February Who?…Day Sixty One…

Nothing has an unlikely quality. It is heavy.

 Jeanette Winterson

I have had nothing to say and yet everything to say all at once. I told myself okay, a few days for a break of writing everyday and then the numbness settled in. The feeling of purpose, the needing to write, the having something to say had left my soul. A few days turned into a month. Then I got sick… sick with Covid and I had to really take a step back.

So much has happened for me in the month of February and yet I am all talked out. However, the persistent feeling of not wanting to let my own self down at the one thing that has always remained in my life, writing, led me back to this little space in the internets.

Nothing is heavy because it comes after feeling EVERYTHING for too long. It is the quiet combustion of all the emotions being alive within our selves. Some literally have a mental break and implode publicly and there are those like me that turn numb, that feel nothing. Nothing is quiet. Nothing is heavy. Nothing feels like living death. Because “you” are shut down. Your compass for right and wrong are shot. Nothing is reckless.

Lately I have been in this realm of nothingness and I know its not only me that its hurting. I see how my nothingness affects those around me and as much as I want to tell them I am okay and it will be okay, I no longer have the energy reassure them anything. Crappy of me to not want to protect those around me anymore of my truth.

I wonder if this month is triggering. March is my birth month and it feels like the end of the days were I could be reckless and I could just worry about me. It feels like I have to buckle down and get my stuff in order. Be an actual adult. But I feel so far from being an adult. I feel like they chose the wrong person to be an adult. I wasn’t ready back then and I am still not ready now. That kind of freaks me out. I haven’t done anything to truly say I have been living my life to the fullest. I haven’t done anything.

Day Seven, Eight and Nine…

Whatever you go into, you have to go in there to be the best. There’s no formulas. It’s all about passion and honesty and hard work. It might look glamorous, but it takes a lot of hard work. The blessing with the arts is that you can do it forever

Hugh Masekela

The truth is that I do not have enough words in me to spill onto a page every day. This is what I want to say to my therapist. Most days I do not have enough words to say or to express…but I feel them 100 times more in my chest and in my head. That is where they choose to reside. As much as I try to keep at it, to write it all out and capture everything on a page, it just backfires in the most unusual ways possible. Mainly in the form of depression or anxiety or PTSD or as I like to say, my bipolarism episodes.

So write about that. Write about all of those backfires in your brain. I have… I did… and it still was never satisfying because there are no true words to describe the feelings and the thoughts. I do not know for how long I have tried to convert these feelings and thoughts into words on a page, to make you understand the deep feelings they bring, the agony and the pain. The tears that are non stop and the breaking point within the void in my heart.

To be very and completely honest, I truly believe that I could never explain it to the point of making you feel it yourself. Its an experience one takes on alone. The irony in that is quite hilarious. Yet here I am, writing as much as I can to the beat of my own drum in hopes that one day, maybe, possibly, I will have written at least one single sentence that I can look at and say… yes… this is what it feels like. This is EXACTLY how it should be read and felt.

Until then…

Day Four…

Per usual…my days do not start with a clear mind. I have had a horrible night. Tossing and turning. Cold sweats grip me and the pain on my neck and back do not allow me to feel rested. I’ve been experiencing very odd and graphic dreams as well as the sensation of being watched. I have to constantly remind myself that if I were being watched or something was there my dogs at my feet would start to bark. Its insane. I only remember this kind of feeling happening to me once in Arizona when I visited my sister.

Of course, that time, it was 100 times worse. She had moved into this new house, rented at the time. It was big! Had so many rooms and so much space. It was a nice house, and the landlord was someone they knew from their Kingdom Hall. We were offered to sleep in the girls room for that weekend. The girls would sleep in my sisters room as they were still unfamiliar to the home. Unfortunately, the girls room had separate twin beds, one on the left wall and the other on the right. They faced a wall to wall sliding mirror that concealed their wall sized closet. The room was a bright pink. Even with the yellow light on, you were flooded in pink. Typical little girls room.

My sister had a few dogs at the time and a lot of cats. They came and went as they pleased from room to room. I wasn’t sure if the girls had yet to sleep in their room on their own. Everything was fine up until the night. I went to my bed and my husband to his, we locked the door and we turned off the lights. I was on the bed that was directly in front of the mirror. I couldn’t for the life of me fall asleep. And then out of nowhere, the hair on my neck rose. The energy surrounding me felt horrid. Full of anger and hate and fear. The intensity that surrounded me kept my eyes shut. And like some of us have had to do to protect ourselves, I hid under the blankets. Ensuring all my hands and feet and limbs were wrapped securely.

I was shivering and crying. I couldn’t explain the fear that had enveloped me. The strong sensation that I was being watched up close and that something was hoovering over me, or just waiting for me to look directly at it. I started to whisper shout at my husband. He told me to stop being annoying and go to sleep. I couldn’t. With what little courage I had in me I closed my eyes, and unwrapped myself from the security of the blankets and hopped off the bed and ran to his bed. I crashed into him shaking.

Even at the edge of the bed I could feel this energy tickle my back and I cried to my husband to let me face the wall. He was so confused at my behavior. I couldn’t sleep and the only thing I could think of to help me was to pray. I prayed like never before. After a few minutes, the fear went away and I managed to fall asleep around 4/5 in the morning. The next day my husband questioned what was going on with me. I was adamant to switch rooms. I could never explain what happened. I didn’t even want to feed into that sort of stuff. To this day I still do not like thinking about it.

Now most times I just blame it on my high anxiety. I blame most things on that. Gut feelings and all. I never looked into that experience much and my sister no longer lives in that home. Later on though, before they moved, I think my body new that the house was not loving. The landlord that lived next door to it was a horrid lady, despite having the same beliefs. She was just full of rage and hate and I think that my soul picked up on these things. My sister and her husband went through so much in that house and to me it seemed that the landlords energy had been trapped in that house and all it carried was negative vibes. My sisters current home feels like her old homes. A place where I could go and sleep and rest and feel calm.

I am trying to now build this in my current state of living. Build my areas to be filled with good vibes, with love, with serenity. I didn’t understand this till now, how what you feel and how you live really can transfer into things. It can be felt by those who are in tune with these things. And maybe because of that knowledge, there is fear within me to bring those high intentions into my life, if I did, how much would my life change? If I believed in myself so much that every intention I set, every feeling I felt, would just make my life change into my ideal situation.

One, Two & Three…

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.

T.S. Elliot

New year resolutions are meant to start something new, something fresh, something that we have been wanting to accomplish and never got to it. New year resolutions are meant to fail almost 90% of the time, at least that is my personal take on it. To prove my point, I was supposed to write everyday starting the first…here I am on the third writing for the missed two. I will never learn.

When I started this blog? Public diary? When I started this little place, it was supposed to be a safe space for me to write about my feelings after my first divorce. Which it was, I wrote all my heartache out. Then I wrote about all the boys that broke my heart after my very first heartbreak. Then I wrote about all of my issues. My insanity. I wrote my truth. This place has been many things for me and honestly, it was through my own writing that I noticed my Bipolar manic ticks.

But before all of that mess. Before the sadness and madness. I was and I am a writer. A very lost one at that. I have no set rule of how I write or the thought process that goes behind a post. I sit here in my little writing nook and just set fingers to keys and write what comes. This place has never been pre-determined . However, Id like to control the chaos a little and give this place of mine a more “me” feel. A more adultish me. The spelling errors will remain, I promise.

I still have so much in me to say. So many stories to tell, kind of like two lies one truth, or is it two truths and a lie? Who knows! I want to really dedicate much more time to my passion of writing. I want to leave a little piece of me here in cyber world for those who ever felt as lost as I did. I want my stories and my feelings to mean something to someone else other than I. I’ve always believed that the more I shared of myself the more I found that people could relate and the more they told me that they never had the nerve to say what I can out loud.

Every year is an end and in its end a beginning. Every year is transformative, for the best or the worst. Every year brings resolutions that we all make and may or may not keep, it’s up to us individually to do so. I cannot promise I will, but I can promise to be the very best I can for myself and keep on writing. Writing has always been my saving grace…why stop now.

Cheers.

Day 09…

Life is such a rollercoaster. One day you could be at the tippy top feeling high and blissed out and the next you are falling. But while you are at the top, for a person like myself, you are always waiting for the drop. I think I have lived my life waiting for the drop constantly. The drop of a relationship, situation ships that never come to be. Friendships that sink under the heavy waves at sea. Goals that are hard to accomplish because ones will is so weak and almost invisible.

When people describe life as such…a rollercoaster, it’s the most accurate thing in the world. Life also moves so fast, in the blink of an eye and another year has passed and you are sitting left to wonder what did you even do to live it. I get an adrenaline rush when things are going so fast and hectic. I act well under pressure but pay for it when the drop happens. Life is for sure hands down a rollercoaster. You cry, you laugh, you shout, you cheer on.

So here is to the new year 2024… Here goes to turning 31 in two months. Here goes to finding love again and taking a chance. Here goes to crying because my goals didn’t happen like I thought they would. Here goes to being pleasantly surprised that I smiled a bit more this year. To the unexpected friendships that are to come out of this year. Here goes to you, you rollercoaster of 2024.

My Mind…

You say you love me but I know it’s a lie…When I work so hard to keep you satisfied

Yebba

It’s interesting how things come together only to fall apart. 7 years erased in 7 months. Some say that I handled things gracefully. Others say it seemed like I didn’t care. I think, my problem was that I cared so much it consumed me and I wanted to explode but instead I quietly combusted inside of myself. I didn’t want you to see me cry over you anymore than you already had.

Its bittersweet. I have taken the months to accept my new reality. I have been sitting in my emotions more than before and allowing myself to grieve the rest of the love I had to give you. I have sat in my room holding the memories of what once was and what no longer is. I had so much more to give you and it hurts but I also thank you. I thank you for leaving me before I could give you more than you could care for.

It’s a weird feeling. To know this was the right decision for both of us and yet, I am angry. I am hurt. I am so sad. I lost my husband, my best friend, my ally. But you couldn’t give me what I needed. How could you possibly if I was not the woman you wanted at all. And it always just sucks in plain words, the songs remind me of you all the time and my heart begins to ache. But I know this process all too well. The season will change eventually and slowly but surely the mention of your name won’t make my heart throb anymore.

Let Go…

I know that actions speak louder than words
The thing about yours
They never consistent

Aaron May

I was doing just fine before I wasn’t. I’m consistently fighting against my own demons and the real ones in the real world it seems. Temptation is everywhere. Temptation that is customized to your exact want and desire. It boggles my mind how the world seems to know in what form to send it as. Mine is always in the form of a man.

I was doing just fine before said man showed up in my way. I resisted. I fought tooth and nail to dodge you. There you were. Irresistible and unattainable. Hot and cold. Just my type. With red flags for miles on end. You say words. A lot of sweet nothings and my brain knows better but my heart can’t tell otherwise.

I was doing fine before you spoke. You have a way with words. You know how to spin them so nicely that it almost makes sense. You know how to say them in a way that makes me feel again when I had purposely numbed that side of me in order to maintain my focus on my journey ahead. I should have ran the minute you came tumbling back with your many stories of life. I should have hit delete and decline.

I was doing just fine before you came along and messed with my head.

Choice…

“It’s only after you’ve stepped outside your comfort zone that you begin to change, grow, and transform.”

Roy T Bennet

Life is all about choosing one thing or the other. Do you stay or do you go? Should I go to the gym or should I take a nap? Do I wear the heels or do I wear the flats? Choices are being made constantly and quickly. It takes a second to chose. This year, I have been hit with so many moments where I have had to make life altering choices. Not just outfit choices. Outfit choices are simple…straight to the point no life altering consequences.

If you have been around long enough, you know that I battle with mental illnesses and a chronic illness. My teens and my 20s were a rollercoaster of others making choices for me and me allowing these to control my life. I have slowly been learning that my life is under my control. It’s MY CHOICE. I struggle a lot with being me. With loving me. With respecting me enough to give me the life I want.

Lately, Ive been taking the time to chose my life. It looks different everyday. Some days I chose to take me on a date. Other days I chose to take me to a walk on the beach because it makes me happy and I want to keep me happy. Other days I chose to allow myself to feel my sadness, to feel the anger and allow the pain to flow through my body. Then I chose to let it go, to forgive, to forget.

I have been choosing to heal, to grow, and to live the life I want. As much as my sad and angry love to stick around in my soul, I don’t want it to become my identity. I want to look at the world with a smile on my face and say, Hi, Hello! I am here, I am me and I love me as much as I love you too. I chose to be amazing in my own way and that has been more than enough.

The Thoughts That Are Constant…

“No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.”

haruki murakami

I am the kind of person that holds all my memories close to me. I have made them live in all aspects of my life. Making them a constant replay of memories in my mind. Every day. Constantly, without fail. I am the kind of person that feels proud of my suffering. Almost as if it earned me my right to be this aggressive. This bitter. This sad. The person I am fights constantly for my memories. They seem to be the only moments I felt everything all at once. They made me feel alive even if only temporarily.

My memories of pain and pleasure. Of emptiness and love. Of anger and rage. Of the deepest of sad and the abyss of grief. My memories are what make me… ME. They have defined who I am for my whole life. Why I tick the way I do. Why I see the way I can only see people. They made me feel… feel the pain of others. I took so much pain from others, I lived their pain and let it be absorbed into me so that they could feel lighter and maybe even weightless to the point they flew away eventually far far away from me in the end. They claimed I was too much.

I went to therapy to solve my “problems”. To look at my memories and find where it all went wrong. To speak about the things that were constantly inside of me that felt suffocating. I was hyper aware of ME. Somewhere along this journey, I found myself loving me. I found myself looking at the little girl inside of me and finally feeling empathy for her. Realizing that we held onto all the memories of pain and pleasure, of sadness and grief, of anger and rage. We held on so tightly because we wanted to feel validated. We wanted to be acknowledged. We wanted the world to know that they hurt us.

They hurt my inner child and now, I was finally trying to help her. To protect her as if she was my kid. I wanted to rage for her and at the same time I knew that she needed to heal gracefully. I needed to lick my wounds in private and marvel at my scars and see how much they had healed since. I needed to allow myself the beauty of crying for all the loss of innocence I experienced and accepting that these people that inflicted such pain and trauma didn’t know any better. They were all just following their generational patterns and were doing as they thought was better than what they had. Not knowing any better.

Healing my memories. It takes a lot of forgiveness. It takes a lot of patience towards myself. A lot of gentle love towards myself. My memories made me believe I needed to seek someone else to provide me with love, with care, with nurturing actions. In reality, I needed to give myself all of that. I needed to stop judging myself so harshly. I needed to stop looking down at me and start looking up. Rising my head from the shame and the guilt. Holding myself tenderly and allowing myself to laugh at myself. Healing means letting go. I am letting go, and Ive never been good at goodbyes.

03.28.23

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

Robert Frost

It has been 3 months of being by myself. In all senses. Because all of my friends have kids or husbands and they now have the life I was living for a few years. I enjoy being alone, but I do not like the silence that comes with loneliness. Loneliness feels more voided. Empty. Quiet. Profoundly quiet inside the hollowness of my bones. Sometimes, I find myself crying on my drive home. Home is a place that no longer feels warm or inviting. Everything and everyone has changed, it’s no longer the safe place I once knew.

In the matter of 3 months, my whole world flipped upside down, fell apart, and one day I felt like laughing. So I did. I laughed real hard. To the point I started crying. I didn’t know if what I was feeling was me going insane. Trying to grasp all the things that were changing. All the things that hurt me the most. I laughed until I felt the madness slip away from my brain. I was in bed looking up at the ceiling and the memory of you and I in the same bed popped into my head.

We had countless nights were we would lay in bed laughing until our stomachs hurt. Laughing at dumb jokes, funny words, stupid TikTok’s and lame song covers. I remember staying up till the early morning with uncontrollable laughter. And I think that is what I miss the most. It wasn’t the biggest thing, it was the way you could make me laugh. The subtleness of your quirks. We weren’t always that bad, but we weren’t always that good. It’s the loss of someone knowing you intimately, as a friend not just as a lover, as a person, as a whole. That loss always feels the heaviest.

And I wonder if I would do it all over again? Or… would I have just left it at “hello”.

Right before turning 30…

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.” 

 Albert Einstein

It seems that right at the edge of turning 30, life decided to continue to fall apart. Since 2023 came forth to present a new year for all of us, the first 3 months of this year have been nothing but painful moments for me. Agonizing moments. Numbness from the shock of all of these situations crowding in on me and not letting me process any of them. I don’t know what to do as of now with all this unwanted change and hurt. I rage. Inside I rage and I fuel my life with the anger I cannot physically release onto the people causing the pain.

If going through a divorce wasn’t enough, I was in the hospital for surgery. I got bit by my own dog. Ironic. I got served on the last day of my hospital stay. And since then run ins with my soon to be ex husband never go quite right, and the fights we get into hurt even more. It just makes me realize that no matter how much I may love him and how much I may miss him he just won’t be able to see the pain he caused to me and how that affected me and us altogether. Again not to say he was this bad man but he wasn’t always a good man.

Soon after this, my father had a heart attack. The panic I felt rushing to the hospital to make sure he was being attended and not left out there to wait this ridiculous wait times at the ER. Thinking lord, please don’t let this be the last time I see my dad. It was a lot. It scared me. I don’t want to lose a parent regardless of how traumatized they left me throughout life. I prayed. I prayed for this man to live.

I haven’t stopped stressing since, bad things come in sets of three. A few moments ago, I found out that my dad, has indeed cheated on my mother yet again. At his age. In his condition. He never changed. The traumatizing moment relived again. If you go further back in my post you can read all about my up and down relationship with him. I spent years in therapy trying to heal what I didn’t break. I spent years in therapy making my peace, learning how to understand him and why he was the way he is. I tried and I tried time and time again to let go of the things this man had not only put me through but my mother. My mother who takes on a lot of things she does not need to. My mother who has been there for me every step of the way. My mother who despite having toxic traits chose to raise me with love.

I feel like that little 14 year old girl again, hand wrapped around the door knob. Unable to open the door because I was frozen on the spot, looking in through the window. Seeing him on top of another woman. A woman who he had been with for 7 years. A woman who had the audacity to speak to me and try to become my friend. The same woman who wouldn’t take him in despite the fact that my dad was bold enough to pack his things and choose her and her 7 kids all from different men. I remember telling him at 14 if he left he could not step a foot back inside our home. As if a 14 year old had any power over the choices adults made.

He chose…

He chose again to hurt her. I know, these things are between a couple. Up to them to duke it out. But I am tired of pretending that these things don’t affect the entire family. They affect me. They consume me in anger. In thoughts of how could he. How could he put us through this yet again. AGAIN.

After Shocks…

I wish I was special. I gave all my special away to a loser. No I’m just a loser. I used to special. But you made me hate me. Regret that I changed me. I hate that you made me, just like you.

SZA

Having run ins with your ex feels like a hurricane. Like an earthquake. You are no longer on solid ground and you have to take cover as quickly as possible if not you get caught in its pathway of destruction. It always takes you by surprise. Once it’s passed as quickly as it came, you are left with 2-3 aftershocks. Subtle but ultimately they are there.

It seems like we can not have a civil run in. It seems that you are still stuck in your perspective of things and in your pride of things. Meanwhile, I am still trying to process and figure out where you managed to find the loophole to twist all my words enough so that it made it seem like I am the one hurting you. Enough to make it seem like you are right in acting the way you are. Enough to manipulate this narrative you have built about me, enough to hate me.

Every time I speak with you, it only solidifies my resolve to not fall into your after shocks. It hurts all the time, but it hurts worse being with someone who is not capable of seeing outside of their own mind and pride. It hurts being with someone who can so easily cover their mistakes and make them seem so nonchalant and not truly take accountability for the aftermath of those mistakes that brought us to where we are now. It hurts to be with someone who still manipulates narratives to fit their own ideas so that they seem like the victim in all of this.

I don’t know who you are anymore, and that is your true color. The true color of manipulation and gaslighting. Yes, at some point for a very long time, you were the bad guy. That your familial background had lots to do with why you ticked the way you did, I can understand. But I understood for a long time, and I understood through all of the gaslighting done to me, I understood through all the hurt and pain you caused. I understood long enough to know now that I cannot help you heal. You need to heal on your own without me. Even if it hurts. Even if you never accept what you did. Even if you fill yourself with hate towards me or tell people how it was me who was the bad guy.

I need to heal from this. From our aftershocks. I need to heal and soothe my wounds. The ripples of our aftershocks keep leaving me broken and shattered, every time I tried to regain my balance I couldn’t. I’d lose my footing and fall back again. Crying alone, crying in my car, crying at school, crying anywhere and everywhere because everything was so unsteady. I failed me for a long time too. The world kept dishing out pain when all I needed was some tenderness. It made me angry and bitter. You were the cherry on top. I need to show me tenderness first now. Even while it all aches and hurts, I need to love me the way no man can ever give me.

Divorce…

The legal dissolution of a marriage by a court or other competent body. Separate or dissociate (something) from something else.

Some Definition Book

After almost 7 years of being married, I am getting a divorce. Or better yet, we chose a divorce? Or in the end he chose to divorce. My mind is filled with so many thoughts. So many moments that I have yet to process in my mind. I knew we had issues, I brought them up all the time in order to resolve them, in order to heal together, but nothing ever changed. I know that a lot of people think this is the best outcome for myself. Yet, here I am, grieving. I was in a relationship with a complex man. One that didn’t realize his own toxic behaviors until it was to late for either one of us.

Going silent after being with someone who filled every moment with noise is odd. I feel a little lost. I feel a little broken. Being alone, separated from this person I can start to see all the moments now. All the moments that I let sink down into me in order to maintain peace in my home. I can start to pin point every time I was being gaslighted. I can pin point every trigger to manipulation. Then I get angry. I get angry and ashamed of myself for allowing that to be. I knew it was happening and yet I didn’t stop it.

It wasn’t always bad. He wasn’t a bad man. But there was a lot of growing up that needed to be done. A lot of therapy that needed to be participated in in order to heal from his past. He was a boy who was scarred and filled with anger, and there was no other outlet but me right in front of him. I could take it. I could see it and make it better for him. For us. I think I took to much. I made it all mine for to long that I let myself down and I ended up hurt and alone once again.

Lets try to remain friends, but friends don’t know you like I do. Friend’s don’t get angry at the thought of the things you have put them through like I do. I can’t be your friend, it hurts to much. I want to move on without feeling like you are watching my every move waiting to find something flawed in me just so that you can throw it in my face despite the fact that you chose to divorce me. I loved our friendship more than anything, but even now, that seems to have been lost as well.

So here I go, making difficult changes again. Letting life happen to me. I am giving myself a little more grace and a little more time this time around. I want to be with me for a while. I want to explore me. I want to know that I am capable of being alone and not needing anything from anyone. I think I need to love me a little more this time around. Cry a little, break a little, just so that I can value much more the laughter and joy that will come shortly after this phase of my life.

Day 326…

“When two people part it is the one who is not in love who makes the tender speeches.” 

 Marcel Proust

Love is a lot. Love is finding out all the small things and feeling overwhelmed and attached to protecting someone. It is living through the big things in life with someone and figuring out a way out of them or a way to manage it all day by day. Love is messy. It is chaotic. Love is Pain.

I look back at how we started. Chaotically. Angrily. Fearful. I look back and think about how long it actually took to feel somewhat okay and normal in a relationship. Our relationship was and has been the rockiest. I have never fought with someone so hard. Literally. I had never had to truly stick up for myself against someone. I had never truly had to fight for someone as well. When I talk about it, it seems so small. So insignificant. And my partner would probably dismiss it and laugh it off, saying yea…. We did go through a lot but now we are better than ever! We grew up a lot.

Being the person I am. Being the person I have become… I think I have known all along that something inside of me within this relationship broke a long time ago. I cannot reverse it as much as I try. I try to look at it from all different angles in order to fix it. To put all the pieces back. To save the feelings I had from when we started. I can no longer do it though. For a long time I said it was my depression. It was my head making things harder. It definitely has contributed.

We always do the right thing. Maybe, I am in love with pain. I cannot stand the thought of hurting someone with my feelings. With how I think. With how I process things. Every time someone has asked me to be honest, they never like what comes out of my mouth. Can I love but want to be alone? Can I love and want to be away? Can I love but from afar?

Even in writing I cannot come to type the words, the sentence I have been afraid to say for a while now. With speaking things into existence they become real. They settle in the air and they surround the walls with the silence of heartache. But my heart has been aching for some time now… for some years. As fast as it all began was as fast as it shattered for me within my heart.