings either.

My morning dove, Precious, past away last night. I had decided I would not share publicly as I did not want pity, sympathy or attention but I changed my mind if only because I wanted people to know that he was an amazing member of our family for twenty years, he was loved and he matters.

When I would sing (karaoke) in the back room (aka his bedroom), he would get excited for the company and he was a critic! He would coo and bow when he enjoyed the music and the vocals whether it be myself or a karaoke girls night. Times when my voice would strain or crack or in other way not do a song justice, he would laugh and laugh.

Years ago when we still had my brother’s bloodhound husky mix, Blue, and Precious was in his prime he would chase her around the house. Attempting to land on her back and hop up to her with his best mating call and sing his love of her. She was not interested but it was always adorable to watch.

Life is always happening and as much as we all wish it wasn’t, so is death as it is the balance of life. Precious’s death, knowing it was near still hit me with shock and unreadiness. I don’t know if there is a way to be at peace with it. As I continue to raise my autistic son, write my books, work my job, work on my studies now that I am back in school and all the other million things I attempt to get done on any given day, I must remember that pain, grief, and all things that leave our mark on our lives and soul do so, so that we may recognize the wonder and magic in the world. Honestly, I could use a little magic right now and I think we all could. This world we live in, seems so cold and cruel so much of the time.

I will not quit even if I falter. I will not hide away inside of myself for longer than I need to because it feels easier at the time. I will not put myself last. I will not let my diagnosis’s define who I am. I will grieve and search for peace. I will love without conditions. I will try to forgive, those who have hurt me and myself for all the things I have refused to because of feelings I am not worthy of forgiveness.

Precious, I buried your body with care and marked your grave so I may sing out to you as I once did. I hope your wings have spread wide and you are soaring above all things with peace, and joy in your heart knowing you were loved and we will all be okay.

Have you ever heard a song and felt it in your bones? How could this complete stranger understand exactly what I am feeling? Yet, those closest to me can not.
One of the problems of being someone trapped in survival mode for nearly two decades, is time and time again people remind you the only one you can truly count on is yourself. No matter their intentions. Some people I don’t have to speak, they just know what I am trying to say, when I truly need a hand to reach out. While others, don’t.
I have been enduring one of the hardest years of my life and this week has nearly broke me. If I didn’t have my best friends I honestly don’t know if I would have survived this long, or if I would even be alive today. One, offering to take care of my child for a couple of days so I can get a much needed mini vacay up north to see another of my besties. One showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of bourbon and a few hours later another showed up with a jar of her apple pie moonshine. I am so insanely lucky to have these people in my life.
I don’t know how to find the words to make it clear what I want or need for those who just can’t understand, to not only understand but put action to it. Sometimes a girl just needs to be heard and sometimes a girl just needs to be rescued. When you’re not actually Wonder Woman, there is only so long you can rise to those sort of standards.
It had been a long time since I have felt so hollow. When life and people again proved my cynical jaded pessimistic viewpoint as what is and always has been true, how the hell am I ever going to change it? I am not enough. Not enough to change it, not enough to deserve what I need or want. Not enough to be the parent I want to be, friend, spouse, daughter, sister. I fear I am not stronger than my depression, my anxiety, my nightmares. At least not to be a whole person, if that was ever something I even was as I may be that good of an actress. Fooling all of you and even myself.
Don’t hug me and say you’re sorry, I love you too and I already know. Words are not enough, if that wasn’t clear.

When I say step up or step back, it is because I am breaking and trying to breathe under water. Water no one else can see and perhaps doesn’t actually exist. What I want, is for you to step up in all the ways I did say but you couldn’t hear me and if you truly cannot do that than what I need is you to step back so I can get one last breath to fight, to live, to survive.

This is the song in my bones.