Missing my light.

My mind is but a twisted maze. Covered by a thick blanket of gray haze. I search day and night for my missing light. Once a bright star embedded in my chest, now just a black cavity in its place. My palms cover my stone face. Hiding its disgrace. My stumbling feet try to find some steady ground. None is found. Is there no way out? Like gasping for one last breath in an oxygen drought. Desperately trying to find what this life is about. Lost as lost can be. I’m just looking for me, for my place in this world.

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Just something…

Rain gathers in my window sill. Kind of like everything I’ve been running from, flooding my chest. The pressure on my heart, giving it a tight squeeze whenever my secret failures come out of someone else’s mouth. I thought they had forgotten. I guess I wasn’t invisible enough. Sorrow fills my limbs like sand, weighing me down. I’m starting to drown. Clothed in fear. Watch closely as I disappear. Do I look pretty, with my painted on smile? Just trying to stay in line, single file. I’ve created this mess that I’m suffocating in. But it’s getting harder to pretend. I’ve hit a dead end. God, tell me what you recommend. My strength is running so thin. Slowed to a crawl. I hardly survived the fall. Trying so hard to dig myself out. This can’t be what life is about. 

Reality bites.

As I sit alone in my room for the first time in over a week, with the lettered keys at my finger tips, I can’t help but notice the lack of excitement in my life. Or, when observed closer, the lack of direction. I stare dully at the screen, wracking my brain for something interesting to write about. I started this blog as an outlet in my hectic, confusing and overwhelming life. Just as everything else I start, it was exciting and fulfilling for about the first couple months. Then the days got longer, my time got shorter, and by the end of the day I wasn’t able to pop open my laptop and pour out my thoughts into this virtual world where I strangely felt accepted for once in my life. It became an obligation. I’m not good with obligations. In fact I try my hardest to avoid them at all costs. When I caught myself worrying about not having anything interesting enough to write about to please all these strangers, I knew it was no longer an outlet. It wasn’t for my benefit like it had been at the start. Then I got to thinking, this is how everything I’ve ever started for myself has ended. As an obligation unintentionally acquired and the sudden overwhelming fear of commitment quickly opting me out of the situation.

When I saw this blog as an outlet where I vented and collected advise and good wishes, I noticed the ever-present weight had been exceptionally lifted. I also noticed it slowly packing itself back onto my shoulders as soon as I wasn’t keeping up with my daily outlet. Perhaps I stopped writing daily because most of what I write about is the same damn thing. I have the same reoccurring issues that never seem to go away and writing about them doesn’t change them. Also I could see how reading about them could be annoying. As me being the never-wanna-be-a-burden-or-annoyance kind of person, I kept my worries and problems in my mind welcoming home my depression and negative outlook. At the middle of last year, I was changing into a new woman. My life was changing and I was better. Reflecting now I see how far I’ve slipped downhill from where I was. In fact I’m close to right where I started. I was confident that My BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and Bipolar disorder had come to an end and I was finally a normal happy person. Something happened between then and now that tore me down and I have yet to get back up. Basking in my disorders and being smothered in blahness, I am without any sort of determination. I have lost track of myself, who I am, what I want, etc. I have yet to create some sort of plan for my life. You know, the one we all plaster together so whenever someone asks about our futures, careers, goals, etc., we have something impressive to say to make it seem like we’ve got it all figured out. I lack one of those. I suppose I was born without the natural instinct to make a life plan, be confident in it, and follow through with it. I still to this day cannot imagine working everyday for most of my life at a job I don’t really like anymore (if I ever did), only to make money and then die. Most of me is ashamed of this fact. I don’t feel like a real person. At least not a normal one. Why am I 22 and can’t even force myself to figure my life out?

First things first, I do not want to be a bum, so I have to get on it. But I more so do not want to be another working dog of society, wasting my life and never living like I want to. I’ve always been the rebellious, anti-establishment, non-conformist, outsider type person. But you’d think I’d of out grown it by now. But I’m fearing I never will. I will always be this way and hate the dull lives most of us are forced to live because our dreams are too out of reach and our chances of possibly reaching them are growing slimmer by the month. I do wish I could be a normal young woman my age who had gotten knocked up at 19 and easily gave up on everything and quickly picked up a nice quiet job in an office of some sort, making enough to pay the bills and feed and clothe my child, reaching a state of routine contentment. For some reason it’s seemingly impossible to me. As if my insides are screaming “I’M MADE FOR MORE THAN THIS!“, I cannot convince myself to be normal. Of course my head is not agreeing with my soul and heart, it wants to be normal. It’s the only logical way to go about my life. As my brain and gut battle, I shut down. Numbing myself to everything around me. Losing connection with everyone and everything. Like a sitting duck, I’m lost and confused, without a plan of any kind. I don’t write about it because admitting it means giving it attention. Giving it attention means feeling the pain it causes. Yes, I’m also one of those out-of-sight-out-of-mind/pretend-it-doesn’t-exist-and-maybe-it-will-go-away kind of people, too.  After letting myself think about, write about, and feel this issue, I have only come to one conclusion:

REALITY BITES.

But at least I got to vent.

Not a Daddy’s girl.

With Father’s Day approaching very quickly, I’ve come to realize just how many people DON’T deserve to be celebrated on this certain day. Anyone who reads my blog knows of the issues I have with my own daughter’s father. You can appropriately assume he wont be getting a card this year. But with my consistent depression and this day coming up, the memories of every father figure I’ve had come flowing to mind like an unwanted, bacteria carrying, stream.

My Mother re-married in July of 2007. Since then I’ve had a father figure to celebrate every year. But before that Father’s day was just a reminder of what I missed out on. I’m thankful for my step dad and everything he does for my family, even though he didn’t come into the picture until I was 16 when I had already been hardened. Therefore, we never bonded. That doesn’t mean I don’t love him, just that I’ve never been close with him or had a father-daughter relationship with him. And that’s okay. I respect him and everything he does.

My Mother married my father when she was 18 (he was 27), and had me less than a year later. They divorced within a few years. I don’t remember much from their marriage since I was very young, except a couple memories of them fighting. One where I stood next to my mom screaming as they fought. The other, her carrying me sideways out of a restaurant or something of the sort, while she stormed out with him following behind. When I got older I learned of his abuse, drug use and came very familiar with his alcoholism. I hardly saw my dad after the divorce. Once or twice every 3 or 4 years until I turned 12. He got drunk everyday it seemed like. I remember he would always get boozed up then want to have some sentimental talk which I always dreaded. My father loved me, I know he did. He never even spanked me once. But that was probably due to the fact that I never warmed up to him enough to even talk in front of him, let alone act up enough for a spanking. But my father wasn’t a part of my life. He was too busy getting drunk.

You’d think after him my mom would learn a thing or two. But no, she actually degraded. She got with this short little guy with a blond mullet. A month before my 4th birthday she gave birth to twins. I don’t remember too much from those days except my jealousy of the twins and how everything seemed to change in a flash. Before she met him, it was just her and I. Now there was this guy and two new babies. The older I got, the worse things got. He drank all day, everyday. One beer after the other. He would smoke weed right in front of us and blow the smoke in our faces. Laughing with his friends while his young children got a contact high.  Chain smoking and filling the house with clouds of secondhand smoke that flowed into our young lungs. Porn lying around the house like newspaper. I was so afraid of him I could never relax. In fact I don’t remember a time in my childhood that I didn’t suffer from anxiety. He always seemed unstable. Extremely unstable. Drugs, alcohol, violent anger, not a good mix. But it always was the mix. Everyday. I remember some of his worse fits. Cutting himself in front of me while explicitly explaining how he wanted to murder my grandmother. Snorting gunpowder and locking my mother in a room and threatening all of us. Yelling, things being thrown and broken, it was all normal. It seemed the older I got, the more angry he got with me. I don’t know why. He just hated me. Being the oldest child and having my mother gone all the time gave me all the responsibility. He sat on the couch drinking and smoking all day with his friends. I had to clean, take care of my sisters, get beers for him and his friends. Like his own personal slave. By the time I was 10 I had 4 sisters. When the other two were born I was old enough to take care of them for him. When my mom went back to work I was the one changing diapers, making bottles, feeding, and putting them to sleep. I wasn’t even allowed to do my homework until all the chores were done and the baby was taken care of. When things weren’t done the right way, he made sure to get his point of disapproval across. A dish wasn’t clean enough, there were dishes flying, yelling, everything going back into the sink. Our room wasn’t cleaned right, mattresses were flipped, drawers were pulled out and thrown, clothes were thrown around the room and we were given 10 minutes to clean it correctly. We were too loud, we got at least an hour in the corner “stretching” he called it, arms straight in the air, standing on our tippy-toes. We misbehaved, we got the belt, a hanger, a phone cord, whatever he could swat across our asses and backs. The older I got, the more violent he got. Getting a smack across the face was normal for me, but having it done in front of my friend was quite the embarrassment. Getting thrown and smacked around while being “taught to fight” was just an everyday thing. Although I wasn’t allowed to fight back. Getting things thrown at me for not moving fast enough wasn’t a surprise. I remember him throwing a can of soda at my head for not changing the laundry fast enough. In front of all his friends. No one said anything. In fact even his friends thought it was okay to get in on the action. While he and my mom went to a concert two of his friends babysat me and a friend of mine. I was 12. They forced us to go to bed early. We were kids and wanted to stay up, apparently we were too loud. His friend came into the room where my friend and I layed together on the bunk bed, he grabbed me by my hair and tried to pull me off of the top bunk. I grabbed onto his hand and dug my nails in. My friend was screaming at him to let go of me. After a couple minutes he did and walked out of the room. I was so embarrassed I started to cry. My parents never did anything about it. I know what you’re thinking. “Didn’t your mom ever say anything?!?!”. Not that I ever heard. Not during the physical abuse. Not even when he would call me names like “pig”, “idiot“, “worthless”, “piece of shit“, “stupid”, “dumbass”, etc. She never stood up for me. She says he once tried to convince her to send me to live with my dad, but she refused. Although I was sent to live with grandparents for years before I lived with them full time. Maybe she was scared. I could see why. Finally after 11 years he ended up having an affair (he had many), and actually wanted to be with this woman and left my mom for good. I was so relieved. I can’t even explain how happy I am that he never came back into my life. Although I can’t say I learned from my mother’s mistakes. After he left I ended up jumping into a relationship with an older boy (I was 14, he was 17), my first relationship. He was a psycho abuser too. You’d think by then I’d be able to sniff them out. But no, I was fooled. After 2 years of being trapped in what literally felt like hell, I was lucky enough to get out of it. But it makes me realize how father figures really effect a girl and her choice in guys.

Now that I’m older I know my tribulations have made me strong. But they’ve also given me many many many problems. I guess I’ve never seen a father worth celebrating before. I’ve never seen a real life “dad”. The kind like in the movies. The ones that protect you and are always there for you. I was never able to say “I’m a daddy’s girl” like my own mother has. Now my own daughter wont be able to say that either. I know she wont go through the awful things I did. And I am beyond grateful for that. In a way I’m glad for my experience because I’m only 22, but I know things that most 22-year-olds don’t. I have an insight to things people don’t acquire until their 30s or 40s. Yes, that insight might be struggle, pain, anger, etc. But It’s also character and strength. I may have never been able to say “Happy Father’s Day!” and actually meant it, But now I can. Father’s Day still doesn’t mean anything to me and seems to be a bit annoying. But at least now I can turn it into a day to at least say thank you to someone who has been a million times better than the assholes I just told you about.

Happy Father’s Day to the REAL Fathers out there. The ones who love their children, protect them and are always there for them. Not just there, but present. Mentally, emotionally and physically.

New prose. It hasn’t a name.

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Let us vanish from this cold world, where we have gathered such disappointment. Relinquishing our ties that form cement graves around our feet. Chaining our wrists together as we float away. Tearing away from our rotting skins that have acquired all these scars. Our pens are our weapons, creating new realities for our minds to adopt and color in. We’d live and love like the Fitzgeralds, strangling each other in our romantically fantastical insanity. Smothering our hearts with the warmth of the sun, and in equal measure, with the coldness of the deepest darkest trench of the sea. Pushing and pulling each other in every direction. Our minds spinning in circles of blissfulness. Blind to our deteriorating surroundings. Melting our bodies together like two dim colored crayons thrown into a fire, hoping to mix into something brighter. Hovering above the wreckage while all the mechanical people below watch dumbfoundedly. Searing our freely soaring images into their washed minds. Leaving them with a new hatred for themselves, wishing they could be us. Sinking our finger tips into each other’s skulls like hooks. Controlling the other’s movements so perfectly, we dance like the wind tossing around pollinating wishes. Then slowly we will watch it crumble while we poke and prod at each other’s weaknesses. Throwing knives into the melting pot that our hearts have become, aiming to kill the other, while simultaneously destroying ourselves. Creating our own apocalypse. Turning into ashes so dark and thick, it covers the earth in a perpetual sorrow so abhorrent it nauseates the soul. Time will bury us beneath the mechanical feet of the population. Fierce as we could be if we were free, in each other’s eyes we will find our own demise. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”.

A woman with the appetite of a man.

I wouldn’t say I’m a “skinny” person. I’ve always been curvy. I remember developing sooner than the other girls I went to school with. I didn’t understand why they were stick thin and I had hips for miles. At 12 years old I had the shape of a grown woman. I was always extremely self-conscious of my body. I was never comfortable. All of my friends were thinner than me. And since no one was used to someone my age with a body like that, I was considered fat. In the 8th grade I was 135lbs. Which is my current weight. At the time I felt so ashamed that I wasn’t 100 to 115lbs. Why was my body different?

Looking back now, I know I wasn’t “fat”. I was curvy. There’s a big difference. But I was still treated “fat”. Even by my closest friends. I would hear comments like “You aren’t that big” or “You’re just seasonally plump, and it’s always the season”. I wasn’t plump. I was just too womanly shaped for my age. Now I get comments like, “You’ve got great birthing hips!” or “You’re voluptuous!”, I like those better than the others.

Throughout my 22 years, my body has fluctuated between 125lbs and 140lbs, depending on what was going on in my life. Before I got pregnant with Rayne I was at a very comfortable 130lbs. For once in my life, I was about 95% comfortable with my body. When I was pregnant I gained 55lbs. After I had her I lost a little, but stopped around 162lbs. I felt disgusting. I would wear sweaters in public because I would think to myself, “No one wants to see this fat”. I couldn’t leave the house without a sweater. Just going to the grocery store was difficult. I was so paranoid that everyone was looking at me thinking about how gross I was. I couldn’t stand it.

Last May, I made a decision to start losing the weight. I was 162lbs and wanted to get down to 130lbs. I’ve lost all but 5lbs. I will lose the last 5lbs, and maybe more. I’m not sure yet. But I’m not nearly as self-conscious now. I feel healthier and just all around better. But, there’s something about me you should know. I am a woman with the appetite of a man. It the beginning of the weight loss I was counting calories and making better food choices. But after the first 20lbs, I went back to eating whatever I feel like eating. Yet, I continue to lose weight. 

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I am a person who absolutely loves food. Good food. I love to cook and I love to eat. And I’m never going to deprive myself of what I want to eat. But I don’t let food control me either. If I want something, I eat it. If I don’t think I should, I don’t. But you’ll never catch me passing up a jalapeno cheese burger for a simple salad. In fact this 135lb woman has no problem eating like a 200lb man. It even sometimes surprises me how much I can put away. 

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I hate that everyone stresses so much about food. It’s just another way we make our lives more difficult than they have to be. Eat what you feel like eating, but get off of your ass and get some exercise as well! Yes, I eat what I want. No, I’m not just one of those lucky girls who can eat a horse and not gain a pound. It takes work to control your weight, let alone lose some. I do not eat like a beast and sit in front of the T.V. all day. I walk everyday. It’s always been the only thing that works for me as far as exercise goes. I walk at least an hour a day. Sometimes I mix in some hardcore yard work with it. Yard work is excellent exercise. Plus, I’m always chasing around a toddler. That’s an exercise all in itself.

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I’m not saying go and eat a box of donuts and greasy burgers for dinner 
(unless you want to). I’m just saying it shouldn’t be such an issue for us to enjoy food. A lot of people have a hard time with control and discipline when it comes to food. I understand that. But we are humans! The smartest of all species! Right? I think we can handle food. We don’t need to waste money on diet pills that don’t work and crazy diets that contradict each other. It’s called eat right and exercise! I may not always “eat right“, but I make sure to exercise off whatever I just put on. It makes my life much easier and happier. I love food and now I can enjoy it without hating myself!

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I will always eat juicy steaks, delicious burgers, amazing nachos, and stuff myself with my Grandma’s chicken and cheese enchiladas (what we had for dinner tonight). I will never deprive myself. But I will never let myself get over weight either. Anyways….The point is, enjoy your food! It should be a good part of life!

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(Disclaimer: If you eat like I do, you will have a fat ass. Even though I exercise everyday, and I’ve lost a lot of weight and continue to lose weight, my ass is still fat. It might be hereditary, but if not, consider yourself warned.) 

I always come out ranting like a crazy hippie: Life is too difficult. Let’s go for plan B.

After months of struggling with on and off depression, wishing I was someone else and somewhere else, living in regret and bound by nostalgia, I had a little bit of hope that things would turn around soon. In fact, my whole family has been pretty excited for this week while awaiting a certain check coming in the mail. We had plans to escape our lives for a day or two at the Oregon Coast. I haven’t been to the beach since last summer, before Rayne was a year old. As I’ve said before, since I had Rayne, I have not had a vacation, a girl’s night out, or even celebrated my birthday. So I was really looking forward to being able to get out of the house and take some wonderful photos of my baby girl on the beach. 

But today we learned that was not going to be possible. For one reason or another, our plans to take a break from this stress pit will not be followed through, having to do with that special check. Of course disappointment washed over all of us when we found out. See, disappointment is a part of life. You will experience it. But our family in particular has been experiencing it at least my whole life. My mother is more at peace with most situations, casting her cares on God with ease. The rest of us, however, are not so mature and grown in our faith. We get dreadfully weary waiting for goodness to shine upon our circumstances, and being shot down time and time again as if we’re in a boxing match with a universe that wants us to fail and live forever in strife. Every hit cuts a little deeper into our hope and positivity. Shrinking us down and making us weak. Forcing us to feel defeated, yet again.

I know what you’re thinking, “over a beach trip?”. It’s not about the beach trip. The check was suppose to cover a number of things in order to bring us back above water. But we found out it was only going to be able to temporarily cover a couple of those things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for that. But when you’re always fighting and hoping for better days, just to reach mediocre days, it’s quite exhausting. 

While my sister was delivering the news to me, she said something that irritated me, but I knew how she felt. She said, “What’s the point in being positive when it never gets us anywhere?”. It made me sad that at almost 18, she had already lost hope for having a good life. I wanted to snap back and spout out some lecture about how negativity will just make everything worse and how we have to keep positive to see results. But I knew I would be a hypocrite. I’ve struggled with negativity my whole life. I was the most negative person I ever knew. But I’ve been trying to change. It just hasn’t been going as smoothly as hoped. I knew I couldn’t tell her anything about it. I was keeping my poker face well displayed so I didn’t bring her down even more, but inside I was feeling the same as she was. I felt like giving up. At least if I didn’t try so hard to be positive and hopeful, I wouldn’t be so exhausted feeling when I get disappointed. But I know that’s not right. I can’t accept a less than great life for myself, my daughter and for the rest of my family. We are good people that deserve to not worry day to day. But that’s where we are right now. Worrying, stressing, feeling disappointed. Will it ever end? I wish I knew the answer to that question. I’ve never been the kind of person to want to know their future, but a simple yes or no to that question would help a lot. 

Ever since I was little, I would dream of having a fabulous fun filled life for my whole family. One where we could be happy everyday and fulfill our dreams and goals. So that when we die, we could feel ready and accomplished. Like we didn’t waste our time. To be honest if I died without fulfilling at least some of my goals, I’ll feel like a waste of time. Like there was no point to me being alive whatsoever. What’s the point of me being alive if I’m never able to live how I want or do or see things that I want? Or even just do something useful for other people. But I know that life cannot be about just this. Worrying, struggling, strife. That’s not how it’s suppose to be.

I’m to a point where I really just want to say….

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I literally want to say this about everything. I want to give up on trying so hard to just live. I want to stop trying to make everyone happy and trying live how society thinks I should. And stop giving into this constant struggle like it’s the one controlling my life. And basically just live life like a whole party. Doing what I want, when I want and having a blast with the people I love. Why aren’t we doing this?!?!?! Who decided we have to make life so serious and difficult? The only thing controlling this world is money. Money that hardly anyone has. So lets just chalk it up to “time for plan B” and party like it ain’t no thang. Money is controlling us. Aren’t we human beings? The most intelligent of all species? Why are we bowing down to a bunch of pieces of green paper? We invented it, we can destroy it and call a re-do. The whole world needs to start over with a clean slate. Re-start with a new plan. A plan called “Enjoy life”. Rules: No stress. No regrets. Above all else, you MUST indulge in and spread happiness wherever you go. Could you imagine? 

And I don’t mean the government gets together and does this, I mean a huge world meeting. Every person as an equal. No one is higher than anyone, no one better or richer than anyone. We just party together. Although, obviously there would be punishment for any bad behavior. However, this will never happen. But maybe we could get kind of close? Lets just all say “It’s fuck this shit o’clock” and do what we want. Even if we do it on a tight budget or some people disagree with it. 

Maybe I’m just rambling nonsense because I’m so terribly tired. This is usually why I don’t get too far into things because I always come out ranting like a crazy hippie. But I stand by my idea. Maybe it’s not for everyone seeing as how it lacks quite a bit of structure, but I want to apply it to my life. At least in moderation. Because I can’t stand living the way I am. It’s such a waste.