and then.....

"I pulled away to face the pain.. and I close my eyes and drift away over the fear that I will never find a way to heal my soul....." [evanescence]

OK, now that you've had your sexual assault infomercial for the day (I shouldn't make light of it, but I laugh at everything. Get used to it), I want to talk about me. Me me me me....

and you know, what I'm actually dealing with right now. And what's going on in my life.

I refuse to ever say I'm at rock bottom because that's like inviting the depths of hell to reach up through "rock bottom" and grab you and kick you in the ass and laugh at you really hard.
Knock on wood.
But, I'd say... in the past 4 years I've come very close to rock bottom a lot of times. Maybe I hit it. Maybe I went beneath it right into hell for a long time.

In doing so I dragged a few people with me. Some people refused to go. Some people managed to hold my hand and still stay afloat. Some people walked away. Some people suffered a lot.
I feel pretty bad about that.
But it's part of that nasty lying disease, you know? You don't even understand how it affects people. First off, you believe nobody cares, so you don't believe you could hurt anyone with your behavior.
That's one of the biggest and one of the first lies you will tell yourself when you're depressed.
I find myself telling it daily. Still.

I'm not cured or even on my way to better at this point. You should know that. You're reading the blog of a severely damaged and depressed person. I haven't clawed my way to the surface, but I think that writing about it will not only bring some awareness to the problem and hopefully help a) people who are depressed and b) people who care about people who are depressed.

I.... feel totally alone. And like a terrible mother. When I got up the guts to tell my mom what had happened (the second assault by the same guy), I had to do it through email, and I made myself scarce until she told me she had read it.
And to my surprise, though she's rather stoic about the whole thing, she just asked me what would be the best way to help me out. And right now that means she's taking the kids most nights, and I see them during the day, once I drag myself out of my bed. If.
If I don't, she brings them to my house and then I drag myself out of bed... long enough to pretend like I'm okay, and then I get back in bed, offer the kids a movie and a snack and try to snuggle happily with them, but it often turns into a screaming match because they jump on the bed, fight, pull hair, and crunch crackers into my newly washed sheets.

Clearly I am not totally alone.
My family is being so supportive. I have "internet friends" who have been and are being amazing.
I even have one or two friends around here who have made it clear that they are there for me, but how do you ask for help when you don't know how to feel better? Or what will help you out of your big, gigantic hole?

Sleeping it off probably isn't ever going to make anything better, but I haven't been able to do anything else yet.

I know from experience that one of these days (it almost happened today) I will jump up and say "fuck you, self, you are being a stupid motherfucker, and you have late bills and phone calls to make and a house to clean and your pets might be starving, and your kids deserve to remember you in a better way than this!"

Obviously I have these thoughts, but making them transfer from my brain to actual body motion, viable actions, etc... that's the really hard part with depression. And anxiety, because I have anxiety about making phone calls. And getting out of bed. And living without certain people who have vacated my life and I cannot get back.

I miss Dan. So, so much. It doesn't make sense that the pain of losing him completely overrides everything else I'm going through, but it DOES. I  can shrug my shoulders at sexual assault , I can cry for a few days about a miscarriage and severe mental and emotional trauma, but....
Missing him feels like dying over and over and over and fucking over.
And little by little, just like every time, I lose strength ... and the next time I have a drink or stay up too late alone or let myself think about it.. I give a piece of myself back to that situation. A piece that I need.
And I really don't know how to fix that. I know it's my fault. But I don't know how to stop.
I feel like if I had his calm, strong presence, I would be able to be calm and strong too. I always was, around him. I was at peace.

But I can't put that burden on him. I can't say "Damn, I need to feel better so I need you to be here for me". That's not fair.

Instead I have to start focusing on what to do next in life, so that I feel like there's something to wake up for. Because right now, it doesn't feel like it. It feels my kids would be fine without me. It feels like I'm a burden on everyone but them. It feels like I'm useless because I've been job hunting for months with no success.
And for some reason, it feels like a betrayal to talk about a new, different future. to talk about forging the path alone, still, because I expected and wanted NOT to be alone by now. I don't want to believe that this might be MY LIFE, for the rest of my life. Raising two kids without someone to love me.

But because it is what IS, right now, I have to. And god, that is a PAINFUL, soul-wrenching thing for me to say. It's keeping me from setting goals. It's keeping me from saying out loud the things that are in my head, the good things thatI could do for myself. That on good days, I want to do for myself and my kids. Like... *deep breath.. why is this so HARD?!* ... getting my GED. Applying for FAFSA. Looking for a place in Cedar City. Looking for information on what kind of financial aid I can and would get if I was going to school. Thinking about.. a degree in psychology... becoming a midwife... helping women who go through the shit I'm going through now.

Most days I hate myself for letting the lying bastard take over my life. For letting it take away my ability to be a good mom, a good friend, a good daughter. For letting it ruin my relationship with the man I've loved the most in my 27 yrs on earth (and probably always will love the most).
I'm scared that it will always and forever ruin the only good things I have.
I don't know if it's something I can beat...
And if it isn't, then what?

I don't want any trite "you can beat it" comments... Because like cancer, sometimes will to survive isn't enough anymore. Sometimes the will to fight it and beat it isn't going to make it go away. There will be good days and bad days, and ultimately I don't know if this thing will kill me early, or ruin the rest of my life be it long or short... or if somehow, someday, something will help me turn a corner, and I will start having more good days, and I will stop wanting out of this body and this world. And I won't cry every day, for missing someone so much. Maybe just every other day, or eventually maybe once a week, or eventually never, even if I feel pain when I think about his absence.

I don't know what's going to happen. But ya'll need to know that I'm trying. This is just another day in the life of someone with a very painful disease.

"I can't go on living this way. But I can't go back the way I came, chained to this fear that I will never find a way to heal my soul. And I will wander til the end of time...half alive without you." [lyrics from My Heart Is Broken - evanescence]

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby (the nonconsensual kind)

Let's talk about what IS and ISN'T true about rape or sexual assault.

There are pamphlets for this shit, but not a lot of people read them. In fact, unless you get trained as an advocate, or get sexually assaulted, you are probably never going to read them.

But, the day after my second RECENT sexual assault, I got a little Tinkerbell bag full of pamphlets and other accoutrements provided by MY advocate. While I was naked on an examination table getting swabs taken from every body part you can imagine.
And when I got home, fully traumatized for a 3rd time because frankly, the blood draw was way worse than anything that's happened to me in a long time......
I read the pamphlets, cause I didn't have anything else to do, and I was washing my bedding. And my DVD player is broken.

And I found out that when I was sitting in that room doubting myself and thinking that EVERY SINGLE person was either a) completely fooled by my story and thought I was this strong-ass bitch reporting a violent rape and that I deserved special treatment (I did not believe I deserved to be called strong, or brave, or receive special treatment), or b) lying my ass off because it's really FUN to get up-close pictures taken of your labia, have a nurse "lose" your cervix and pass out cold because the other nurse couldn't get a good vein in your arm, (whoa longest sentence ever) I FOUND OUT.... that almost everyone that's a victim of sexual assault feels this way.

That they are at fault. Or that they are screwing things up in their head. Or that it's not as serious as it feels emotionally, and the word "rape" just sounds way to strong if you didn't get a gun held to your head, or a knife to your throat, or a hand squeezing your windpipe....
 and so they shouldn't be reporting it. Or nobody's going to take them seriously. Or that someone is just going to slap them across the face and say "WHY Did you put yourself in that situation? It's YOUR fault."

Guess what?
I've faced every single one of those reactions from OTHER people since it happened. EVERY SINGLE ONE. From people I love, people I trust. People who love ME.
People who have been abused themselves and have swept it under the rug as "their fault" ... suppressed feelings about it.. "forgotten".
I got a phone call from a friend who said "I feel so bad you've been through all this"... the same friend who also got raped the night that I was sexually assaulted and ended up pregnant. She won't call it that, or report it. Or acknowledge it.

People have some REALLY fucked up ideas about sexual assault. They have amazingly fucked up ideas about women inviting it by dressing a certain way. Acting a certain way. Drinking.. going to a club... trusting a guy when he says he doesn't just want sex. Trusting someone enough to go alone to their house with them.

There are millions of people in the world that are master manipulators. Men, women... it is not exclusive to gender. It is not exclusive to anything.
People manipulate to get what they want, and I BET YOU anything that the asshole that raped me doesn't think he did ANYTHING wrong, and that when the police pick him up, he's going to be extremely surprised.

But he did a lot of things that were wrong.

I am not going to say it's smart to get drunk and be alone with someone you don't know EXTREMELY well. If you don't fully, completely trust the people that you are with.. if you haven't known them for a LONG time and feel completely safe with them, DO NOT get drunk with them, or near them.
Ever.

Yes, you need to defend yourself against situations.
But should you find yourself in one, it is NOT your fault if someone decides to take advantage of your vulnerable state. It is NEVER YOUR FAULT.
And the person that abuses you NEEDS to realize that they've done wrong. Justice needs to be served in some way. They need to answer to the law, the law that says that nonconsensual sexual acts are a crime.

It's actually normal, and very common, and sometimes even SMART for a woman to freeze up in a sexual assault situation. It's a self-defense mechanism. And the more that you've been abused in your life, the more likely it is that you are a "freezer"... that you shut down mentally and allow the thing to happen because it's safer than trying to run or fight. Or at least, that's what experience or very bad people have taught you.

That doesn't mean it was consensual. If you didn't want it, and you expressed that at any point, it was rape.

And I don't deserve to be scolded like a child for what happened to me. I don't deserve people shaking their heads and saying they want to slap some sense into me.
I didn't deserve my uncle touching me inappropriately as a child. I didn't deserve my babysitter abusing me, but I was too little to even know it was wrong, except for the voice in my head that told me it didn't feel okay, that something was wrong, but that I was a kid, and he was an adult, and adults knew more than me.

I didn't deserve multiple boyfriends raping me as an adult, after I'd clearly said no to sex in that instance. Even if I said yes 99 times before that, and the 100th time I didn't want to, and I said no.... if he continued what he was doing, it was rape.

By this standard, I was sexually abused by 3 people as a child that I KNOW of. And by at least 6 people as an adult. Multiple times each.

I can tell you that when I was 7, I wasn't wearing "revealing clothing". I wasn't inviting it.

I can tell you that when my ex held me down in his bedroom and had intercourse with me even after I re-dressed myself multiple times and said I didn't want to, that I was raped. And he should be in jail for it, but I haven't even been able to be honest enough with myself about that to stop being FRIENDS with him. Because nothing jives. Nothing makes less sense than someone you have trusted and loved taking your power and your rights from you like that. Nothing confuses your brain and your heart more, and nothing damages you worse.

I'm just begging you... if something HAS happened to you or you find yourself in one of these situations, to report it immediately. The aftermath is painful, and traumatic, and difficult, and scary. But you might just prevent it from happening to more people in the future. Including yourself.
And the more people that speak up honestly, the less those of us who do speak up have to suffer.

There are too many lies out there. I've made a choice to tell the truth.
It doesn't matter what I wear, how much I drink, whether I kissed the guy and then decided I wanted to stop there, whether I touched him and then wanted to leave. It doesn't matter if he'd already abused me and I put myself in the situation again.
It doesn't matter if you're buck-ass naked standing right in front of the guy, but you've stated that you don't want to have sex.

If he does it anyway, it's rape.
Report it. Don't change your clothes, don't shower, don't brush your teeth, don't douche. Talk to a cop, go to the ER to get examined, take an extra pair of clothing with you cause you ain't gettin yours back (I hope you didn't like that outfit) and get therapy. You're going to need it. I know I do.

And the next person that says something as ignorant as "what the hell were YOU thinking?" or "I just want to shake you" can excuse themselves from my life forever. Please.

Pregnancy, Loss, and the aftermath (an addendum)

Related to my previous post about DEPRESSION, I NEED to talk about this. Not really for anyone else, but for me.... Although I know there are people out there who will relate.

I have experienced several pregnancy losses throughout my adult life. The most recent one a mere 2.5 weeks ago. The pregnancy was the result of a date rape.

And I'm going to come right out and say, I called an abortion clinic the very next day and scheduled to get that THING out of me.
I have never felt that way before, and it wasn't that I felt the fetus was not a person. It was that I knew about the 3 people (Eli, Sophia, and myself) who need me to take care of them, and it was knowing that I'm a ridiculous mess when I'm pregnant, and knowing that I'd only barely begun to recover from a very nasty and long bout with The Miserable Lying Bastard (also see The Fight Goes On).
We needed Me to be okay and I knew I would not be okay if I was pregnant. Also, I knew that I am NOT equipped to even care for the two children I do have, and constantly employ the help of family, friends, and sperm donor to keep us afloat. Bringing another baby into that would not be very smart, now would it?!

I also felt that even if I managed to SOMEHOW survive pregnancy with my family intact, I would then be too broken-hearted from having to hand my new, beautiful newborn over to a different family to raise, to ever recover. Ever.

Despite all of this, I changed my mind a few days later and canceled the abortion. I saw the little shrimp's heartbeat on an ultrasound and I fell in love and was thinking of how blissfully happy a family would be when I gave them this beautiful gift. I had friends and family clamoring to help me and also probably to save my soul from hell for getting an abortion (hehe.. sorry). I mean, it was beautiful, actually. So many people wanted me to keep that baby. And I started to really want to, also. Very much. I found out I had a couple of friends due at the same time, and was quite gleeful about the whole thing, especially since one of them has experienced numerous losses as well and I've been pulling for her to have her baby for a long time. I found some peace with the situation....

And then I started to bleed.

of course.

The doctor said, we saw a heartbeat, I feel confident that the baby will be okay. But I know what labor feels like, and I was in it. For over a week, I was in a tearful, Percocet-numbed hazed with full-on late-stage labor pains. ALL. THE. TIME. And I knew I was miscarrying but everyone said I wasn't. And I was using every essential oil and natural remedy known to man, staying off my feet, using progesterone suppositories...
But to no avail. I went back to the doctor on April 6th and they confirmed that the baby's heart had stopped.
And then the doctor proceeded to tell me that my hope for a full term pregnancy in the future was very high, now that we knew I had a progesterone problem, and that I could "try again" right away and to make sure to take the suppositories as soon as I suspected pregnancy.
I laugh/cried my way out of his office knowing that THIS GIRL doesn't get to have a baby. Not alone, and ESPECIALLY not with someone who loves me. I'm 27, and I am essentially barren. I may as well be, because I can not have another baby.


And I'm heartbroken over it.
And as soon as I announced I was no longer pregnant, the help stopped. The messages stopped. The phone calls stopped. The visits and meals stopped. The love... stopped.
People cared about the baby. Not ME. Duh. Oh my god, I can't believe it took me THIS LONG to figure it out.
Why was I so damn happy when I was pregnant with my kids, even though my body was miserable? BECAUSE PEOPLE CARED! For the first time in my life I was IMPORTANT. I was priority. My aches and pains mattered. My worries mattered. Everything that happened for 9 months mattered intensely to everyone in my life, near and far... family, friends, acquaintances. Gifts flowed, visits were abundant... of course I was happy.
And being a new mom was blissful too, because not only did that attention carry on to my beautiful new kiddo, but MY attention was directed on that beauty too, and I basked in it.

Eventually, they stop being babies, and eventually people stop really caring that much, except for Grandma and Grandpa, and a few aunts and uncles.

And I just figured out why/when I started to feel so alone again.
Nobody's ever put me front and center (except perhaps, when I was a baby myself?). Nobody has ever made me 1st priority. Nobody has EVER put that much effort... THAT much love into ME, into keeping me breathing, happy, alive, healthy.....
they put it into the babies that I made.

And I'm so glad they did.
But sitting here now in the aftermath of my entire heart being ripped out, torn to pieces and stomped on (several times), my body being used and thrown away, losing the love of my life and all of the love IN my life... fall outs with friends and family because of their misunderstanding of my disease... losing everything... and feeling
so
inadequate.
And so
alone......
and just so

nothing.


Sitting here in that nothing....
as friends cancel their plans to visit and help...
and announce their own pregnancies
and begin to receive their own outpouring of love....
and I sit in bed and stare at my bruised arms from the ER nurses poking and prodding me to finish up the SOEC kit on Thursday.... and think about how I have more anxiety over needles than the actual assault at this point... and wondering if someone's going to come after my life or my livelihood when I report that he attacked me a SECOND TIME... and wonder how to explain to people in my life that I was stupid enough to "allow" it to happen....
I'm still so alone.
More alone than EVER.


I'm so absolutely torn apart that I'm not sure I can pick up the pieces this time. I just don't know.

I Hate You for Not Acknowledging My Disease

Seriously. Fuck you.

I have clinical depression and severe anxiety. Top that off with a heavy dose of RTS (rape - or sexual assault - trauma syndrome) that's come and gone since the age of 7 and current PTSD and you've got a real hot mess.

I mean, basically someone that, with any other disease as serious, would be on life support 24/7 in the hospital. Not expected to care for anyone including themselves. And being cared for, constantly. People would visit (probably but... hell, maybe they wouldn't). People would worry, cry, make arrangements, pray in church, tell me I'm brave and strong for making it this far.

Instead, I get told that I am weak. An annoyance. A whiner.

Let's put this in perspective and just replace "Depression/Anxiety/PTSD/RTS" with "Terminal Cancer" (they have about the same survival rate). And this is what I'm dealing with.

"You whine too much. If you just had a better perspective, your cancer would go away."

"You're not trying hard enough to get rid of your cancer."

"Get some more sunshine, exercise more and you'll be fine."

"Why do you have such a hard time getting up in the morning and doing the things you  need to do? There is nothing WRONG with you."

"Maybe if you just got on a better schedule... Can't you try getting up earlier or something... reset your body clock? If you slept more you'd be fine."

"Really, I'm tired of you texting me the same shit about how you're suffering when you haven't done enough to get rid of your cancer. Taking all the recommended meds, plus all of the natural remedies to be found, plus a hard-earned better perspective and attitude on life isn't enough proof for me that you're trying and I'm really just tired of hearing about it."

"It hurts me for you to talk about your cancer. Would you please stop? Don't you realize how you're hurting people by having this disease?"

"Maybe if you got a job you'd feel better.."

"You're just too needy. I'm sorry. Learn to take care of yourself and people will like you more."

"It's really offensive how much you mention your cancer and the side-effects on facebook, so much so that people talk about it behind your back. constantly."


and when I finally get tired of hearing these things, when they bring my morale down to the point where my health starts to fail even further or I feel like giving in to the disease and yes, letting go of this life, and I say "fuck you guys, for being so insensitive about this.. maybe I could have made it if I'd had a better support system"...

People say.. "Fuck you, for being sick. You can't expect us to deal with that, REALLY. Can you? Especially when you're just so ANGRY about it."


How's that perspective coming????

I want to post about something else that ties in for ME, but not everyone, and this needs to stand alone to speak for depression. Chew on it for a while, see what you think. Especially the next time someone close to you announces that they have cancer.

Not Okay

I'm going to be REAL here for a minute.

I'm always real, but sometimes I try to really put my best foot forward on my blogs. I want to be inspirational. I want people to say "yeaaaah.... yeah, I feel better now! I'm gonna go conquer the fuckin world!" after they read my posts.

OK, that's a little much.
But I really don't want people to walk away going "what a fucking drag."

Well, too bad, tonight. Cause I'm going to be a drag.

The fact is, we live in such a fucking unrealistic world that it's.. fucking unrealistic.

I've learned in my 27 years on earth that people don't like you unless you are perpetually happy.
OK, let me rephrase. Unless you ACT perpetually happy. Your mom just died? Cry a little, but tell me a funny joke and say it's all okay because *I* can't handle the fact that you might not be okay.
Everyone has to be okay all the time.
Nobody knows how to handle "not okay".

"Not okay" is for Prozac, therapists, and psych wards.
Not for friends or boyfriends.

Not for family, even. It's not okay to be not okay.

And THAT, my friends, is NOT O-FUCKING-KAY.


Grow the fuck up. 
Be real.

Nobody is okay all the time.
If you are, you got yours comin to you, trust me.
And when it does, after you've laughed at all of us who weren't okay at some point.. when youv'e pushed us away because the ugliness of "not okay" was too much for you.. when we were honest about our feelings and you thought it meant we were self-centered and just wanted pity?

Well... here's the thing.
We'll probably still be there for you. Because those of us who've been "not okay" a lot... we know that we can't abandon those who aren't okay. Even those who are new to it. Even those who by every right, don't deserve even a fucking pat on the back or a hug after the way they treated "not okay" people at some point.
But if we aren't....
and if at some point you find yourself alone with nowhere to turn.. with people saying horrible things about you, simply because you are sad...
if at some point, you feel you just can't keep going, because you're so NOT okay?

Just remember this....
If we'd all just been real with each other to begin with, we'd all be a lot more okay right now.
I'm not going to put on a fucking fake happy face for you...
I hope you won't do that for me either, because that's not what I need in my life. I need real. I need tragic. I need happy when you'r ehappy, I need sad when you're sad. I need girlfriends that I can hold in bed while we both cry about how shitty life is. I need someone to understand when I say I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE and to just hope I'm still doing it tomorrow. Because usually when I say that... I know.. I still have to do it. I just need you to love me, and to understand.

Is there anywhere in this world that I can be real and be loved?
If not, i'd like to check out, now.
If so, please lead the way.......

The Traveling Red Dress experience.

To be honest, there's a part of me that balks at all of this.
I've done a lot of frivolous, over-the-top, senseless things in my life. To feel pretty. To feel loved. To feel fun. To fill some hole in me that can't really... ever... be filled. Not by a dress.

And my beautiful, amazing sister decided that I needed a traveling red dress.

i must admit I've been less-than-psyched about the whole thing. Finding a formal dress for me that looks awesome and makes me feel like a princess and not a whore is ...
impossible.

I felt pretty at said sister's wedding to husband #2... and that feels weird even saying,because at this point I think of him as the only man she's ever had in her life.

But seriously. I think she needs the red dress more for herself than anyone.

My sister. She takes care of 4 little messy crazy sweet and adorable boys. And 1 big messy crazy sweet funny and sometimes adorable 30-something yr old boy.
She takes care of me.
she takes care of her employees.

She works her job like a bossssss..... she is everything to everyone that anyone needs.

She deserves the red dress. Not me.
Not me.

And yet as I looked at myself in the mirror trying on my two prospects for this... I felt a combination of elation and desperation.

You know what I wanted my red dress to be? Getting past the first round of American Idol or the voice.

Making money at modeling.

Becoming a midwife.

moving 7 hours away to try to make things work with a man whose MO is to not try to make things work.




and... getting married. Going to the prom. Getting married.. getting fucking MARRIED. Not being the bridesmaid or maid-of-honor or wedding pianist or wedding singer... GETTING MARRIED.
I don't even know if I want to be married but I want the dress. I want the ring. I want the magic. I want to loook into a man's eyes whom I love and know that he loves me enough to make a commitment.

I want to go to a formal dance. I'm 27 and frankly i've ever been to ANY Formal event.


This is presenting more of a dilemma than I thought.

This year, I want to be taken out for valentine's day. I want the full treatment.
I want to be pampered, kissed. I want my hand held. I want flowers and a dinner in formal-wear. I want ... SOMETHING.
And for the past 9 years, there has been nothing.

I ignore the day as best I can, but what can you really do? Pretend it doesn't exist? Mope around in your house with sappy movies and cry? that's nothing more than not only do you not HATE V-day, but you love it, and you just want to be loved on Valentine's Day.

I just want that. I want I want I want.

I want to ask for it, but I'm too scared.

I shouldn't have to fucking ask.

I can't imagine anything more amazing than my loved one showing up at my door on Feb 14th, by surprise... just because he wanted to make it special. Just because he boycotts holidays and birthdays, but Iw as important enough.


I want to be important enough.

No dress will do that... except......

it made me realize I'm important enough to someone. Someone who gave me the dresses. Someone who wanted me to feel beautiful. To do something totally illogical and fun and to go in a beautiful ball gown...
No matter if I have to take MYSELF out.

Ok, it matters.
But what I'm saying is..
thanks, sis. And if you have any ideas on making the rest happen, work your fucking magic.

When I Was Happy (and how I've been ruining my life)

"there is no greater sorrow than to remember in misery the time when we were happy." - Dante

In truth, I find that the worst periods of my life have been those in which I was not just sad, but spending all my time trying to get back something from the past. An event, a feeling, a person... maybe even just an idea. A fleeting moment that was so perfect that it haunts me now...

And by allowing myself to go there, to wish for it, to refuse anything else because it could never be so good.... and to bemoan the fact that what my life is NOW is not exactly what my life was then? I'm turning the beautiful moments into something ugly. I'm destroying my life.




Most recently, I found myself beating not only mySELF but other people up about the lack of continuation of the feeling of ecstasy I experienced on my New Years trip to Vegas. First of all, I expected waaaay too much out of it, but surprisingly, it met expectations. In a way. I had fun. I was happy. I wasn't upset that I ... wasn't somewhere else, living out a past experience over again.
It was all new and all amazing and beautiful and fun and I ruined it the very next day.




And I ruined it every day after that, analyzing why the fun couldn't continue every day. Why the feeling couldn't remain.




Tonight (I say for my sake... but this morning), driving home from work, I was hit by the very sudden thought of how beautiful and funny my children are. I was struck by gratitude for the mere ability to drive a vehicle alone again, to sing along to the radio and think about things and look at the stars.
I thought for a minute about how much I have missed this year, being wrapped up in my own misery, not only ruining my life but that of many people around me. Ruining relationships and potentially damaging those that I love the most with my self-pity. With my... constant insistence on getting something back from the past.

I can't fucking HAVE THE PAST, I can't hold it. If moments didn't pass, why would they be precious? If we knew we could experience our children's babyhood over and over again, what reason would we have to cherish it?




My daughter is this beautiful, mature soul who can draw amazing pictures and concentrate on a project for hours at a time. She makes up songs every day and writes them down and plans to use them in future musicals she will write. She dances for no reason but to dance. She still believes in.. everything beautiful in life. Despite me.




My son is this crazy, enigmatic ball of light that I can't keep up with, but just when I think I'm going to collapse from exhaustion, he stops for a moment and puts his arms around my neck and says "snuggle mommy!" and lends me some of that light.




Sometimes I feel a little sad, when I look at their baby pictures, that they are growing up so fast. That I miss so much when I'm at work. That I've missed so much, being so self-absorbed. But even now I am wasting time, thinking about what I've missed.

I know that I can't be perfect every day, but I made myself a promise tonight to enjoy my moments with them more. To embrace the amazing ones and then let go and be excited for the next one. To accept the hard times because they bind us, and the darkness contrasts with the bright light of their joyful laughter, our perfect moments, and that is why they shine.















Beyond that... I'm going to put it out into the universe now that it's my intention to let go of some other things from the past. To stop trying to recreate them, and instead, just allow new moments to take place. Maybe if stop pushing so hard for something that doesn't exist, I can have something that does. I can have new perfect moments, but there's no room if I don't let go of the old ones. I can look at them like those baby pictures and think how wonderful they were, and then put them away and look at what's in front of me now, and make the best of that, because it's new, and it changes every day, and I can't have expectations. Only open my heart to hope.





Besides, hell, what am I going to do? Keep having babies until my ovaries shut down? NO FREAKING WAY. I'm going to enjoy watching my kids grow up instead of taking the focus off of them by trying to get back THEIR childhoods by having.. more babies..... cause that would be a different experience anyway (nothing wrong with having a lot of babies.. unless you're me... just a metaphor.)










I was going to blog tonight about why I'm awake and why I've always been an insomniac and how crappy it is to be going through xanax withdrawals and not be able to go to sleep even though my body is exhausted, but this is way better.

I'll just say, don't ever let yourself become dependent on a chemical to make you go to sleep or to be calm.

Drugs are bad, mmmkay?




Letting go is good. :)