I’m doing it guys. I’m getting my fucking tattoo. Saturday’s the day. Hope you like it.
Not too many years ago, had this happened then, I would have written openly and often. Now, I don’t want to perform my grief for anyone. I don’t want to join the ‘who loved her most Olympics’ or prove to anyone who she was to me or who I was to her.
Same with Aaron now. I sit with it. Feels like I should name it. Perhaps I’ll call you George.
I don’t want the sorry. I don’t want the what happened. I don’t want the hollow nature that our social network based lives has brought. Ok I did the thing, now what? As though one post negates the years ahead of you and hours and minutes with your soul crushed adjusting to your new normal.
Some people will expect a timeline. Others will beg for silence. The rest you’ll just make uncomfortable.
I never hated her choices. I only wanted to understand them same as anyone’s. The what has never been more important than the why.
I may bitch about all of our faults but end of the day I still love unconditionally and would go to bat for any of my people.
Maybe I just don’t want to make more connections to be inevitably severed.
I can’t take more of this.
Maybe I’m scared that I’m reaching a limit and now It would be easy to say I want to be with Jess and Aaron.
I’m pretty sure there’s a tiny little girl in my heart
Crying because all her favorite toys have been taken away
I’ve shut her in, keeping her screams at bay
I can deal with shutting her in easier than living without you
So here we go, another layer to the wall
Another dark joke instead of truth
Tears for some and stone for others
Shields up captain
Second star and straight on until morning
The storm felt pretty perfect this morning.
Fuck it. I’m going to say the things you’re not supposed to say because I feel like you’d appreciate that.
I’m pissed off at you. Right now. This moment. My guts are churning with a fire that’s more familiar than it should be and the worst of it is, you know why.
Here’s the thing of it though, doesn’t matter that I’m pissed. The feelings never mattered for long, we kept going even if it was just to prove someone else wrong or prove to ourselves that we could.
I wanted to be a safe harbor for you, a lighthouse in the distance to guide you to safety when you needed it before you drifted off to sea again letting the winds take you on your next adventure. I’m sorry if the clouds have been blocking me as of late, but know that my light was always on waiting for you to reach my shores again.
I wrote this of Aaron this year but it’ll remain just as true for you now – The stages of grief are bullshit. You’ll feel every one of them on and off from day to day, month to month, year to year. Monday I might accept you’re gone, Tuesday’s denial and Wednesday too, Thursday I’ll be angry at you and Friday I’m back in shock. Well, it is Thursday as I’m writing this so look at that, I’m a little clairvoyant after all.
All that matters and will remain is this: You were my person. You are my person. You will always be my person.
God dammit Jessica.
I’m saving all your LiveJournal entries right now. I can’t bear to read them but they are the only writings of yours I can get to with ease aside from emails and I need to do something.
I told Marty I had an urge to go to Petosky. Are you there? Is that why? Even if you were, you wouldn’t stay there long. That was never your style.
I want to be mad at you, but I also get it. I get it to a degree I wish I didn’t.
I guess it’s my book now, huh?
You got my dark humor like no one else. I’m trying to find a joke here but I can’t do it. This path is too familiar and I don’t want to ride this ride anymore.
You will always be my person. Always.
I hope you’re doing this right now, and I’m fully aware that I’m probably deluding myself into thinking of such a thing but it’s the thread I’ve got to hold on to right now so let me have it.
Go with the hot pink. I love you.
I’m overwhelmed when I think about how much music has been made and will be made in the future.
This becomes especially true when I think about how much music has affected me throughout various time-frames in my life and how certain songs get embedded with people.
I told a friend via email this morning that I think I want to start a list of the albums that really fit my life at one point or another. Mostly so I don’t forget them.
This album right here is one I haven’t given a listen in probably a decade+ until I saw a beautiful boxed vinyl set of it. I owned this album twice I loved it so much. First on cassette and then on CD.
I dig finding new music to feel connected to, but there is something at home and comfortable in revisiting the stuff that I obsessively listened to long, long ago.
“the smell of hospitals in winter” is a lyric I wish I didn’t feel so akin to. I can feel that one in my bones.
I keep saying to myself ‘you need to write again’. ‘You need an outlet or you’re going to break’. Yet, the words falter every time I try. There’s such a sludge of things blocking my ability to articulate. There’s also the knowledge that I’ve gained over time that words have power and if I don’t wield them carefully they will betray me.
What I feel in a moment of passion, be that anger or joy, defies the reality behind those feelings. Haven’t been very astute at expressing either of those things in years. Everything has a haze and it seems to build the more I build a wall around myself. I’ve lost track of who I’ve built this wall to protect anymore. I thought it was everyone else, but maybe it’s really been me all along.
All the things that have been hard that I don’t talk about. That or worse, joke about in attempt to dull the depth of the pain that actually comes with them.
Everything boils down to the same jester I’ve always claimed. Human Eeyore at her best. Never wanting to be a bother, but eternally grateful for any thought or attention granted. Sometimes at her detriment. Always wanting to see eye to eye with another, to make a connection. Twist and shake in the bits that fit, glimpse the real when it’s safe. Close the door again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Assured that the dead would be insulted by mourning or sadness, Dia de los Muertos celebrates the lives of the deceased with food, drink, parties, and activities the dead enjoyed in life. Dia de los Muertos recognizes death as a natural part of the human experience, a continuum with birth, childhood, and growing up to become a contributing member of the community. On Dia de los Muertos, the dead are also a part of the community, awakened from their eternal sleep to share celebrations with their loved ones. https://www.nationalgeographic.org/media/dia-de-los-muertos/
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.
The days you came, the days you left, they’ll never stop being celebrated as long as I breathe.
I’m not one to shout any accomplishment I make or even acknowledge that I’ve attempted to do something but…this one feels worth saying something about.
I quit smoking 10 years ago today.
Driving in to work this morning reminded me of the one change in my body that has made the frustration in the process worth it – my voice. I can sing again like I did in choir as a kid. I’m not great, but just that I can do it is enough. There’s always been a stupid hidden power for me in singing to myself in my car, alone in my house, but don’t ever ask me to sing in front of people. Not gonna happen no matter how often I’ve daydreamed about being a badass frontwoman.
I joked in my usual way in an Instagram post this morning that it’s nice to have a reminder now and again that I am capable of change when I actually try.
That’s the kicker though isn’t it? You actually have to try.
You know how us Catholic girls can be
We make up for so much time a little too late
I never forgot it, confusing as it was
No fun with no guilt feelings
The sinners, the saviors, the lover-less priests
I’ll see you next Sunday
We all had our reasons to be there
We all had a thing or two to learn
We all needed something to cling to
So we did
I sang Alleluia in the choir
I confessed my darkest deeds to an envious man
My brothers they never went blind for what they did
But I may as well have
In the name of the Father, the Skeptic and the Son
I had one more stupid question
We all had our reasons to be there
We all had a thing or two to learn
We all needed something to cling to
So we did
What I learned I rejected but I believe again
I will suffer the consequence of this inquisition
If I jump in this fountain, will I be forgiven
We all had our reasons to be there
We all had a thing or two to learn
We all needed something to cling to
So we did
We all had delusions in our head
We all had our minds made up for us
We had to believe in something
So we did
~ Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill – Forgiven
I’m having a week. Thankfully with J @ B’s for the weekend and the fantastic understanding human that is my best friend I am spending this weekend as a hermit to process and try to re-charge myself for the weeks to come.
There have been moments this week where observation has left me really hurting in a way I haven’t felt in a while. I think I’ve spent a good portion of the past four years a bit numbed to everything as a survival mechanism and I’m trying really hard to let myself feel things. The hard thing in that is that I don’t just want to feel them and let them lie there…I feel like I need to SAY something instead of just letting things build to my inevitable volcano that’s become my trademark.
I’m not even sure where to start, because actually being completely real about what I have going on in my sphere rolls into places that are not mine to share. Gone are those days of LJ where I would just spill and apologize for it later (or never). I can say this much, I am feeling some shit and I don’t really know what to do with it. I’m conflicted in a number of ways, enough that I write sentences here and decide not to move forward with them because it still admits too much and I just can’t do it. Not out of fear, but out of empathy.
I’ve spent a lot of time today dicking around the house but also considering where I am, where and who I’ve come from, who I’ve become and who I want to be. Existential crisis? Probably, but TBH I’m probably overdue for this type of shit.
Maybe that’s what’s driving me to want to learn tarot again. Something to give me focus other than on my own insecurities and inevitabilities that I’ll have to face. Trying so hard not to think about the people I’ve disappointed this week, or annoyed just by existing. Feeling the exact things I’ve dreaded coming to fruition.
Think I’ll try to study some of my tarot book before I call it a night. Maybe one more round of Monster Prom.
Things remain generally awful in that ‘I wish I could take this away for these people I love, but I can’t so I’ll just love them’ kind of way.
In these times, my brain shifts to weird ‘leave your mark, say your piece’ type project ideas. I don’t know why, maybe it’s a brush with someone else’s mortality, fuck if I know. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to say the things to people/about people that you love in a roundabout art way than actually just saying ‘hey man, I love you’ or ‘this is why this stupid inanimate object means so much to me’.
I’ve been telling myself since we bought the house that I should put all my most prized items in a fire/waterproof safe of some kind. Most people would assume such a container would be saved for important papers and things with monetary value. Mine? Aside from some assumed paperwork I have notes, pictures, trinkets and concert tickets that need to be preserved. Those are my prized possessions, above all others the last card I got from my grandmother. These are priceless commodities to this heart. Much as I want to make that shadow box for Aaron, I’m more tempted to put his belongings right in there as well. Squirrel away all the things that once touched a loved one or emotionally touched me.
Part of putting those things away is documenting what they are, how I got them, and why they are important enough to be placed there i the first place.
The other project is not so tangible, but still worth it I think. Hardwick talked on one of the Nerdist casts eons ago about a playlist project he started for himself many years ago and still does. Each New Year’s Day he creates a new playlist and adds to it through the year songs that he found that year that he enjoyed or songs he listened to in general that year that triggered an emotional or memorial response.
I’d like to take that project with my own little spin and make friendlists. Playlists with tunes specifically tailored about or for my homies. They’ll probably end up with more songs than could go on a mixed CD, but fuck it. Someday maybe I’ll share them with them, maybe not.
These have been your random ass thoughts from the resident redhead who’s at hopefully the tail end of a cold and feeling like she needs to channel her nostalgic ass into some sort of tangible result.
I’m aggravated that I can’t remember the name of that song right now. You played it for us one night when the back room was still yours. Ballad of Hollis Brown? Was that it? I can’t remember, but I want to listen to it. I need the notes, something to cling to besides blips of memory. What was that fucking song…?
I hate this. The complete and utter helplessness, uselessness. Wish it could be mine instead. Surprised it’s not mine instead. Weird fucking twist of fate that seems like cosmic dark humor that far surpasses my own. Fate, as always, you’re a raging cunt.
Judgement could fall this family as so little in some people’s eyes but they are so great in mine. A chaotic maelstrom of human emotion constantly holding each other up and keeping each other afloat. Their own little solar system. So much love in that house. So lucky to have it extended to me when I needed it. How often I ran there as a refuge from whatever battle I was waging. How often you accepted me at your doorstep without question (maybe with a dirty joke re: your son, but not so much question).
I’ve always loved the scars in people. The “flaws”. Good people always have a checkered story. Very few really interesting people have squeaky clean floorboards.
I remember going to pick you up in Ann Arbor from treatment. Wish I remembered it more for whatever conversation we had on the way back than I do the moments on our return. Although, I’m not even sure that I remember that afternoon correctly anyway. So many moments jumble into memories turned fuzzy around the edges.
I won’t romanticize you anymore than we do Aaron or I do my Grams. The real person is more than enough to love, I don’t need or want the heroic fairy tale variations people like to eulogize.
Simply, thank you. Thank you for your kindness, candor, and way of being. Thank you for giving me a father figure that doesn’t suck.
What now, don’t know, just wish I could take the burdens off your kid’s shoulders. However, that’s a battle we’ve been waging for way longer than this. Giving is his path; we’re just trying to make sure the destination isn’t a steep cliff. Keep an eye on him from the stars, sure you will, in one way or another.
I fight my battles in the shadows most people step on
A walking stride replaced with a dodge, parry, roll
Answer the questions with just enough to give someone a glimpse
See if they’ll take the bait and ask for another taste, a deeper embrace
Let’s dance with the shadows you and I
You and I
You and Me
I miss you two most desperately
Tomorrow starts my rather belated Winter-een-mas vacation. Usually I take a break between Christmas and New Years from work to not only take in all the festivities of the season with family and friends but to reboot my introverted self back into some semblance of wanting to deal with other humans for another year without going into hermit mode.
With the multitude of things going on in my sphere as of late I struggle greatly with carving out the space I used to have where creativity seemed to blossom, even just for a moment. When a spark hits my nerves and I want to write again, something else inevitably requires the attention that such endeavors deserve.
What I hope for in this week off aside from the rejuvenation I so dire find myself in want of is to rekindle some bit of this part of myself again. Be it here, in actual written form, or just something besides the drivel that seems to escape my lips day to day. I’ll take it.
Where there is desire there will always be a flame.
Sometimes someone else’s words are just better…
I have a question.
I don’t have an answer.
I suspect that you won’t either.
When is it acceptable to call attention to an injustice you observe?
When is it acceptable to teach others a new perspective?
When is it acceptable to hold up a sign calling attention to a problem?
When is it acceptable to act vs. observe?
I gather that, despite all the contradictory praise our society wishes to give to those who fight for their beliefs in retrospect, when actually presented with a set of human beings doing so, we shun them. We question their belief structure, humanity, faith, intelligence, pride.
When isn’t it acceptable to call attention to an injustice you observe?
When isn’t it acceptable to teach others a new perspective?
When isn’t it acceptable to hold up a sign calling attention to a problem?
When isn’t it acceptable to act vs. observe?
Last day of ‘vacation’. Well feels like half over already last day of ‘vacation’. This is always the day I dread when I take more than one day off. The day I spend flogging myself mentally for all the things I didn’t do or get done in that time frame.
Didn’t even finish one book? Bought 6 more instead? Great, you’re only up to 15 physical books in your backlog and oh don’t even look at your kindle with all the $1.99 books you’ve bought over the past six months. Don’t even touch Comixology and all the graphic novels you’ve bought or borrowed on there. Not to mention the 10+ issues of your series you’ve fallen behind on.
Knitting projects? HA! Started a gift for Jordan you’ll probably finish when her kid starts college. Good job, ace.
A good chunk of this time I’ve contemplated reaching out last time and for once actually be straight forward with the fact that it’s my last time. Didn’t do it. Can’t bring myself to be the one to end anything. That could be my Indian name. Reality though is that I’m tired. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I think about things M has said to me over the years, how much appreciation there is in that friendship and in that there are moments I have the gall to believe that I deserve better than this. Nostalgia only goes so far. I’m fine with friends that I don’t talk to every day or see very often. A great deal of my most prized connections are with those I’m lucky to see physically only once or twice a year if that. Some not at all. Physical space has never been a requirement to be my friend.
I can’t help but feel in my gut that actions taken outside my scope of knowledge are enough to break the chain. And yet. And yet.
I know I can’t always be the buoy or life jacket, hell I can’t even do that for myself…but I keep trying. All I picture when I think about some of my most toxic connections is faces on a shore watching me drown, waving and smiling.
When will that be enough for me to cut the line and safe myself?
I think I’ve gotten too good at pretending
Too skilled at playing normal
I don’t reach out when I should, afraid to become a burden. Afraid that he’s been right all along. That reaching makes me selfish. That no one cares. That I’m not worth their time. Every day without a ding of a text proving again and again how little I cross anyone’s mind. Proving again and again that in the end all friendship I have ever had was in my head. Don’t you know they don’t care about you really? They’re just being nice you stupid twat. You think you really matter? Idiot.
This is how my brain works. This is how it speaks. Doesn’t matter if I spend every moment for a week with people I love or have spent a month by myself. All the moments amount to nothing. All the fear of missing out still ultimately leaves me home alone in fear that I’ll waste someone’s time. That my words don’t help. That my actions don’t matter. That all the hours I spend thinking about them aren’t returned even an ounce.
If no one knows you spent three hours trying to craft the perfect message or gif to send them you just seem callous and weird when you finally hit send. Maybe that’s true either way. If they don’t know how often you hear a song or see something and think of them, did it even happen? Do you even feel, bro? If you start bringing these things up now, will they deem you a stalker? Think you’ve gone crackers?
All the dark moments in my life. All the memories I wish I could rid myself of. I can’t. Speak of them in jest. As though they are not crushing your lungs.
You’re doing it again. Making it all about you. Fucking cunt. No wonder they don’t bother with you. Haven’t you got anything new to talk about? Don’t you know they’re tired of your same old shit?
People you used to talk to every day. Share meals with. Share moments. What do you do now? Cower and hide because you know there’s judgement in their eyes. You aren’t worthy. You made poor choices. They don’t trust your decision. Who you love reflects on you. What’s that mean? Know it, accept it. Cry. Who cares if you do? None. Exactly.
Should have been you. That’s what still kills you, isn’t it? Should have been you. You could be lost. You are inconsequential. Try to offer a trade. Dean for Sam. Sam for Dean. Take me instead. Give them back someone useful. Someone worthy.
Be ok. Gotta be ok. Be ok today. Joke. Don’t choke. Put on the mask. Keep walking. Shh, we’ll meet again soon.
I don’t hate you. Hate’s not my jam. Hard to hate someone for doing something they’ve always done, for following the rule book they always have. Some actions no longer surprise when they’ve become someone’s repertoire. That said, it’s a far shittier thing to don your familiar mask against someone who least deserves it. We’re all dark and twisty here, this was the sacred circle after all. If we can’t be 100% who we are with each other, what the fuck are we even doing this for anymore?
We’ve all done shitty things. We’ve all been shitty people. Own and atone, isn’t that what we’ve all been hoping to be strong enough to do all along? Be brave. Live. Flaws and all. Make our own happy, but not at the expense of ourselves or the rest of our flock. That’s the fucked up part. What data am I missing where that part makes any damn sense?
My instinct is to extend empathy and seek to understand, not condemn. Until your actions, or inaction as it were, give me reason do so.
I can’t hate you, but I can question your motives. I can’t hate you, but I wonder what sign I missed? Did I screw up? Did I let you down by not seeing the smoke rings you put out ? Was I too caught up in my own bindings to notice you were drowning too? Has the flawlessly flawed veneer I put on everyone fooled me once again?
I want to give you space to seek me when you are ready, knowing that pursuit often makes you flee. However, just as much of me wants to show up in your life so you can’t avoid me anymore. Wonders why am I being avoided in the first place. What traits have been pinned on me that make me a path of least desire?
I don’t want to yell at you, I don’t even want to judge you. I just want to make sure you’re not bleeding to death in front of our eyes. Whether you stay in this circle or not is on you just as much as it’s on us to let you. Either way, we tried.
I can forgive anything, but I never forget
The tattered tapestries my tribe wove have
Given me the empathy to accept the twisted
Darkness in anyone and keep moving
What will you do now?
It’s what you do afterwards that counts
That’s when I find out who you really are
Did I romanticize you into a being you can never be?
Do my hopes for the people I love give them impossible standards to reach?
Do you care enough to reach back or
Have I been reaching out into darkness all along?
That’s the thing about humans
They’ll disappoint you
when you grow up
Would you be the savior of the broken
The beaten and the damned?”
I’m compelled to share this entry from Wil for a myriad of reasons. Primarily because I have lived this day. More times than I would wish on anyone. I’ve never been quite able to put into words what it is like. How much I have fought, yelled at doctors on behalf of someone I love dearly. I have questioned, to their faces in some cases, if these medical professionals even cared to save and give a quality of life back to my mother. I have pleaded with them, what if this was your mother, treat her as though she was your mother, please. Years spent waking up in the wee hours to her screaming. Walking up the staircase from my room to ‘hers’ to watch TV, bring her warm rice bags, anything to help ease her pain for a few hours and calm her back to sleep. Moments I don’t talk about, things I don’t share because I don’t want to bring shame to her. Feeling and wondering if anyone would ever love me enough to do those things for me. I am more empathetic to what Wil and Anne have gone through than I will even get into now. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to verbalize in any concise manner how those days have felt. How much armor I feel I have built, preparations in my castle for what will inevitably come, how many times I have thought it was already knocking at our door. For her. For him. I may never really be ready, no matter what my gallows humor would say to the contrary.
I’ve been fighting a cold, infection, flu, I have no idea for over a week now. I have no idea how this plague has befallen me but I both rue and lament it. Sorry, I fell asleep to Futurama and that was a part of a Fry quote I awoke to this morning.
An only funny to me probably side effect of this is how thin my mental wires are stretched when I’m physically ill. I’m paranoid about everything, I’m even more inclined to believe that everyone would be happier if I were dead and that no one really likes me anyway so who the fuck cares. She’s on fire when the rest of me is too tired to fight her off. She’s ready to pounce and bitch at anyone even if they’re just being kind and trying to help. Takes an odd level of effort to not be that raging cunt. To not let her win, not let her sever all the ties to my sanity and safety.