Fragmented Like Stained Glass.

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Fragmented Like Stained Glass.

Fragmented, she spread her wings, 
displaying beauty within her wounds.
Catching the Sun through framed and brittle 
segments strung together like stained glass,
telling a story.
Her story, 

told through veins and sinew, holding
her together better than promises and hopes.
Albeit,  fragility still noticed. 

But it doesn’t stop her. Oh no, 
that aged butterfly with torn tissue paper wings,
She is not easily stopped. Oh no, 
Stopping is admits defeat.

Defeat is not an option. Displaying
battles scars like badges of honor, 
She learns to maneuver from rock
to flower to shit.  Crippled, 
from surface to soul, she still shows
the rainbow through her stained glass
wings.

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know.”

I had an amazing counseling visit today. I walked out feeling pretty good about myself. I do not have the air of burden, stress and mental exhaustion as I usually do. There were just a few things that were said tonight that made me feel really good about myself. It’s great to be heard, and observed, by someone who does not know me, relay to me her view of who I am. I feel validated.

The one comment she made that resonated the most with me, “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know.” How bloody true is this? Seriously. When a person comes from the chaotic, negative childhood that I have it is no wonder that I got involved with the partners in my life that I have. They’re the demons that I am familiar with.

There are many times I have stated, “I can understand why women go back to their abuser.” This does not mean that I WILL or that I AM, going back. It simply  means that it is far easier for me to deal with the demons I am all too familiar with than trying to learn the dance with any new devil trying to feed on my vulnerabilities.

I have come to an impasse where I have decided I want to stay sensitive and compassionate without being vulnerable or a victim; prey. I need to learn to regulate emotions in the moment. I need to learn to stop, listen to the fallacy I am telling myself, weigh out the reality and react accordingly. The best part of all of this, is that I am at that point in my life where I want to. I am that point in my life where I could do one of three things:
A. Become my mother, self medicate, drink myself retarded, cause fights and push everyone around me away so I will eventually die alone.
B. Realize the reality of what is going on inside of me, and how it is effecting my life externally and internally, and seek guidance to help recognize and regulate all of this.
C. Be completely depressed, numb and suicidal.

Well, option A is No Bueno. I do not want to become my mother. I do not want to die alone, with my child hating me to my grave. I do not want to drink and use that as an avenue to create chaos and blame the drink. I’m stand behind communication and accountability.

Option C is not an option either. As much as I have contemplated suicide over the last two years, and even in the hospital last July for a 6 hour suicide watch, I know that this is NOT an option. I have too much inside me fighting to survive. My passion, my heart, my soul is fighting those demons in my head telling me I suck and death would be easier. I have a fighter in me. It’s about damned time I embrace and thank her.

Option B is best. I can do this. I want to do this. I am at that juncture where I am able to do this. I think the path laid out before me is meant to be cohesive so that I can complete my inner workings. I’m working part time. I have minimal responsibilities. I can pay my debt down and work with counselors to heal my insides.

This, after raising my son, is by far my biggest adventure yet.

And finally, an observation about myself. I need to stop justifying with, “I’m just trying to…” I just want to…”
The word “just” needs to be removed from my vocabulary. I need to stop prefacing anything I might feel will hurt the other person with, “I just..” to me it is no different than, “Just kidding.”
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Tiny House

Tiny House

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
Tell the World I’m coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home, I’m coming home
Tell the World that I’m coming
~Diddy “I’m Coming Home”

I am resurrecting an older blog I did. The sentiment is still the same, but the drive is completely different. I am now focusing solely and me and repairing me; from the inner child who is so incredibly wounded to the fragile adult who jumps at everything. I want to make my dream come true. Right now my dream is to own a little tiny plot of land with a tiny house on it.   I would extend the bathroom for a nice soaker, deep claw foot style tub. I don’t need much on the inside, a place to sleep, work, rest my bones in a soaking tub.. you get the idea. It would definitely need shelving built into the walls. I need a good library and area to put my dwarves. I want a wood stove.
Closet Storage in Staircase to Loft!  What a great use of space for apartment or a Tiny house!

I want a covered porch. So that I can sit watching the sun rise and fall. I want to take photos of the nature growing around me. I want an area to paint. Eventually, I would like to have a small room for pottery and a kiln.

Outside, I want a little bit more. I want a nice sized simple yard, so that my pug can run free. Along the porch I want flower boxes with orange poppies, yellow daisies, and red poppies. I want to build a great veggie garden. I want to build a wonderful, natural herb garden. So, this is my desire.

On my land, I would want enough space to fence off and have rescue pugs.

This is my effort I’m putting out there. I am going to start looking into purchase, locations, etc.

This is my pinterest for my Tiny House of Dreams

Not your fetish.

Realistically, I know I’ll never get below 180-200. I come from big people. My mother lost a ton of weight a while back, has since gained it back, but she lost 200+ lbs. She got down to about 160 and plateaued. It’s our body, shape, bone structure. It is our heredity.

I went from 363 down to 298 just after I left my ex-husband in 2011. I got back up to 340 over the last two years as I tried to survive through this past relationship. The only thing I could control was my eating and intake. Even if it was comfort food, I could control it.

I’m sitting at 340. This is who I am. I also hate the fact that for me to find real, genuine, simple love I have to fit into a “perfect package”.

 

I hate it.
I hate the way my body looks and reacts to things.
I hate looks I get from other women, like I’m a disappointment to the female gender as a whole.
I hate judgement from outsiders.
I hate that men think I’m a fetish.
Or that my fat body is perceived in others that I must be easy and desperate.
Or that my fat body means I will settle, that all I’m worth is abuse, neglect, hurt, hate, anger.

I am not your affair. I am not your secret. I am worth so much fucking more than that. Do not contact me, ever, if you’re married and looking to get your rocks off. Roll over, stroke your wife at night… THAT’S WHY YOU MARRIED HER.

Don’t contact me if you’re playing a bunch of women, off / on, during the same duration of time; especially if there’s a small chance these woman are going to communicate with one another. Don’t get all defensive if you’re called out on it, as you have been in the past. Don’t blame your victims either. Your exes did not intentionally hurt you, they’re just fed up with the shit you’ve put them through.This is tonight conversation with a dude I haven’t talked to in years. We initially met in high school, twenty years ago. We never talked. We were never friends. We were just friends of friends. He added me on Facebook a bit ago and proceeded to message me off and on. He was always complimenting me, but it always felt “off” to me. In this new era of me, I’m learning to trust it a bit more. I confronted him with it after this:

AB: Okay I think I’m stalking you?!!!
Me: Why? o.O ???
AB: I got on Facebook and I was thinking of you
Me: I have to ask, for a man who’s married, with kids, why would you be thinking of me? Or make comments about my beauty, etc?
AB: Is this for your book or personal experience?….
Me: It’s for my own curiosity.
AB: I think you’re beautiful because I know you
Me: I’m just confused as to why a married man would discuss their attraction with another woman online. You have a wife. This doesn’t make me feel good, in fact, it makes me feel awkward. I’m not that kind of woman. Nor do I want to be.
AB: Yes I am married. There should be no confusion I think your beautiful, yet I tell you so and you feel uncomfortable.
OTHER CONVERSATION STARTERS FROM HIM:
AB: Hello my little hottie friend from the east!
AB: What are you thinking about right now and don’t lie?
AB: I am very intrigued! I’ve always found you beautiful, I find you more attractive that your native!

First off creeper…starting a conversation with someone “I’m stalking you” knowing all the abuse and stalking shit she’s gone through the last few months is NOT a good thing. In fact, it waves a huge red flag. 

I AM WORTH MORE THAN BEING YOUR WHORE.

Just some memes, thoughts n things.

I’ve never really advocated on for myself, put out there what I really want. In the end, I always catered to whomever I was with, friends, family and lovers alike. I have always tried not to rock the boat, because of fear for myself, fear of failure, fear of being unwanted or not worthy enough. 

Well, forget that. I’m coming to, coming through and coming to realize that those were just fantasies fed to me by a mentally unstable mother. I am worthy. I do not have to settle. I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my life to firmly grasp that idea, I will continue to repeat it to myself over and over again.

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Earthen Girl Embodiment

I wanted to share this. We had to do a collage in our D.V. group. The first collage represents what we think we are on the outside. How people “see” us. The second collage is “who we are” on the inside and what we want to embody.

1st Collage:
Once upon a time, there was a broken and bloodied girl who confused sex and love. She feels she is constantly trying to defend herself and her right to be breathing on this planet. Through her struggles she found she was going through a lot of ups and downs. She thinks people see her as a real life slumdog.

Internal Collage 2

2nd Collage:
What I love about me: There is this woman who is a hippy, earthen girl who is rather geeky with glasses. She’s a big girl, in a skinny world. But she says “fuck it” and eats her cupcakes anyways. She reads a lot of books and agrees a lot with Gandhi’s teachings. Her name starts with an R and she collects stars. Overall, she is learning that smart is beautiful.

Internal Collage

Anger… justified.

After going out last night and “living” a little without fear of ridicule or belittlement, I woke up today angry. ANGRY of what has taken place over the last two years. ANGRY at myself for allowing it. ANGRY at him for causing it. ANGRY at my past for enabling it. ANGRY at my predisposition. 

ANGRY

     ANGRY
           ANGRY.

:: stamps feet :: blows steam ::

Now, in the natural healing that takes place in humans, anger is just a step. Unfortunately, for most of my life, I get stuck on the “anger” step. This will truly be a lesson in how to learn and grow. I refuse to get stuck on the angry hurt like I have my whole life.

I am not angry where I’m lashing out and need to calm down. I just have this internal burn. I am reading, A LOT. Especially the workbook and handouts from domestic violence group. I have like 7 books I’m reading. I need to learn to properly release and let go. Not to dwell on it. Not to hold that shit in…. for DECADES.

Guidance and suggestions encouraged.