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Like a bowl full of jelly…

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It’s been a long, long while since I’ve blogged. I’ve had quite a few flowing in and through my conscious mind, but I have lacked the drive to make them come to fruition. But this morning, I felt that a healing, cathartic blog was due.

Running late today, I pulled into my coffee stand, placed my order, and waited. It’s Monday morning, and I’m not fully with it yet, physically anyways. Mentally, however, I’m steamrolling through thoughts.

The barista came back with my cup o’ heaven, she made a joke and I laughed; full belly, from the soul laugh. This laugh stopped my steamrolling thoughts instantly, like I ran into a brick wall. The realization hit me with a force that both warmed me and saddened me.

I am my mother’s daughter. 

I fought this thought for many years; fought it harder than Ali fought and knocked out Foreman in 1974. I never wanted to become my mom. There were so many ways she carried herself that I disagreed with, from her drinking to how she hated herself so much that drove her to drinking. It wasn’t until I went through domestic violence that I finally realized all of her wonderful qualities too.

I am my mother’s daughter.

I may not carry the same traits as her, but I do mirror a lot of who she is. This blog is about recognizing and accepting that I carry a lot of her within me.

My looks: I am similar in size. My hair is the same flyaway texture, with the same streaks of grey at the temples. I have the same eyes, mouth, and nose. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, even if she can’t stand how she looks. Fat or thin, she’s always been beautiful in a young daughter’s eyes.

My personality: We have the same laugh. The exact same laugh; except that I tend to snort lol. Our laugh has always been fully, deeply, authentic. It’s the kind of laugh where you cackle and your whole body gets into it. There’s no little laugh with us, it’s always been “Go big, or go home.” It’s something I’ve always loved about her. I never realized until today, when I heard my laugh at the drive thru window, that I harness that power as well.  

Humor, which rides alongside laughing, we have the same quick wit, dry deliverance sense of humor.

We also have similar intellect. Although hers is very mathematical minded, we both have the ability to communicate and debate with an intellectual side. She taught me from a young age to look up words, be friends with a dictionary, and hold myself to a higher standard. My love of reading and words extends from the hand she put out.

I can also say, with a full heart, thankful soul, and open mind, that I am grateful to be able to grow out of the stubbornness that could only focus on the negativity when I was a child. Those who know me know that I did not have it easy. My childhood was rough, and incredibly hard to laugh and maneuver through. I could have grown into something a lot worse than what I became. I’d like to thank my mother for that. Even through the negatives, a friendship and understanding was formed in my adulthood. It is possible, to put anger aside and be the daughter needed. It is possible to be the daughter who puts the disappointment aside and call out to her mom when she needed her the most.

I am my mother’s daughter. I am thankful for it everyday.

 

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“Internet Prey”

Internet DatingIn my last post, I had mentioned some comments my aunt said about men, dating, love and more. One of her comments stayed with me., so much so I couldn’t figure out how or why I felt the previous blog was unfinished. I’ve let it marinate on the tip of my mind, formulate through my fingers, and now I am ready to write and process through it. 
The comment that she said, that has stuck with me since she said it, was, ” The guys you meet on the internet are predators nothing more. They prey on women who have low self esteems and then manipulate you and hurt you. They simply aren’t worth it.”
Really? Just men on the internet? Sure, I can guarantee that there are cretins on the internet. Hell, I’ve met a few. But, all men on the internet are predators? I am really bothered by this generalization. I have met a substantial amount of incredible, giving, loving people from the internet; men and women alike. I guess the biggest reason this bothers me is because… she’s a victim; as my mother, and as myself. 
She was preyed upon by men (multiple men) she met through work, life, friends. She has had an abnormal amount of abusive men in her life. But, she never met one of them off the internet; not a single one. Same goes with my mother. Same goes with me. I have had four (five if you count this last one that lasted all of four months) influential, soul developing sexual/love relationships in my life.
My first unsavory relationship I met through friends. I was 18, fresh out on my own and met this guy who turned into an abusive, mean spirited, mouthy s.o.b. My second, my son’s father, ended up being a lying drug addict. Although he didn’t abuse me in any sense, he still was a ‘winner’. I also met him through a friend. My third, my one and only marriage so far, was domineering, money controlling, controlling and emotionally abusive. I met him in in junior high, through a friend. My fourth imperative relationship I met on the internet. He’s the subject of massive abuse that I’ve written about on my blog. 
My fifth, if you want to count him, was not abusive, in any way, shape or form. He loved me fully, and with the best of his abilities. I was the broken one by that point. I was the one too distraught and depressed to be anything viable. I met him on the internet. 
The only reason I’m going down my list of ‘men’ in my life is to show that men who prey, prey regardless of their platform. Women who become victims, do so no matter there station in life; no matter their path, no matter their socioeconomic status, no matter period. For my aunt to be so judgmental of the method in which a person finds love is so wrong. Love will happen. Hurt will happen. Abuse, will happen too. 
A victim needs to learn what aspects about themselves that makes them an easy targets for abusers in order to change their path so they do not become victims again.
I understand she’s about 25+ years my senior. I understand her life has brought her hell, that she’s carried as a burden upon her back like a mule carrying passengers. I get that she’s been hurt as well. But, I kindly ask her to let me live learn on my own; just as she has. 
This does not mean that I am looking for love again; not  now, not in the near future, not at all. But, I refuse to kill what small glimmer of hope that love does exist inside of me. Isn’t this what love is about? Isn’t this what life is about? Trying, trying and trying again?
It doesn’t have to be about love and relationships alone. Try life. Try friendship. Try trust. Try hope. 
Just try. It’s all we have. To be there for ourselves. To be there for others. To fill our lives with what makes us smile, feel alive, feel happiness. No one has the right to demean or belittle another’s process. No one, no matter how hurt or bruised their soul is, has a right to convince another to give up. 
We all hurt. We all have been shattered, broken and thrown out. We have all cried out for help. We are all alike.

Live and let live.

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It gets easier with age…

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I will be the first to say that I am in no shape, no way, no want of a new love in my life. But, I am still healing and processing this last very painful heartbreak. I have no desire to find a mate right now. No desire to put myself out there. However, I don’t want to become bitter towards love. I am a dreamer. Just as the gif above says, I have an idea of love in my head. It does not make me wrong, or inept, or unworthy in ANY WAY! I want to nourish and flourish what is already deep inside of me. I do not want to bury myself behind fear and anger.
I had a friend say to me recently, “I feel something. It’s small but I think I feel as if you’re feeling a little better. It’s like a cinder, but there is potential to blaze up.” I can only wish that this ember is burning, and will ignite with fully ready to. I want to hold onto that flame of hope that I feel is slowly dying with each dawning morning. I’m impatient and pushy, I want it now. Here’s why I want it now:
I see my mom, 60+ years old and alone. She’s completely given up on the prospect of love, life and pursuing anything that may actually bring her joy.I do not want to morph into the same person she is. I have hope, and I don’t want that hope crushed. 
My aunt said to me, “You get involved, the relationship hits a stale mate because there isn’t enough in it to sustain it, then you create chaos to reaffirm your already existing feelings of inadequacy.” This last relationship did not hit a ‘stale mate’. It hit a wall of depression. It hit a cross roads of two people from varying avenues in life, with two very radical views of love, dreaming, future and hopes. Doesn’t make him wrong, just makes him very wrong for me. I hope he finds who he’s looking for; a woman that can nourish and grow with his “day to day” ideals. 
Then she said, “Stop trying to create a nuclear family with men who don’t give a shit about you. It won’t change.” She couldn’t be far from the truth. I also find it rather insulting that she would make blank statements that crush whatever dream I have brewing within me. Her life has been filled with creating nuclear families with men who do not care. She’s truly projecting onto me her own inadequacies. That’s her burden to bare, not mine. 
There is nothing wrong with being a woman who wants love. We all deserve love. But most importantly, I deserve to love myself.
“Searching all directions
with one’s awareness,
one finds no one dearer
than oneself.
In the same way, others
are fiercely dear to themselves.
So one should not hurt others
if one loves oneself.”  – Thanissaro Bhikkhu
The gist of this quote, which is often misquoted as being a Buddha quote, “You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”

In the end, I am thankful for each of my horribly broken relationships. I am even thankful for my bent, broken self. I can only learn and grow from here. I can only take what has happened and process it in a manner that will benefit my love life, my life, and what I can contribute.

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Knight with Dented Armor

I once laid next to him, dreamy, absentmindedly.
                     My knight with dented armor.
Our heads swam in thoughts, basked in afterglow.

I  pondered his flesh; his scarred dented armor.
He wore it proudly upon his chest; like medals of war.

Subconsciously I ran my fingers through his chest hair.
Natural, as if his hair were wiry extensions
of my own electrical pulse.
  I always found peace, serenity, … I found home.

My index finger finds the one scar and gravitates towards.
Soft raised patch of skin just above the heart.
Smooth and inviting, juxtaposed against his hair.
My finger gently rubbed circles, repeatedly. 

Clockwise, counterclockwise;
                      patterns equate safety in my mind.

I teased him once,
cupid’s arrow must have struck him there,
                    (in my head i was sure cupid lead him to me)
We laughed, kissed, slept. 

         I found shelter,  security, … I found home.

Only to awaken to my empty reality; hollow shell.
Alone in my own castle;
guarded by broken mortar, 
jagged, crumbling edges.
     Demons that swam hungrily within my mote.

Now I wonder,
if the scars were battles wounds,
etched permanently,
                 where my demons pierced his soul.

I once had found refuge, quietude, …
                            I once had found home.

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Evidence of Depression.

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Click the picture to read the article. Or it can be found here:
Evidence Depression isn’t “In Your Head”

I need friends, and those I care about, to read this. This is pivotal. This is so very important when you read a friend’s message, hear a voice mail, anything that indicates they are depressed, not to respond with:

A. But what happened…..?
B. Everything seemed alright yesterday…..?
C. Can’t you just do something to make yourself feel better….?

A. Nothing “happened”. Chemistry and body mechanics happened.
B. Sure, I “seemed” okay yesterday, but my dark episode(s) have been brewing under the surface for days.
C. Sure, I’d love to jump up and do something to make anything feel better than this. But part of the struggle is that depression completely cripples a person.

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So much processing, not enough data.

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Let me preface this entry by saying it has literally taken me a week to write it. I apologize in advance for the length. If you actually read through the entirety of it, thank you!
I am unsure how to process and implement my thoughts into a blog.  I know it’s more profound than these simple words can convey.

“Can I tell you an observation I made about you?” He asked me while we were driving. “Sure..” I said with a hesitancy that encamped my face like a mask; lip chewing, wide eyed, …bracing self for the worst. His hand was on my knee, my arms were across my chest like fleshy armor that could deflect anything my mind preempts him saying. 

“Your whole life you’ve only experienced conditional love. All the love you’ve received has come with a cost, or a price, … a condition.” He began, I loosened my grip I had around myself. “Those who were supposed to love you the most, never showed you what unconditional love is. Your mom, the one who is supposed to be that teacher, never taught you what it means.” He’s right, you know. He’s right in every way. We had this discussion after an even bigger discussion about some of the wounded memories I have from my childhood. 

Last weekend was the first test, if that’s what you want to call it, of “us”. I had a very rough emotional time last due to things involving my batterer; past battles resurrecting trying to sabotage my happiness. This is their routine, see. I am all familiar with the sabotage and mutiny that takes place inside me. My head, heart and soul are in constant battle. It essentially was the first time he has seen me fighting my demons, in a true battle; one that devastated and crippled me.

My cycle of abuse with the batterer always started out with “picking on me.” It quickly turned to picking with some mean intent. I’d get fed up, ask him to stop and that would start a fight. That fight would escalate to physical violence.

My new love, my passionate man, was picking on me in all fun. We were gaming, hanging out with his friends, making characters for a roleplaying game. Tossing jokes around, teasing each other… this is what a normal couple does. This is what friends do with one another. I played along, but, inside me the fear for the unknown grew fat on the meaty “what ifs” vittles laid out by my demons. After everyone left, I eventually popped. Took a bath and cried my eyes out. He came into the bathroom, pulled up a piece of floor and talk me through it. He rubbed my back, work through my process. . . with such unconditional love.

I know that there is more heart and soul intent burning inside me than I can ever formally share. The simplest statement, the easiest way for me to say this is by saying, I have found my match. I really believe this rings so true with him. He takes my hand. He pulls me close. He kisses my shoulder. He whispers into my ear, “I’m here. I’m in, babe.” My demons fight so hard against it. Trying to convince me otherwise. Telling me he’s in for now, but wait, we’re stronger than him and we’ll prove right in the end. 

I’ve been so adamant that I will battle these demons on my own. I am so sure that will be my own hero, that I don’t need saving, I just need someone to remind my heart and soul when my head starts to win. That I’m somewhat blindsided by this passionate, patient, loving man. He’s so good about getting right into me, right into my heart, and speaking a language that I’ve only dreamt could be real.

There’s a process here. A process involving deep work, like battling demons, and a process that involves learning to let go and let love. I feel very blessed to have him in my life. I feel very loved. I’m very thankful for him.  He’s teaching me to change my attitude towards the negative self talk. Hes working with me, guiding me, as opposed to insulting me. It’s frightening and refreshing.

I love this man, I love his arms around me. I love his soft gentle voice telling me I’m worth it. I that he is willing to work with me as I change myself, instead of forcing me to change. He’s always telling me that I’m perfect the way I am, he loves me unconditionally. Total foreign land. Total foreign territory. But I love it. I love him. I’m excited for us.

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Pretty content.

It’s been a jump since I’ve written an entry; it’s what happens when life takes you by the horns, shakes the hell out of you and wakes you up. I am in love. I am in love with his spirit, his heart, his mind, his humor, his gamer geekery. I. Am. In Love.

Love   Never in a million years did I fathom being able to open that area of myself again.
Trust  I didn’t think it was possible to trust another, let alone myself, especially with matters of the heart.

There are so many things I’m finding that I am doing that seem so foreign to me, but I love doing them; such as being a ‘needy’ girly girl (as I call it).

He truly loves me for me… all aspects of emotion, quirks, and broken he hasn’t ran from. In fact, he’s really encouraged me to not hold those hot, fiery coals in; burning my insides trying to get out. I am learning that being completely and totally open, despite the fear of rejection, ridicule, hurt (which is what I’m accustomed to) is so cathartic.

This last  Sunday I had a total break down over the physical distance between him and I. Although at the time I couldn’t verbally say, “Dude, I’m going home tomorrow and that just bugs the hell out of me.” Instead, I got closed off, kind of internal, and started questioning the “What ifs…” He took it all in stride. He just slid closer to me, put his arms around me and talked me through it. He reassured
me that it’s normal what I’m feeling and it wasn’t going to scare him away. He reiterated that he was there, he’s going to be there, he wants to be there for me. snot_bubble_kid__zill_by_linkmatt1995-d45wgqbI don’t know what shocked me more, his reaction or mine. I didn’t stiffen or close him out. I just let him guide me through the fears, talking it out with me, and holding me. He never let go but for once… to get me tissue paper so I could blow snot bubbles a bit more discreetly.

The best thing about this; my mind, heart and soul are all in conspiracy.. “Do it, you can do it!” Instead of my normal, small voice in the back of my mind telling me, “You can’t do this.” This doesn’t mean I don’t have my typical demons trying to win over. Doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments of weakness chanting my failures as a reminder.

What it does mean, however,  is that my knight with dented armor, is just what my soul cried out for.  I hope we can continue to grow, communicate, love and be. Just.. Love. Trust. Be.

 

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Stronger than myself.

I cannot express how much I really enjoy this quote. It was posted on my timeline (facebook) and it just settled into my mind. It’s perched there, like a wise old owl; knowing the strength behind it. I researched the quote and found it was from “The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins. I will admit, I have not read the books, but I have watched the movies; so if this is a wrong quoting please let me know so I can correct it.

Fear. My whole life I have thought fear is what drove me. I thought it’s what made me who I am. Fear of not surviving. Fear of my mother. Fear of turning into my mother. Little did I know what was really working in my soul was really hope. Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope for a brighter future. Hope. It truly is stronger than fear. 


I am thankful for my hope. I am also thankful for my fear. I believe, that even though one is stronger than the other, you cannot exist without the merging of both in your blood. Just like red blood cells need white cells to make the system whole; hope and fear entangle together as well. What defines the outcome of the person is which one they let rule their life. From this point forward, in an act of mindfulness, I am pushing my Hope forward a bit more.

So, moving forward with hope, one of my biggest “hopes” in life was to be published. That daunting task of actually getting my novel out of my head and onto “paper” (albeit, an electronic form thereof), has stalled me. It’s weighing on my shoulders. I am not under any time constraints, but I stress myself out with it. So, instead, I am going to focus on compiling and editing short stories and poems I have up to this point. Heck, I may even try to throw in some of my poetry.  My new hope is refocused into revamping the old to make it new.

Today, I am thankful for my creativity, dreams, hopes and fears. I am thankful I am who I was created to be, inner and outer layers.

I love when my dreams play hard to get. my passion finds it so damned sexy. 
The Universe and Her, and I #259 written by Christopher Poindexter