Ridiculous Dreams

Could I have been more of a fool?
Dreaming those ridiculous dreams...
believing I found what I had always wanted,
believing he could really love ME.
Dreaming of the white picket fence,
the American dream, a piece of the pie...
a life filled with romance, filled with love-
go figure... it was all a lie.
An act, a facade, a play-
a play on words, a play on my heart.
I opened myself up again-
only to be torn apart.
Wanting so badly to scream right now-
to punch something, find something to break...
seems the only thing broken is me though-
nothing here to ease this ache.
I should have known better,
so now bitterness sets in.
Self pity, pathetic loathing,
pissed off cause I did it again.
I gave someone my heart
expecting it to be safe with a man,
only to have it burn up in flames-
the match lit by his hands.
Back on the road of solitude-
learning to be once again alone...
turning my tears into fire-
and this broken heart into stone.

Nocturnal Pain

Lying in bed alone, listening to the falling rain...

beating in rhythm with my pulse, against my window pane.

Wishing I were in your arms, not lost with thoughts of you in my head...

reflecting on regrets, and words, I wish I would have said.

Sirens in the distance scream, like lovers torn apart,

the night wind carries a chill, that matches the one in my heart.

Loneliness tends to overtake, on solemn nights like this...

my mind is wandering- missing you- wishing for just one kiss.

No creatures stir, yet I am restless, no sleep for me tonight...

I ache to be wrapped up, in your arms, beneath the pale moonlight.

But alone I lie in this cold, queen bed- you're a million miles away...

I close my eyes and can hear you speak the words you'll never say.

Heat

(Inspired by "Burn" by Usher)


Your eyes...
burn a hole in my soul.

Your touch...
sends flames down my spine.

Your kiss...
melts away my defenses.

This heat...
overtakes my heart.

This fire...
consumes my being.

I know I’m going to get burned,
yet
still...

I want to be engulfed by you.

Another Decade Down the Drain

Resolution, schmesolution. Who needs 'em?

It's almost 2011, people. Am I the only one having a hard time believing that?? Is it just me or does it seem like it was just yesterday that everyone was freaking out over the Y2K scare? Where has the last decade gone?!?!?! Another year gone, another decade for the next generations to make fun of. Were there even any real "fads" of 2000-2010? Maybe I just didn't notice because of my age. What are your most memorable moments of the last ten years? Twenty years from now when you remember the... wait, what is that decade gonna be called? The singles? hahahaha! Anyways... when you look back on "the singles" of 2000-2010, what will stand out in your mind?

I'm sure our grandparents and great-grandparents have their fond memories of the 'simpler life' from the early part of the 20th century. Our parents have the great music, Vietnam, Woodstock, etc. from their years. We have the craziness of the 80's and 90's, the terror attacks of 9-11, and our own war. Is that all we're gonna have to look back on when we're the seniors of America?

As for me... the past 10 years have been one helluva ride, that's for sure. Growing up is a bitch and I'm still in the process. Actually, I think I've gone backwards. Lol! Bought a house, got married, sold the house, got divorced, got a new job that I was at for almost 5 years, moved into my very own apartment by myself for the first time in my life, got pregnant, lost my dad, lost my son, totalled my car, got laid off, and now here I sit. Of course those are just the big things that stand out in my mind of the last ten years. What are your big things?

So another year is gone. Last year I had the motto of "New Year, New Rules, New Life". This year I think my motto is just gonna be "Go With the Flow". There's no point to resolutions. No one ever keeps them. There's no point to thinking "This year is gonna be so much better than last year." It's just another year of trying to survive, trying to live life as happily as possible, and trying to duck and weave all the bullshit that gets thrown at us throughout the days.

So to all my friends, may you have lots of luck for 2011. And if you get hit with a bucket of shit, be sure to close your eyes and mouth. :oP

"May all your troubles last as long as your New Year's resolutions!"

Unapologetic

I refuse to apologize for being real.

I have no desire to join the masses who are so eager to impress one another with their artificial everything. Fake hair, fake nails, fake eyelashes, fake body parts, fake tans, fake personalities. I'm no Barbie. I don't want a Ken.

Everything about me is genuine. I'm honest. My body is real. My face is real. My hair, my nails, my accent, my personality. When I wake up I am the same person as when I fell asleep. I don't have to remind myself to be someone that I'm not. I don't have to act a particular way because of who I am around. Everyone who knows me knows the same girl. Go ahead, ask. I bet that Barbie girl you drooled over at the bar can't say that.

I may not be where I want to be in life. I may not have the material things that seem to matter, like your brand name clothes that you find so horribly important. I may not drive the best car, or have much money in the bank. My credit sucks and I've never been to college. But when you meet me, when you talk to me... you get ME. You don't get an imposter who's trying to be someone just to impress you. I want ME to impress you. And if I don't, move on. Don't waste my time or yours trying to change me. I am who I am, you are who you are.

I grew up poor. I grew up on welfare. I grew up in low-income apartments, trailer parks, and places where most of you are scared to drive. My mommy and daddy didn't pay my way through life. Everything I've ever had, I've had to earn. I appreciate everything I've ever had that much more because of that reason. I am proud of where I come from because, even though everyone in every neighborhood I've ever lived in was poor like me, most of them were REAL just like me. We didn't try to keep up with the Jones' because the Jones' didn't have shit either.

I don't feel the need to put on a short little dress, tons of makeup and hairspray, and high heels I can barely walk in every time I step outside my house. Yes, it's fun to get all dolled up and go 'girly' sometimes but I don't need to do that in order to feel comfortable going out in public. I am comfortable in my skin, without all the glitter.

I speak my mind unless I think it will hurt people I care about. When it comes to people I love I am a bit of a pushover. Maybe that's the 'fakest' thing about me. I love crude humor, I can make sailors blush with some of the things I say, I act a fool when I'm having fun with my friends, and I typically don't censor myself when at a bar or even on Facebook. I have no reason to. But I know how to be a "lady" when necessary. I behave myself when I must, but when it's not necessary I have fun. Regardless, I am still ME.

For a few years now I've been insulted by numerous people for being 'redneck' and having 'redneck' friends. But here's the thing about me and my 'redneck' friends- we are all real. We get along with everyone. We accept everyone for who they are. We don't look down on you for spending $50 on a button-up shirt at Hollister when you could have gotten the same shirt at Walmart for $9.99. We may think you're a bit crazy but we won't dislike you for it. But at the same time, we aren't impressed with that ridiculousness either.What impresses us are other real people who don't feel the need to belittle others with snide comments degrading people they think are beneath them. Each different personality brings a new element into our lives and we all learn things from our differences. That's how it should be. We don't care what car you drive or what you do for a living. We don't care what clothes you wear. We don't care how much money you have in the bank, how many degrees you have, or what you own. So why do you??

I refuse to apologize for being me. I refuse to apologize for being that "redneck" chick. I refuse to apologize for not having the perfect body, the perfect hair, the perfect life. I refuse to apologize for loving the people I love and wanting to be surrounded by them because they make me happy. I refuse to apologize for not wanting to change because I don't fit your idea of what I should be. I refuse to apologize for having fun just as I am. I refuse to apologize for having the same personality regardless of who is around me. I refuse to apologize for not feeling the need to put on a show to impress you.

I refuse to apologize for being real.

It's never a good idea to go under the influence of nitrous.... and sappy music

"I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?"
~John Suckling

"So who broke you?"

That's one of the questions I've asked a lot of my guy friends. You know, those guys. The ones who have become the 'players' and 'heart-breakers' of today. And they all have the same answer... "well there was this girl..."

There is always that one person who finally does us in for good. That one person who finally ruins any potential for successful relationships for us beyond them. That one person who broke us so badly, and whether we admit it or not, that we will never fully be over. Or in my case, and the case of many of my girlfriends, there were a few that added up and that 'one' was just the final straw.

Yesterday I received more registrations in the mail at work for a conference that my boss and I coordinate. I unfold the registration and the name on the check catches my eye. It sent my heart to the pit of my stomach and suddenly I felt like I was going to be sick. It was from the mother of my last serious boyfriend... the 'one' who finally broke me. When I saw her name, hundreds of memories came flooding through my brain- almost as if I was going into a heartache induced seizure. Suddenly I found myself reminiscing of that short time her son and I were together. He was everything I had ever imagined my 'Prince Charming' to be. Well... at least he made me believe he was. For the first time in my life I was in ridiculous bliss. I was blinded to everyone else around me. For the first three months life couldn't have gotten better. He was gorgeous, sexy, tall, dark, handsome, romantic, intelligent, strong, manly, and my 'country boy'. Even thinking about him now, I can still remember how he smelled. But alas, all good things must end.

Around the three month mark- he ripped my heart out. He ended us with no warning, no notice, and some very hurtful words. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. A month or so went by and he came back, crying and begging me to take him back and forgive him. I did, of course, and welcomed him back with open arms- although a bit gun shy and leery. After a few weeks it was back to where we were before and I was back in my state of ignorant bliss. Again, the three month mark rolled around and he ripped my heart out again. I had sworn to myself years before him that I would never cry after or beg a man to be with me. But I dropped all my pride and dignity and cried after him as he got into his truck and drove away- not even looking back. A week passed and again he called, crying and begging. This time I thought I made him prove himself. He swore he went to a doctor and was diagnosed bipolar and got a prescription for meds to help him. He swore he had gotten help and was even seeing a therapist and that he would never hurt me again. And, like the foolish woman I am, I believed.

As you can guess- the story did not end like the fairy tales. He ripped my heart out one last time and I finally bid him farewell for good. "Three strikes you're out", I told him. It was hard but then he said something so cruel I won't even type it here- which made me hate him. I thank him for that actually. His horrible words made it easier to say goodbye. But the whole experience of him re-opened the hole that I thought I was starting to finally heal. And sadly, a year and a half after saying goodbye, that hole is still there. It's funny how such a short relationship can lead you to that dark place in your head and your heart that no one can rescue you from.

Today, as I was lying in my dentist chair under the influence of nitrous, listening to sappy love songs on my mp3 player, my mind started racing through memory after memory. Heartache after heartache. Each one different, yet, somehow the same. A different villain in each storyline, same broken feeling.

The lying from my ex-husband. Years before we were married, and even after we were married. But he was my soul and I loved him so I forgave each sin. Then I became the 'bad guy' for my one sin against him, for which I will never forgive myself. He is now with an old high school girlfriend and they recently had a baby. I wish him nothing but happiness and joy.

The 'Casanova' bastard who told me everything I'd ever wanted to hear from my ex-husband and didn't mean a word of it. The one who made me believe that happiness really was possible. The one I crushed my ex-husband over. The selfish one who will never grow up and never truly love anyone but himself. He is now married with a baby and still hasn't realized the error of his ways. Karma's a bitch. I thought he learned that a few years ago...evidently not.

My sons father. I trusted him from day one. There was something so angelic about him from the beginning. But I was never good enough for him. I smoked too much, didn't eat right, didn't exercise enough, was too much of this or too little of that. The day I gave birth to our stillborn son he was leaving flirty comments on another girls pictures on her Myspace. He swears he never cheated. Did he? I'll never know. He always preached at me about how exes can never really be friends. Yet while we were together he started hanging out with a girl he had slept with years before that. They were, of course, "Just friends". They now live together. We still talk on occasion but he's not allowed to actually be my 'friend'- it might hurt that girls feelings. Hmmm... wonder if she thinks about how I felt?

My "Prince Charming". As you read above, he was the straw that broke the camel's back. A week after our final conversation in February he met a girl at a tanning salon. They were married August 1st of that same year. She added me on Facebook for about a week and then I deleted her, and I even spoke to her on the phone. She seems like a sweet girl. I wish them the best but can't help but feel my stomach drop at the mention of his name or the sight of his face and those dark brown eyes that hypnotized me so many times.

With each heartache a chunk of ourselves gets broken away. After we experience that final 'one', something happens inside of us that we don't even realize. We become desensitized to love. Yes, I have been crazy about people since my last heart-break, but I have not allowed myself to feel real love for anyone since him. Sadly, I've become a bit of a villain myself, as we all do after being hurt so many times. We learn to be on constant guard of our hearts and souls, and we are subconsciously attracted to the ones that we know we can never have anything real with. As soon as we start to actually 'feel' something, we find a reason (or a hundred) to back off. We develop a phobia of emotional pain. I personally would rather someone beat me half to death than to break my heart ever again. Bruises and broken bones heal with time- true heartache never fully does.

Present day... I sit here in my one bedroom apartment in front of my monitor. My cat asleep on the chair behind me, and my apartment completely silent other than the tranquil humming from my computer and my fingers tapping away on the keyboard. I stay in a comfortably numb state for the most part. Until something sparks the memories like a name on a check. Or nitrous and sappy love songs.

"I am tired, Beloved,
of chafing my heart against
the want of you;
of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it."
~Amy Lowell, "The Letter"

Writing Is My Therapy, My Soul

Okay, okay... so going to see the sappy, tearjerker Dear John has my head spinning again. My mind is often in a tornadic state but with so much going on from day to day I can rarely figure out one thing to focus on in order to clear it out of my head. From the stress of dealing with work shit to trying to be there for friends and family to just trying to go into zombie mode so that I don't think about things- I rarely ever take the time to think about what the hell is going on with myself other than the stuff that is directly in my view on the day to day.

Doing things like watching a sappy movie suck because they make me do the one thing I hate...cry. But they actually help overall because they make me stop to think about things. Like tonight.

This is a weird week for me anyway. Those of you that know me very well know my thing with 22 and 222. Today was 2-22 and thankfully nothing crazy happened. (Whew!) I still have yet to figure out what significance that has but still weird either way.

I
"It's possible to go on, no matter how impossible it seems, and that in time, the grief . . . lessens. It may not go away completely, but after a while it's not so overwhelming."
— Nicholas Sparks (Dear John)

This Saturday is the three year anniversary of my dad's suicide. It's so hard to believe it's been 3 years. Tomorrow is the three year mark of the last time I spoke to him. It was my ex's birthday and we were on our way to Olive Garden. I was pregnant and so hungry and my dad called me from my grandmother's house in London. He was talking about going into rehab and asked if I'd come see him if he did. He was being pretty repetitive, as most people are when they're intoxicated. I felt like I was being rude for staying on the phone on my way out for a dinner date with my boyfriend so I was trying to rush him off the phone. He went on and on about how proud he was of me. I remember asking him why because I felt like a complete failure. I didn't have a career- was going through a divorce- and was pregnant by a man who was not my husband. But he insisted he was proud of me anyway and told me about a dream he'd had about his grandchild I was pregnant with at the time. He had had a dream of taking him fishing and said he was definitely going to be a boy and was going to be chubby and be "Papaw's boy". Before we hung up he told me he loved me. I would have never dreamed that that moment would be the last time I would talk to my daddy.

He didn't say anything hinting to what he was going to do and even seemed like he was in a decent mood, but he had made suicidal threats before and I believed that bullshit about "if they threaten it they'll never do it, they just want attention". I found out 4 days later that it's not true. When someone threatens suicide they will do it at some point when they finally reach what they think is more than they can handle. On February 27, 2007 my daddy took his own life in front of his alcoholic mother with a .22 Ruger (there's that fucking number again). I was 14 weeks pregnant. He left no note.

So now, three years later, I sit here with tears running down my face missing my daddy and wondering if there is anything at all I could have said to make him change his mind. Did he feel like we didn't care? Did he think we hated him? Did he think his baby girl was too grown up and didn't need him anymore and that I didn't want to talk to him? Did I break his heart when I rushed him off the phone to go to my oh-so-important dinner date? The path of destruction from a suicide is an unexplainable one. A hole left in the souls of the people left behind that nothing will ever fill and a hurt in me no man will ever come close to healing. And none I have met yet that are brave enough or strong enough to even try.

II
"Just when you think it can't get any worse, it can. And just when you think it can't get any better, it can."
— Nicholas Sparks (At First Sight)

February 27th was the end of the world to me. The man I always thought was superhuman showed me that it's not really true when people say God won't put more on you than you can handle. He gave my dad more than he could handle. If it were true that God wouldn't do that then no one would ever feel the need to end their own lives. And just when I thought I couldn't handle anymore my life took an even more tragic turn for the worse.

A few weeks after losing dad my doctor was trying to put me in a better state of mind for the sake of my health and my baby. So she did a 'sneak peek' ultrasound and I found out he was a boy. I was happy about that yet it made me sad because I couldn't call my dad with the great news that he was going to have the grandson he told me he dreamed about. I wanted so bad to pick up the phone and tell him that he was right- but I couldn't. But still, I was happy. I had been trying to decide between a few names and finally decided on Aiden Blaine. I thought it sounded so masculine yet modern and like a hero from a novel. I couldn't wait until my official 20 week ultrasound so that I could record it and show my mom and sister.

My son's father had to work the day of my official ultrasound so my best friend Mel went with me. It was Tuesday, April 10, 2007. Six weeks to the day exactly of when my dad took his life. After waiting for what seemed like forever in the waiting room we finally got called back. They don't do VHS recordings anymore so Mel had my digital camera and was recording the tv screen that the ultrasound was showing on. After a few minutes the tech asked her to stop recording and left the room. What seemed like another eternity passed before the tech came back with the doctor close behind her. Moving the machine around my abdomen again for a few minutes, the doctor got a disturbing look on her face and told me my son no longer had a heartbeat.

My choices were to either wait it out and let nature take its course or be induced and give birth to my baby boy at 20 weeks. I was admitted to the hospital and induced and my sleeping angel was delivered a little after midnight on April 12. His cord was wrapped. They estimated he had already been gone for at least a week so he wasn't even developed to the full 20 weeks yet. They called it a 'miscarriage' instead of a stillbirth so I didn't even get a death certificate or a funeral. It took weeks for him to be buried and for me to find out where. There was no closure. No chance to say goodbye. And the only photos I got are of his hands and feet because when the nurse asked me if I wanted pictures of his face I was too doped up to give it any thought. I was already crushed and this was the final blow.

I went back to work a week after losing my father so tragically and now I was going back to work a week and a half after losing my baby boy. I couldn't afford to take the time off I probably needed. When I went back to work I had an email that said "I know you're going through a lot but this is a crucial time and I need you to be on top of things." Yes, I'm serious.

So not only was I crushed and destroyed but I was angry and didn't even know who to be angry with. I had no time to deal with myself and no time to figure out how to grieve. Sure, I cried. But for the most part I did it when I was alone because no one else wanted to hear me. I was angry to the point of not even being able to be around my mom for a while other than an hour or so at a time because I couldn't deal with her talking about my dad. I couldn't handle her pain because I wasn't even able to handle mine. I felt like my son's father didn't really care and even wondered if he was relieved. Honestly, as time has passed, I've come to realize I was probably right.

What I would give now to hold my son. To know what color his eyes would have been or the color of his hair. To be able to kiss his dimples he would most likely have inherited from me. To be able to hear him say 'ma ma' or 'da da' for the first time. To be able to tuck him in at night. To have the 'boring' life of staying at home to cuddle with my baby boy and watch cartoons. He would be 2 1/2 now and although he'd be in his "terrible two's" and I'd be exhausted I'd give the world to have that chance.

III
"I finally understood what true love meant...love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be."
— Nicholas Sparks (Dear John)

Love. Undying, unconditional, real love. Most of us have had it at least once in our lives. And most of us let it go without realizing it until it's too late. We always think the grass is greener on the other side and that there's more to life than what we have at our fingertips. We always want what is beyond our grasp without realizing what we hold in our arms already. There is a part in the movie where John and Savannah are writing to each other looking at the full moon knowing the other is too- and thinking about each other so it's almost like they're together. That part of the movie took me back in time. I had a love like that once. But our 'full moon' were electric poles. (I know it sounds silly but think about it... almost all electric lines in this country are connected.) That love and I would talk on the phone when we were many miles away from each other and each go outside to touch an electric pole at the same time. That way we were connected physically and not just on the phone. We were young but it made perfect sense at the time. And to this day when the thought crosses my mind I still wish I could go touch an electric pole and know that I wasn't alone. At that moment I was home... and God how I miss that feeling.

But now, years later, past loves are happy in their own lives and are creating new memories. As for me... well, I'm not so sure. I've come to the conclusion that I have been going through a rebellious phase of some sort. I've tried to do some soul searching to try to figure out why I've turned out like I have but with no answers. I even question if I will ever be able to truly feel anything for anyone again. That is yet to be determined... I'm still waiting to feel 'home' again. I keep repeating in my head and it's become kind of common in my writings that "Home is where the heart is" and I know that until my heart is healed from whatever it is that keeps it in this state I'm destined to be a wanderer. Until then I'll just remain broken and live each day trying to put myself back together. I just wish I knew a better route than the one I've been taking.

IV
"When you're struggling with something, look at all the people around you and realize that every single person you see is struggling with something, and to them, it's just as hard as what you're going through."
— Nicholas Sparks (Dear John)

I know that the more I think about these things throughout this week and the next few weeks, the more emotional I will get. The slightest things like the weather being the same as the day things happened will spark an anxiety type feeling and possible brief tears. I know that throughout these next few weeks I will carry on and laugh as I always do and possibly not even show if or when something is bothering me. This is why I write. I sit alone in my apartment and can cry if I want to without feeling like I'm burdening anyone with my emotions. I can blog on this note without worrying about what someone is thinking of me and my inability to properly deal with my own issues. I can rant and rave in writing without being interrupted or having to deal with anything else in the world except my own thoughts. There are no pitiful looks of sympathy, no cheap words of how 'everything happens for a reason', and no awkward moments of people not knowing what to say.

This is my therapy.

Psychiatrists? Who needs 'em?

I have a keyboard.

Written for my son on his birthday...

Today is your 'birthday' and I''m torn apart,
I can't throw you a party with little toy cars...
don't get to see you with cake everywhere,
don't get to take you for the first trim of your hair.
I don't get to kiss you or hold your tiny hand,
I'll never get to see you grow into a man.
All I can do is visit your grave and cry,
missing you on your birthday, wanting you by my side,
wanting so badly to hold you and tell you everything's okay
cause mommy is here forever to kiss the boo-boos away.
This emptiness inside leaves an eternal, aching void.
I miss you and love you Aiden- you'll always be my little boy.

Two Years

It's been two years- two years ago today-
that you put that gun to your head and took your life away.

It's been two long years- two years that I have cried
because it was two years ago today that my Daddy, my world, died.

You left us no note, only hearts torn to shreds-
with millions of questions going through our heads.

We begged for you to get help- we cried, we prayed...
but I would've begged a million times more if it would have made you stay.

With two grandsons on the way you had so many reasons to live-
but instead you took your own life thinking you had no more to give.

You had no idea you were my hero, the reason I strived to do my best...
you thought you were a failure, couldn't see how you were blessed.

Your silly grin brought so much warmth and your brown eyes full of love-
especially when you talked about your family that you were so proud of.

Now looking in the mirror I see those same eyes but they're not as warm-
they're a bit cold, distant, unfeeling, the soul behind them brewing a storm.

I lost you, my son, my world, my life, my heart - just within weeks-
it takes every ounce of energy I have daily to keep the tears off my cheeks.

You could have never imagined the hole you left in me when you died-
one that can't be healed or filled up no matter how many tears I cry.

Not only did I lose you and my son, but I lost your family as well-
I think they blame us- hate us- think we put you through hell.

But we tried so hard to help you, loved you- maybe too much-
but you couldn't see past your demons, the alcohol was your crutch.

God- what I would give to go back two years and a day
so that maybe I could stop you, give you a reason to stay.

But on this day all I can do is miss you, cry, & pray that you're in Heaven...
it's been two years today- February 27.

To My Son While I Was Pregnant

Life will always change,
love will sometimes die...
you will laugh often,
and just as often cry.
Friends will come into your life,
and they'll disappear.
You'll wonder where time went
As it passes year by year.
You'll have to work hard
to survive everyday,
just don't forget
to make time to play.
Find a reason to smile
With every breath you take
For you never know
When you'll feel real heartache.
Revel in the moments
That take your breath away
Because what makes you happy
Can be taken from you today.
Don't live in the past,
Always look to tomorrow.
But don't forget to live in the moment,
Never be swallowed by sorrow.
Live with no regrets,
Mistakes make you who you are-
Just be sure to learn from them,
But don't let them leave scars.
If someone breaks your heart,
Chalk it up to lesson learned.
Don't try to make them love you
Or you will get burned.
Don't rush through childhood,
Have fun while it lasts.
You'll have plenty of time to grow up
And you can never go back.
Always remember that you are loved
And alone you'll never be.
Life is a lesson one must learn for themselves,
But you can always turn to me.