Sounds Like Crazy

It sounds like I’m crazy
When I think of no one else but you
It sounds so strange
When I see my future in you


But I’ve got to hold on to my thoughts
For they seem to escape me
And this dreaming and wishing
Only gets me so far.

-JC

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

When you’re little the world is full of curiosity.

I remember feeling that wonder and amazement, I remember believing in Santa and getting excited about Santa taking time out of his ever-so-busy schedule to show up at our yearly Christmas Eve parties for my family. It was exciting for me and still to this day fills me all the warm and squishy feels. And I think that is perhaps what keeps me from being a complete Grinch on Christmas. Christmas changes when you’re an adult and no longer have children constantly around.It’s filled with less wonder and admiration. It’s filled with less belief and magic. I miss that.

I recall late one evening my grandparents were driving us back to my home after the party and I was leaning my head against the car door starring out at the sky. I remember specifically that it was a clear night, but chilly. I could see my breath on the window pane as I breathed in and out. And I recall getting excited because I saw something bright shoot across the sky and I can’t remember if it was my grandmother or my grandfather who said this, but someone told me it was Santa delivering presents. The idea of this excited me so much and to this day, if I see a shooting star in the cold December nights on Christmas Eve I think to myself, there goes Santa.

The relevance of why that shooting star was important on that night was because when we got home, my mom had wrapped herself in a box and we got to open that gift when we got home. She told us that Santa had just left and he wrapped her up for us. I don’t recall why she did it because it wasn’t like we hadn’t seen her in a long time. This wasn’t the case of her being in the service and gone for a long while, she just did it. And even still it was thrilling for me.

My heart tries to be harder than it is, but not everything about my childhood was terrible and it’s memories like this that help me create the idea of the kind of parent I’d like to be. I will tell my kids that that light across the sky was Santa delivering presents.

Mile High

Some how this got deleted and I wanted it here. So, I'm re posting.

Mile High

My heart breaks every time I see your face
I am reminded of the bareness that has
taken over in the cavity of my stomach.
It’s not that I want you; it’s that I need it.
I must feel this warmth and taste
sweet words on your lips.
But these honeyed verses are not meant for me,
They are designed for another.
And your lips are not meant,
to be so close to mine.

- JC

Don't just stand there, say nice things to me

Sometimes I feel like perhaps the world is fucking with me. Like seriously fucking with me. But then I remember that the world does not in fact revolve around me despite my thoughts on the contrary.

Here's a picture of a tree I took while at a rest stop somewhere in Michigan.

Also, This is the song that's captivated my heart for the moment.

Black velvet with that slow southern style

I have always loved coming back to the place where my mother grew up. It gave me a sense of peace and connection.

Specifically I enjoy driving random roads and imagining that my mother once drove down these roads. I think about what life must have been like for her when she was a teenager and where she must have gone. I drive by specific places that have been land marked in stories and pointed out and I can see her face. I can hear her laugh, but then I also see her pain. I feel it.

I try to think how drastically things have changed in the ways that every time I visit Tucson, something has been built up, added or destroyed. Or perhaps the only change is that the shops now house things with a Spanish and Mexican flair.

I just know that when I’m here, I don’t feel so rejected or alone. I feel… home.

I need your grace to remind me to find my own

My dad is paranoid schizophrenic.

I’ve known all my life that there was something wrong with him, but I always thought it was the drugs. And since no one in my family could give me answers on what it meant to be schizophrenic I did my own research by way of many psychology books. For a long time I feared the genetic pass down of the disease and even still do. I was always afraid that I would be crazy, crazy like my father. And that scared me so much. It made me cry myself to sleep many nights. Everyone looked at me differently, my father didn’t have money, but he remembered what was important.

When I was 16, I found a card amongst my mom’s personal papers that my father had given me. In it said “To my baby girl, Here are two pairs of tights, so you can wear some outside and for fun and some for dressing up to go to church with your siblings.” He knew I loved tights and he also knew I was a pig pen and loved playing in the mud and outside. It was something so simple and yet, it caught my heart. The language isn’t big, and I probably couldn’t even read at the time, but I could hear his voice telling me this, like he always does, like he would when I would come over in my late teens with a new tattoo. He’d semi scold me and then show me the sparrow and sun on his arm and tell me when he got it. He always tells me the same stories, just like he always used to point out my tight obsession. But hey, a girl got to have some clothing they like? Because as I hear it most of my life from birth to 4-years-old was spent naked.

I remember watching I am Sam in the basement of my friend’s house and there was a part in the movie where I just burst into tears. The movie hit me hard as a child who struggles with a parent with a mental disability. In the movie Lucy (the daughter) is reading a book to her father, but she refuses to read the word. And Sam, her father knows she can read it, the dialogue goes as so:

Lucy: I won't read the word!
Sam: I'm your father and I'm telling you to read the word. Cause I can tell you to because I'm your father.
Lucy: I'm stupid.
Sam: You are not stupid!
Lucy: Yes, I am.
Sam: No, you are not stupid 'cause you can read that word.
Lucy: I don't wanna read it if you can't.
Sam: No, because it makes me happy! It makes me happy hearing you read. Yeah, it makes me happy when you're reading.
Lucy: [Lucy reads again]

In that moment I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face because I spent a good chunk of my life feeling that way. Feeling that because I was smart it was somehow a bad thing, not because anyone told me that, but rather, because I didn’t want to seem like more even though both of my parents promoted my reading and writing abilities. It still stung the emotion in the moment of this movie. Being a child scared of losing her father because she was smart. I fear that even now and I know I don’t make the effort I should to be closer to him.

I remember on my 9th birthday, my dad was wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet and completely out of his mind off his medication but he was walking down our street carrying a birthday cake for me. My mother did as much as she could to protect us from him, but sometimes she wasn’t able to foresee things like this. And in these moments I feared becoming crazy. I feared being like my father. I saw how other people treated him and how my mother talked about him with disgust. The way my family talked about him and the way people say “well you didn’t have a father in your life.” And because of this, it afflicted me. Even though my dad has the IQ of an 8th grader and he has somehow managed to be a better parent than my mother ever was. I had a father in my life who taught me compassion.

Most of my memories of my father are pleasant. They are good things that warm my heart and make me realize that crazy doesn’t mean you don’t have the ability to love. Crazy doesn’t mean you can’t be there for your child. Crazy doesn’t mean that you are any less of a person. Crazy just means you’ve got something that isn’t firing right inside your head. In his instance, it didn’t affect his ability to give me good memories. It doesn’t affect his ability to call me and see how I am doing. To tell me how proud he is. To tell me that he has the photographs I sent him taped on the wall and how he tells all his neighbors about his little girl, living in the big city (when I lived in NJ that is.) Crazy hasn’t affected his ability to make me feel lucky.

It's a blue day and I hope love lies down this road...

Why did I let people change who I was? Why did I let someone else’s thoughts of how I should be persuading to make adjustments?

First in New Jersey there was the relationship that never actually was. I allowed his negative talk and view of the world around him to scare me into the house. I stopped wanting to be in public, I stopped wanting to be the center of attention. I stopped participating in conversations. I stopped getting out of the car to view and see things. I stopped being me.

And then there was Daniel. And he was afraid to be in public with me. Afraid because he was not secure in himself that being seen with a fat chick was scary for him. He made his excuses and said I was wrong, but his actions then and now speak volumes on how he really felt. He was fine with me as long as it wasn’t a show. He was fine with me as long as it was in the basement or behind closed doors.

And so now, I’m introverted. The girl who midway through high school came out of her shell and used to be the class clown. The girl who could spit fire at anyone who doubted her. The girl who random people came up to in public places and said “aren’t you So-an-so, I read that article you wrote, it was amazing.” I was a voice. I was something.

And now, I hide in my house. I hide in the back of classes.(except British Lit, because he gives me a nerd boner)

I’m only myself at work, in a small office of people with learning and physical disabilities. The moment I walk out of there, I’m in my shell.

How did this happen? How did my strong-tongue-spit-fire-self let others dictate how I would feel. How did I let the illusions of their interest in me blind side me? I suppose when you live the life I have with the abandonment I’ve had… You develop this need for love.

You crave any type of attention and need it so much that you don’t realize when it’s just a visage.

Seriously? How did I become that STUPID girl?

This could be para, para, paradise...

I hate that my mind creates these scenarios.

The writer in me feels differently about things. I fall in love with characters and thus cry easier. Little moments can bring tears to my eyes because its emotions I’ve long to feel either through the creation of characters or real life.

Tonight I was walking to the front porch and there was a perfect slight chill in the air and before I could stop it, I suddenly felt lonely.

The weather was make-out weather.

Where the wind is blowing just enough that if I were close to someone they could brush a strand of my hair from my face and kiss me. I could feel the moment like it had happened to me before. Laying by the nearby lake on a blanket wrapped into each other’s arms, while we talked in the slight glow of the moonlight through the rain threatening clouds. And even if it rained, it would only make the moment more perfect, because I long so much to be kissed in the rain.

So I sat outside, listening to the leaves rustling above and felt the romance consume me before a sudden chill brought me back to my senses and I drew my arms around myself.

And I feel the loneliness creep back...

...Or I’m channeling my inner Nicholas Sparks.

I'm in repair, I'm not together but I'm getting there...

Today I told my boss that I’ve started feeling more confident about myself again. I told her I decided to be okay.

I decided to not worry about how come I was left so easily and decided to think about all the things he lost. I am an amazing person, if he doesn’t see that its because he chooses not to.

I am loving, I am kind and I am supportive. And most of all, I am a fox, even if I am overweight. I am a catch. I am a big deal. I am smart, compassionate and funny. I am full of myself but humble, and I am tired of feeling bad.

I’m tired of thinking “maybe if I had done this, instead of that.” Because I am human so I make mistakes, but the people who pick me, and choose me in their lives, they are getting a great human being, because I am worth the hassle.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Paper Towns

“Each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And these things happen - these people leave us, or don’t love us, or don’t get us, or we don’t get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack open in places. And, I mean yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable. […] But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart. And it’s only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs. When did we see each other face to face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get out.”

- John Green (Paper Towns)

Intro to Human Psychology

The thing about life is, I’m not choosing to live for the sake of me, because let’s face it, that ship has sailed.

Nothing I ever do is really about me or not often do I do things because I want to. I have this tendency to live for other people. Live to make other people feel better. Although sometimes I cause pain to people when I do suddenly take interest in myself and my own feelings. I get trampled on far more times than I’d like to count, but I never seem to learn. I just continue on the path and move forward and forgive, but never forget. And it’s in that “never forget” that I make tick marks on the wall inside of me.

How many times will I let a person cross me before I snap? I’m not sure I even have that answer now. I find that people may think I judge them because I am someone who judges things, the thing about that is, I tend to forgive my judgments completely. When I find myself at a cross point where someone is doing something I might not agree with, I think it comes off as me trying to tell them to change themselves or as me passing judgment on what they are doing. I think I make it seem like if they don’t modify their behavior, I have no use for them. I come off mean. But the reality of the situation is that I’m actually just saying “hey, this is not something I expected, it’s not something I want to be part of and I want to back out.”

What I guess I don’t know how to do is be supportive and be around when things make me uncomfortable or don’t exactly mesh with my ideals. I think I come off more as “unfriendly” or “A party pooper.” I also have a problem with lying about how I feel about a situation. I tend to be the friend who tells it like it is, or as I see it, because there are always multiple realities. People want to ask for opinions, but don’t always want to hear it. And sometimes I give an opinion when I shouldn’t. Sometimes I should just be quiet.

I think the problem is, I want others to have it better. I feel I’m a tortured soul and my ship has already sailed that I want to make sure people have it better than me. You can’t always protect people and sometimes in protecting them, you hurt them.I hurt people a lot I think in my attempts to protect. I can’t change what I’ve done all I can change is what I will try to do in the future.

I know that it’s not as simple as “letting it go.” Because emotions like mine are not something you can just switch off and on. Because the very words “let it go” to me, demand an instant reaction. As in, don't be mad. Just be happy. Whereas, it’s not always that simple I suppose.

It creates a black and white ideal and this stigma that there’s something completely wrong with me because I can’t just “let it go.” It’s not ever about being mad, mad I always can just switch of, it’s hurt that takes a bit more processing for me.

Chasing Pavements

I’m feeling the urge to run again. And maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic when I say that life seems to hit me hard when it hits me.

Arizona this summer was a bust. There were good parts to it, but mostly it was a bust. And everyone knew it would be the collapse of my relationship except m. Because being away from Daniel made me realize the things I missed about him. It renewed my sense of need for him in my life and the things we did together.

My grandma’s house being sold was a major blow for me. Watching pieces of her stuff be carted off to different people’s homes or even walking through the hallowed existence of a place I called home for so many years broke me. It hurts me now. It feels like closing her estate meant the closing of my family, everyone can say that I haven’t lost them, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like they’re gone from me too. My family is broken, and while it always has been I feel like even more so now. I feel detached from my siblings and worlds away because I chose to leave Arizona.

So, this whole “Jenn having a nervous breakdown.” is not because Daniel left me, but it is part of my fear of abandonment.

I fucking hate my mom. It’s easy for me to say that, but it hurts just the same. I know that she gave me life and I should appreciate it, but she only gave birth to me, she did not provide me with a life any one should have to endure. So, yeah, I have a chip on my shoulder. And my fear of abandonment is her fault. My need to run every few months because she wouldn't let us go to people who could actually care for us and provide us with stability. But no, instead kept us so she could maintain a government check... but provided the most unstable living, constantly moving.

The first time I actually completed one whole grade in the same school was in 4th grade, between Kindergarten and 3rd grade I don’t know how many schools I attended, but I know it was a lot.

And then she has the nerve to ask me to go out to lunch or dinner with her while I was in Arizona. Why would I want anything to do with her? But still it hurt for me to tell her I couldn’t have a relationship with her, because my heart so desperately wants a mother...but I know it’s just always going to be about her, and she'll break my heart again, just like she did every weekend when I was a child. She broke my heart every time she did drugs and every time she picked alcohol over us. The time she just moved to Las Vegas while we stayed at our grandma's for the weekend.
So my ability to cope with a relationship break up has seemingly been escalated because my heart just feels abandoned and all of these painful memories and hurts seem to come into the light. Memories I thought I’d extinguished. Things I thought I had overcame.

I came home to emptiness and particularly a couple losses, friendships and otherwise and I tried like hell to find something to refocus my attention. So I picked school, and I found out I’m about 3 semesters behind in school, which in the long run doesn’t seem like much, but when you’re in the position I am, it’s a lot.
I have very few friends here and when I attempt to make friends I just end up feeling like a fucking third wheel or desperate case. I fear talking because I’m just another basket case with issues. I feel like I’m placing the burden of my sadness on other people.

It takes away my breath and leaves pieces of me fragmented and lost.

And I'm in love with a guy that logically my brain says "Let it go" but my heart can't. My heart hurts, every fucking love song makes me cry, every break up song makes my heart ache, and everyone around me seems to be so happy in love and I'm here like... "I’m sorry that I'm sad, I just hurt” or I fake happiness so I don't make them feel bad because I feel bad.

And I feel like everyone is just waiting for me to fail. Like I have to keep treading this water because everyone expects me to be strong and push forward because I always have. Like a cat, I always seem to land on my feet.
I’m too sad to land on my feet. I’m too heartbroken to stay afloat. I’m too tired of fighting and I can’t figure out how move forward.

I’m stuck and I want to run from safety.

"Should I give up, Or should I just keep chasin' pavements even if it leads nowhere..."

You don't really care for music do yah?

One of my first boyfriends introduced me to a lot of fantastic music. I remember nights we'd fall asleep on his sister's couch or his bed listening to a play list he created and I used to wake up specifically to two separate songs, but I wasn't completely sure what they were. I just know it was always the same similar sound and cords every time. But I remember I would open my eyes and then snuggle close to him. I felt calm and safe in those moments, probably the calmest I'd ever felt in my life.

This was almost 8 years ago.

About a year ago, I was driving and a song came on the radio and I felt this wave of calm flood over me and I cried. It was a particularly stressful week and my body was in knots, so to have this emotion flood was really interesting.

It wasn't until much later that I realized that the song that I became obsessed with during the next few months was actually one of the songs that I woke up to when I was with David.

Even now I hear it and I feel a sense of calm wash over me. It's one of those moments in my relationship that even though that relationship has ended and it hurt.

I truly love to relive the moment, if only to feel the breath of calm.

Somebody that I used to know...

Did my favorite song for the months of March-July really just become my reality? I think so.

Let go Jennifer. Let Go.

“But you didn’t have to cut me off, make out like it never happened and that we were nothing. I don’t even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough…now you’re just somebody that I used to know… ”

I keep building up hope, I keep holding on. I need to stop. I need to stop holding on to this idealism. This romanticism that my life will be like a movie, which he’ll discover we need to be together. No one will be with me as long as I am where I am. No one. Not him, not anyone.

Self-talk: I need to get rid of those who objectify me. Have some fucking respect for yourself! We are all better than someone who constantly objectifies you.

Do not become a victim.

Choose life.

Choose better.

I deserve it.

I need it.

I can have it.

Why is this so hard for me to actually do? I know what I need to do, but I can’t do it. Emotionally my brain just shuts down all logic. I do not want to be bitter or resentful, I want to be happy.

I juts don’t want to feel like someone discarded.

Unpretty

I’m extremely upset by the prospect of spending my birthday in class and then alone. I want to do something, to forget about how I feel. But I can’t even to begin to think of what to do. I try to do things with co-workers but then I just feel like I’m this desperate girl.

I am desperate. I’m desperate for friends, for human interaction. I’m desperate to escape this feeling of utter and complete loneliness. I’m desperate to get away from this loss and these tears. I feel like I’m losing touch and falling apart. I’m trying so hard to appear to be adjusted, but I’m so incredibly misplaced and hopeless right now. I do not know how to get past this feeling.

I don’t know how to stop thinking about the “what ifs” What if I was beautiful, what if I was thin. What if I wasn’t me? Maybe then I wouldn’t be so easy to dismiss. Today is a sad night for me, despite having dinner with family and friends of the family, I feel so detached from everyone. A broken soggy puzzle piece with nowhere to fit.

Something missing

Honestly? I’m so exhausted. I was about to pull up a word document to type something out to Daniel, because I’m feeling things right now. But then I remembered the promise to myself to do 30 days of writing. I wanted to tell him how badly I miss him. How much I just want to talk to him about daily things again. And I’ve attempted via text, but I can tell he’s not ready to forgive me for real. He’s appeased me for the time saying he does, but I know he’s not ready for the friendship.

I just desperately want one of my best friends back. It’s true, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I feel like to him, my absence is a blessing rather than misery. I think that hurts me to think that my absence is not missed. I strive so desperately to have someone to love me, no matter who it is. I want to be someone who is missed. It’s the certain amount of acceptance that I crave. I hate that it’s an emotional scare I have. But who doesn’t want to be wanted or missed? The problem is the amount of importance I place on it.

Years back when I was 19 and overly troubled I used to listen to this Evanescence song, “Missing.” I remember I used to lie lifelessly on the floor with headphones in listening to this song and feeling this gaping hole in my chest. When thoughts of suicide would run rampant through my mind, this song played.

“Please, please, forgive me, but I won't be home again. Maybe someday you'll look up and barely conscious, you'll say to no one "Isn't something missing?? You won't cry for my absence, I know, you forgot me long ago. Am I that unimportant? Am I so insignificant? Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me?”

It’s chilling to know I was at that point in my life. It’s chilling to know that at one point I’d made an honest attempt at escaping my own misery. I’m glad I wasn’t successful today and it renewed a sense of purpose I felt for life, but it was dark times for me. It’s not just with a romantic interest but in everyday life as well. I am a terribly broken person who has terribly high standards.

“Even though I'm the sacrifice you won't try for me, not now. Though I'd die to know you love me, I'm all alone. Isn't someone missing me? And if I bleed, I'll bleed knowing you don't care. And if I sleep just to dream of you, I'll wake without you there. Isn't something missing?”

Its dark times for me now, but I feel like I have enough light that I can't blow the flame out. And for that, I am grateful.

To the moon and back

I had my first home cooked meal today.

First real meal since being home that wasn’t store bought but made by hand of fresh ingredients. It was delicious, and it reminded me of Daniel. I really hate that simple things in my life like a home cooked meal now remind me of him. It was nice thoughts, but the chair beside me was empty and I had no one to give my fatty pieces of meat. It just sucks.

I wish I could turn back time and not have gone to Arizona for the whole summer. But I did and that won’t change. I have to work and focus on the future and stop tripping over my past. It's a difficult idea for me because I live with such regret. I need to stop regretting the things of my past and make better choices. But that's always easier said than done. And some days, I just don’t want to wake up.

I wanna push you around, well I will, I will

I wonder if I will ever get passed having to hurt those who hurt me and I wonder why I feel the need to do it. I know there are root causes to certain behaviors that I have, but I can’t seem to understand the need to hurt. It’s this bitterness in me that makes me rethink how good of a person I truly am. It’s this constant struggle of Jekyll and Hyde within me, as cliché as that sounds.

Dreaming with a broken heart

"When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part. You roll outta bed and down on your knees, And for the moment you can hardly breathe..."

I don’t want to feel emotions about this break up anymore. It was different when I was in Arizona… It was easier to ignore and think… He’ll be there when I get home. This is not real, just another fight. I tried to justify it to my logical side. “We’re both two different people on two different paths.”

When I got home, I immediately slumped into a depression, a deep one. I tried to justify the reasons it was good that we broke up. But I couldn’t justify them completely to avoid the depression. To avoid the pain I felt. I couldn’t find it inside of me to hate him, but instead wanted him back. I saw him doing everything I wanted him to do while we were together. We talked, he seemed finally like he had a grip of things and I argued that there were many factors against us, why shouldn’t we have another chance, a good chance where we can actually date and not be attached at each others' hips instantly.

But he wasn’t sure. And eventually it just all exploded and I was left in carnage of my own stupidity. But anger had swelled and I was able to get past the sad. And then I got to the part where I feel numb, or as numb as I can be while realizing that I can’t just lie in bed and sleep all day. The show must go on.

So now my emotions are manifesting themselves in my dreams. I spend the entire day free from though only to be confronted in my dreams. It’s exhausting to wake up in tears or as if I have been crying for hours. My body aches. My heart aches. I’m tired of waking up this way. I’m pissed off that I normally don’t remember dreams and if I do they are violent. And now, I’m dreaming and I’m sad. I am so sad that I cry in my sleep. I’m so sad that I’m waking up with swollen eye sockets and a headache. I’m tired of it. I don’t really know how to process any of these emotions and I feel like if I still love him, I must be crazy or ridiculous. So I try to pretend I don’t.

But in the end, I still do.

I know with time, it will be better; in the meantime I am having trouble confronting my emotions and even sorting through them. I feel like I should be angry and hate him, but I can’t. Even lame attempts at talking poorly about him don’t seem to help.

Why do I have to go through this?

But believe me, I'm not helpless

"I feel like a loser, I feel like I'm lost. I feel like I'm not sure if I feel anything at all. But believe me, I'm not helpless, I just need someone to love. So my situation's rough. That just makes me a dumb human, like you"

I had a rough day yesterday. And by rough I mean after I finished reading most of a depressingly sad but inspiring book, I slept.

I slept for 12 hours. The day before, I slept for 12 hours. And the day before that, I slept for 12 hours. All day time hours.

I recognize that I am lonely, and I recognize what's going on, but I can't seem to make myself move. I can't seem to make myself go out and enjoy the life going on about me. I just hide myself in the basement, clicking endless links for hours, reading depressing books and sleeping.

I keep thinking that eventually I'll be done feeling this way and ready to come out of the dark. And I'm rather conflicted in my feelings as I feel like I'm a worth while person, but I can't even get myself to eat properly and get out.

A temporary escape. It's not permanent and I know it will eventually pass, but in the mean time, I'd just like to sleep.

She comes and goes like no one cares

My insecurities come out the most when I fail at something. I start struggling with everything I’ve done wrong in my life. I start looking at myself without confidence. I start hurting and I beg for attention but also push it away.

Leaving Arizona is the end of many things. I’m going home to a boyfriend-less living space. I’m going home to a cold and quite bed.

I’m going home to start a new chapter in my life. And I feel like at this point in my life there are already so many “new chapters” in my book. There are so many mess-ups and so many learning experiences.

I know everyone “matures” in their own time, and no ones book is written the same, but I’m growing impatient waiting for maturity to hit. I’m growing impatient with restarting constantly. My batteries run only for a short time before I need to recharge, re focus and reorganize again. I’m growing impatient with my own wild heart and myself.

Heavy Heart

My heart is heavy for two reasons today.

1st: My grandmother’s last house sold and her estate will be closed and everything is final. It felt like as long as we held on to these things she was still alive and still here, this closing is too final. It a re-opened wound and it hurts very much because she was the women who raised me.

2nd: The boyfriend and I came to a decision of a mutual split. Neither of us were very compatible and while it’s what’s best for both of us, my heart still hurts. You don’t spend 2.5 years with someone and not have emotions tied into it. And he will be moving out this weekend. I haven’t seen him in over two months and it hurts me to know that when I go home, I will truly be alone again. It’s going to be a rough climb for me with my schooling this year and this blow.

But for tonight, I let my heart ache and I let the tears flow.

Chasing Cars

Sometimes you find that memories are too hard to escape, even the good ones. But then, why would anyone want to escape the good memories?

Driving around Tucson again, I’ve had an opportunity to see the world I once knew. The life I had. And when you get down to it and start thinking about things in terms of relativity, one simple thing really can change the path you’re on.

There are moments in my life that I recall, moments that changed the course I lived. That random message from a stranger opened up my heart in a way I never thought I’d ever have the chance to do.

One simple message.

I’m no stranger to heartache, but this town seems to almost swallow me in it. And maybe that’s what truly pushes me away from the place I call home and makes me unable to fathom the idea of ever calling this place my own again. For now, it’s a memory. One that haunts me and one that makes me recall every delicious detail of my youth.

My return is not about getting away from what I have now, but rather returning to what I once knew and trying to find an answer and resolution to the heartache that is Tucson to me. I need to find my peace of mind, as silly as that may be.

I try hard to understand how I think and feel. To gather where my emotions stem from so that I may look at them more subjectively, the way I feel is certainly not an accident.

Maybe some of my life I’ve just been a victim of circumstance, but why have I always felt like I could have changed the outcomes?

When I went to my grandmother’s home the other day it hurt, because I could no longer feel her presence. The house was bare, and lacked anything of any redeeming value. It was a skeleton of a life I once knew and a life I once fought. The echoes of my voice chilled my spine in a final realization of all that is gone. How do I find real closure and acceptance that I can’t just pick up the phone and ask her how to make Speedy Fruit pie? And how do I let go of the wrongs I’ve ever done? I always wonder if I’ll ever be able to make up for the things I’ve done. It’s hard for me to even articulate how badly I want to hear that I am enough, that I’ve finally made it past the rocky storm. I can’t seem to truly let go, and I wonder if that’s truly what’s keeping me from stepping forward.

I do not know what to think, I just know that the blow of the desert wind makes me feel alive, the cry of a morning dove can bring me to tears and the smell of the creosote bush crawls beneath my skin to make me feel my losses. It’s a bitter sweet feeling, one that continues to seep into my mind and leave me wondering where to go from where I’ve been. It’s hard to forget the past when one split second decision can truly change your future.

Life is always full of choices and somehow I believe that leaving Tucson was the best choice I could ever make.

But I still wonder what if I hadn’t?

"I need your grace to remind me to find my own.."

Where can we go from here?

The problem, so to speak that I have with Tucson is that everywhere I drive has a memory attached to it. And while most of them are good memories, I can’t help but be sad about the things that are long gone and will never be in my grasp again.

Friendships faded, people married, children where born and we call some how managed to grow up and apart. So much for promising each other it’s till the end? It’s not all bad but some how my mind things that once I’m here, it will return to the things we used to do. The late nights, the driving randomly and the carefree attitudes we all once had.

We’ve all got responsibilities now and Tucson has become a ghost town of my past.

Get Back (The Beatles)

Today marks the month countdown until I take a massive road trip across country to spend the summer in Arizona. Yeah, the state I fought so hard to leave, I’m crawling back to for the summer. That’s right, I’m leaving the state of Michigan, where summer temps rarely peek 95, and its sunshine and long days to spend my summer in Hell. 100+ temperatures all the time… so what exactly am I thinking?

First of all, let’s talk about what I’ve been up to? Working, school, and running on empty in the scholastic department. I’m getting restless and I’m getting antsy. I’m also getting ready to quit. So, I need a break, a step back from the regular life stress. I also, more importantly need my friends. It’s not enough to have them a phone call away. I need the physical distraction to help refuel myself. There are more excuses I could go into, but really I just need the break and I miss my family. Put two and two together, and I’m Arizona bound.

But, don’t think this is just a vacation as I thoroughly intend to get a job, work the summer, do some more exploring, and get tan. I’ve become a weird shade of white that I’m not entirely used to nor do I want it. I want to swim as much as humanly possible. And take photos. Also, I miss good Mexican food.

So, Arizona, my camera and I will see you soon.

The Kids are Alright

I haven't written in a bit and I suppose this is a complete cop out for writing, but here it is anyway. I had to write a story for my creative writing class so I decided that this was going to my by entry. It's a bit long. Some of it is made up, some of it is stolen from real life events. Names, events, places and all that jazz are not necessarily the same. Any relation to real events is probably coincidental. Maybe. I also stole the title from a movie that was released recently. It needed to be done, not everything I do can be that creative.


One time when I was seven-years-old I explained to the doctor how to inject heroin into your arm while he was taking blood from my arm. I learned that from my mother. It was just a routine checkup while spending the summer with my grandmother.

Shortly after that, my brother explained to an audience of great aunts and uncles how to roll a joint, detailing the exact precision it takes to truly make a good one. How you have to roll it tight. He learned that from my dad.

I imagine most parents’ worry about whether their children will repeat the occasional “shit” or “damn it” that escaped their mouths in a bout of frustration. But that’s thing about children; you really have to watch what you do around them don’t you? And even more so if you’re the kind of child I was, who thought everyone was a friend.

For show-and-tell when I was eight, I told people about the Kleenex boxes and cake. It seemed normal for me, but I was pulled into the counseling office and my mother was called.

I didn’t understand the problem with the fact that when Daddy wasn’t medicated it made him do strange things. Strange things like wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet for shoes and bringing me a birthday cake six months shy of my real birthday. Or the fact that one time to prevent my mother from driving he removed one of his own molars and shoved it into the ignition of our Datsun, but it was okay, because “They told him she shouldn’t leave.” And who were the “voices” anyway?

Schizophrenia and weed will do that to you though, people never realize that’s the number one reason schizophrenics fall off their rockers. Weed. They never care either, because they think the only hazard they’ll be is to a cake.

I know it’s actually quite awful when you look at it, horrifying even. But it was my childhood and every now and then it makes for some good stories. I suppose beauty of my childhood was that I was blissfully unaware. I didn’t fully grasp the horror of each of these stories until was much older. It was like how I watched Dirty Dancing every day for a year when I was 5-years-old. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that it actually clicked what the movie was about. It was literally an “Ohhhhhhh” sort of moment for me.

And then there was the day that Scottie died.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It was a normal Friday for us, my siblings and I. We were at home and my mom was rushing about organizing things for when her friends would arrive. I was excited because I loved when her friends came over. It meant I could steal sips of beer, eat all the candy I wanted and stay up late. When her friends came over, mom didn’t care what we did as long as we stayed out of her hair. But mostly, I was excited because Scottie was coming over.

Scottie was my favorite of her friends. He was tall with sandy blonde hair and a mustache that ticked my nose when we he would pick me up and kiss my forehead. He was cute and he paid special attention to me. I even changed the name of my Ken doll to Scottie.

While most of moms friends would say hello then ignore me for their poison of choice, he let me sit in his lap while he drank and passed a joint around laughing and telling jokes. I loved sitting with Scottie. It made me feel special, but he also made me feel safe.

Sometimes I would ham it up in front of my mom’s friends and tell silly jokes. And they lapped up the sarcasm I had even at a young age. Being around the adults, while my siblings preferred to find solitude in our bedrooms watching ET or other cartoons gave me the center of attention most times.

This Friday was no different. I would crack jokes and ping pong between the kitchen and people gathering a beer for a quarter tip. It made me feel important and also, the drunker they got, the higher the tips became. Sometimes I’d end a night having collected twenty or more dollars. Which is a lot to a 6-year-old. It wasn’t long before the sounds of AC/DC, Poison, KISS and other 80’s hair bands filled the air and they were all sunken into their grooves.

Then out came the mirrors, the spoons, and razors and rolled up bills. This is when I would get pushed upstairs and tucked into bed. Scottie would always volunteer to take me to bed. He’s warm and funny. He makes me laugh. He also smells like beer and cigarettes. He tells me a story about a princess in a tower and a knight in shiny armor. I imagine I’m the princess and he’s the knight. And then he calls me sweetie and then tucks me into bed. “Goodnight Princess.” He says as he turns out the lights.

I smile as he leaves but I’m angry that I’m too young to stay up even later because I just know theirs something exciting going on downstairs and I’m up in my room missing it all.

Most nights I listen late into the night to their hushed voices. Their stories about how the world is spinning and other euphoric feelings. I can’t wait until I’m older and can try the spoon trick too.

Tonight the music is so loud I can feel the beat in my mattress, it lulls me into a deep slumber. To this day, I can be at a Mega Death concert and fall asleep. Loud music and metal has a lullaby effect on me, which people always find strange.

When I wake the next morning the house is still and in my Rainbow Bright nightgown, I carefully descend the stairs. Scottie is on the couch and other bodies are scattered around the living room. I skillfully maneuver around each of them into the kitchen pretending they’re lava before I pour myself a bowl of cereal. On the way back, I weave through the bodies before I climb on the couch next to Scottie and sit behind his bent knees. I turn the TV on low and watch Saturday morning cartoons. This is how I have my breakfast.

Most weekend mornings are like this. We make ourselves breakfast, lunch and dinner while mom sleeps through the weekend because she doesn’t feel good. My siblings and I are used to it and so weekends usually consist of Mayo sandwich’s, which is literally just mayo and bread, Cereal and on occasion Mac and Cheese if my older brother feels up to it, he’s nine.

We watch a lot of TV and try not to get into too much trouble. I’m the one that usually cause the most mischief because it’s hard for me to sit still and I get bored easily, especially if they wont let me watch Dirty Dancing and we’re forced to watch The Goonies or ET. I hate both of those movies and I just want to dance.

Every so often, someone will shift and grumble before getting up. They’ll croak a hello; pat me on the head and quietly slip out the door. This continues for a few hours until its only Scottie and me in the living room. I desperately want him to wake up, because he’ll watch Woody Woodpecker with me, and I’ll laugh just like the bird to get Scottie to smile.

And then I realize that there is no movement coming from Scottie and I’m horrified. I scream and then run upstairs screaming, “MOM! MOM! SCOTTIE’S DEAD!”

When I get to her room, she’s jolted awake, her eyes are wild and she seems confused. I take a deep breath and say it again as tears start to form in my eyes.

“Scottie is dead. He’s not moving at all! I don’t think he can breathe either!” I rush to her and shake her. “C’mon lets go!”

I sprint to the door and flee to the bottom of the stairs with my mom following at my heels. I run to the bowl near the TV as she begins to violently shake Scottie on the couch begging him to wake up. Her words are frantic.

“Scottie! Wake Up! WAKE UP!” She gives him a hard shake and he gives a cough.

“What? I’m awake. What is the matter?” He croaks.

I turn with the bowl in my hands and look at them, she’s hugging him, crying and he looks bewildered as he strokes her hair and tries to calm her. I stare at them mad that they aren’t focused at the crisis at hand.

“Mom, Scotties dead! Look! He’s just floating at the top! What are we going to do?” I sob as her eyes finally turn back to me.

“Jesus Christ,” she shouts, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” She seems relieved as I clutch the bowl with my now dead fish in it and begin to cry violently, causing the water to slosh from the bowl.

“But he’s dead” I manage to whimper.

The Animal Song

I've been having difficulties keeping to myself
Feelings and emotions better left up on the shelf
Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie
Which one is more human There's a thought, now you decide - Savage Garden (The Animal Song)

Today I got reprimanded verbally by a co-worker because I said that I didn’t pay attention to politics. She basically told me that because people like me didn’t pay attention to politics and fight back we’re going to be in a position where women are going to be back in the kitchen and not in the work place. That we’re going to lose our rights (as women.)

I didn't respond to her because I'm not going to play the game where you verbally abuse someone because you think it will gain you some kind of power over them. I declined to comment at the time.

I don’t pay attention to politics because I find that both side have valid points and often we get issues wrapped up in such political bullshit and propaganda that it’s just venom spit back and forth. I’d rather not partake in this type of behavior. I believe that there are no facts anymore, its just one sided opinionated bias. The only way to figure things out is to think for yourself. More often than not I see people from all ends of the political spectrum regurgitating the same propaganda bullshit they heard on their station of choice. I do not do this. I’ll learn the issues and make my own educated opinion on the matter.

So, no I don’t keep up with politics because I can’t stand the political slander that goes on. If that’s the sort of thing you’re into, good for you. But people “like me” will not be responsible for the downfall of women because we choose to not participate in the war of words.

*drops mic*

Would you like to make a run for it, would you like to take my hand, yeah.. - Savage Garden (The Animal Song)

Fix You

Here’s something I haven’t done in a while.

I haven’t felt much like sharing any of the things going on in my life. Mostly, I’ve just been trying to keep my head above water. I’ve been more proactive in making sure I pay attention to the things I need to do and not let the focus of my goals and needs get lost in the shuffle.

After I came back from Chicago for the Waukegan family Christmas party, I fell into somewhat of a depression-induced stupor. Which is weird considering I also came back feeling a little more complete. I met family on my dad side that had always been this missing blacked out area of my life. But that is for another blog, I'm sure.

Mostly my depression was job related, so I called in and then eventually, I stopped calling in at all. It didn’t take long for that job to fire me on the account of a no call no show, but it wasn’t something that caused me to stress. It was actually more of a relief. I felt a weight off my shoulder and figured that it wouldn’t take me long to bounce back.

It didn’t.

In fact, the day I actively decided to quit my job, I went in for an interview and landed the job on the spot. Sure it’s part time. Sure it’s paying me less than nothing. It’s a job that makes me feel good. The people I work with are pretty fantastic and its right in the same line of what I’d love to do for a living. I work in the disabilities office on campus for the community college, it’s a work-study position, but I was so grateful it fell into my lap. Some of the students that come through are some of the most amazing people I’ve met. Some make my heart bleed for their disabilities. But mostly, they make me feel like I'm doing something right.

I’m happy doing what I do, working with the people I work with, but I feel like there is still something missing.

I joke that Coldplay is horrible, but the reality is, I enjoy them very much. Specifically I have an extreme fondness for the song Fix You. It seems to have a hold on my heart. It's so beautifully sung that anytime I hear it, it makes me want to cry. I’m a sucker for crying for reasons that aren’t me being emotionally unhinged.

I watch TV shows for their ability to make me cry. I’m addicted to feeling emotions, and usually I feel too much.

I digress.

This song represents me so much in my interactions with the people I allow in my life. I have this need to fix those who are “broken.” To help someone not experience things I have. The need to “fix” is the driving factor behind my wanting to get into Special Education, not that I want to fix these children, but rather that I want to fix the relationship and create a better understanding and bridge for them. The Fix-You factor makes me want to get into social work and counseling. It pushes me towards a community service field.

"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones... And I will try, to fix you"

What I’m saying is, you know how I know I’m “gay?”

Because I totally listen to Coldplay.



And yes, I have been on a bit of a Glee music kick.