Tag: Love

In Remembrance of David Colvin

In Remembrance of David Colvin

Content Warning: This blog will delve heavily into the topic of death.

Recently, my family and I experienced one of the hardest losses we’ve ever had to endure. It has taken a bit of time to process all of it, but now I feel I must share this story with the world.

Before I begin, allow me to tell you the story of David Colvin.

David “Big Dave” Colvin came into my life when I was eight years old. He began as my mother’s client (my mother is a massage therapist), and very quickly became a friend. However, by this point, my mother had welcomed many clients into our lives, but many of them had left. Not to be malicious, but some of them had passed away, moved away, or simply ran out of funding to be able to see her regularly. My heart had been broken countless times by people I really loved just leaving. Needless to say, when this man entered her life with the unspoken promise of sticking around, I was hesitant.

Very quickly, however, it became apparent he was in this for the long haul. Our entire lives became focused on Big Dave. Entire routines were built around this man. His scheduled appointment was Monday, he and my mother would go out for lunch on Thursdays, and Saturday was race day. He raced at the dirt track, and soon I discovered a love for the sport as well. I enjoyed every part of it, from the smell of the fuel burning, to the dirt flinging around, the sound of engines revving… there was something oddly comforting about it, a feeling I still have today. After each race, late into the night or early into the morning, we would go out to eat at some 24 hour restaurant (Usually Huddle House), and discuss track politics. This became our life, our routine.

When I was thirteen and had attempted suicide, he brought me something to eat in the hospital because I’d been tired of hospital food. He sat and talked, and he became an oddly comforting presence. That was the moment when I knew, for certain, he was never going to leave us. And he didn’t.

He was there for every birthday party.

He was there for every program.

He was there for every event he could swing.

I remember once when I was a Girl Scout, we were in the local Christmas parade. He showed up with my mother in a 1961 Corvette convertible. I loved that car, and wanted so badly to ride in it. So he told me to hop in, and the two of us rode around the parking lot. He drove, and I held my hands in the air and let the wind flow through my fingers yelling “WOO HOO!”. He drove around until I was finally bored with it and he took me back to my mother. My hair was a mess, but I was absolutely thrilled. Also, my friends thought it was cool that I got to ride around in the cool car.

Being in Southern, USA, with people with more money than sense, it didn’t take long for the rumor mill to start and soon we were hearing rumors that Big Dave and my mother were having an affair. At the time, a small sex shop had opened (you can imagine how well this went over in a town that has a population of about 22,000 and well over 60 churches). So Big Dave, and my mom, showed up to this sex shop in the Corvette and parked right out front where everyone could see them. To us, these rumors were hilarious, but it spoke volumes as to the level of friendship, and how valuable he was to my family. He wasn’t just a client, he was family. These rumors became the running joke for all of us, including my dad who often referred to Big Dave as “my wife’s boyfriend”. IN PUBLIC. TO PEOPLE OUTSIDE OUR CIRCLE. When my mom and dad renewed their wedding vows, Big Dave was the best man, because “Of course I have to be the best man, my girlfriend is getting married”.

As a teenager, when I was in trouble, I knew Dave was always there to help me. He would drop whatever he was doing to help. And that came in handy because I ended up in a lot of sticky situations. He wasn’t afraid to tell me that whatever I’d done had been stupid (and it was), but he helped me regardless of the level of stupid I’d managed to end up in.

When I played basketball for school and our games were out of town (out of state really because we had to travel to Arkansas), he was there. When I had my first big wreck after driving for a very long time (me v. deer), he showed up in the middle of the night to pick my car up and towed it to his house, even helped us with repairing the damage.

At some point along the way, Big Dave became just… Dave.

My dad built his own race car in Dave’s shop, and soon we were out there supporting my dad.

My graduation party was held at his house.

He was at my wedding. Both of them. In fact, one of them was at his house.

And then my daughter was born.

The routine expanded to include Wednesday family nights.

Dave loved Ellie. Spoiled her so much. He would lay in the floor and play marbles with her, play blocks with her, taught her how to play chess. He bought her skates, and let her skate around the house. There were games of tag, and when my daughter started school, she started giving him homework. She “taught him” how to count, “taught him” his colors, “taught him” math. She showed him science experiments she’d learned, and as a result she is far better at math and science than my mother and I could have ever hoped to be. He had a way of connecting with her and getting to her that to the rest of us seemed magical. They understood each other.

We had “Daveisms”, or little phrases or quirks that Dave was famous (or infamous) for saying. We had the “official egg boiling pot”, a little joke amongst us. We were as much a part of his life as he was in ours, and as the routine grew to include more birthday parties, more events, perhaps we took for granted that he was always going to be there.

His health began to turn for the worst, and we watched him very slowly deteriorate. But powered by pure stubbornness alone, he insisted on living as normal a life as he could. He still cooked on his designated Wednesday, it just took a little longer. He still went out of his way to help people, regardless of how he was feeling that day. He went out of his way to make sure everyone was comfortable, everyone was happy.

I hope we did the same for him.

Towards the last days of his life, he held onto that same spark, but it was obvious he wasn’t turning around this time.

When he had his heart attack, the doctors didn’t think he’d last long. It would have been ten years this July.

Two years ago, the doctors told him he needed dialysis or he would die within the week.

We all thought if anyone could pull it off, it would be him. Perhaps selfishly, perhaps hopefully, I waited for the fateful moment where he sat up and said “Alright I’m tired of this, what are we doing for Ellie’s birthday party?”

That moment never came.

He started hallucinating, but he hallucinated good things. He would tell “someone” stories of his life; he would tell “someone” stories of his friend Marvin, of showing up to my poetry reading wearing purple pigtails (he did, it was ridiculous), of racing. He hallucinated candy on the ceilings. He hallucinated my daughter drawing him pretty pictures on the walls. Least surprising, he hallucinated working on a car until he was told he could work on it later because now he needed to rest. “Okay”.

When it became obvious he wasn’t going to pull out of this, that we were nearing the end, we practically moved into his house so he was never alone. My mother remained vigilant by his side the entire time, sleeping in five to ten minute spurts and refusing to stay gone for long for fear that he might need her. After all he’d done for us, it was the least we could do for him. Another friend, Carla, stepped up to the plate and did anything and everything the rest of us could not do. I am so proud of her and I hope she knows that. Marvin, another dear friend, was the backbone we needed through everything, trying to stay one step ahead of the game and be everyone’s rock. I hope he knows how valuable. I hope they both know how amazing they are.

On the day of his death, he started coughing really badly. We rolled him onto his side and his eyes popped open. He looked afraid. I dropped down onto my knees so that I was face to face with him, and spoke to him so he wouldn’t be scared. I said “Hi!” and he looked at me. He knew who I was. I saw recognition in his eyes. And he didn’t look afraid anymore. He said “Hi”, in his Dave way of talking. That’s all I wanted, was a moment just between the two of us where he was completely lucid and he knew who I was. Knew we were there taking care of him.

A funny moment happened when mom asked my dad to “get the wash cloth off the freezer” except my dad and I both heard “Get the wash cloth out of the freezer”. When this came to light, my dad said “Good, then I don’t feel stupid about checking in the freezer first.” We all had a laugh, and dad said a common Daveism “I just does as I’m told”. Dave smiled. He actually smiled.

In preparation for my shift at work, I laid down for a small nap. Napping there was easy, because Dave’s home had become like a second home for me during swing shifts and random night shifts. My dad walked down the hall and I panicked, only to realize he was going to the bathroom. I settled back down for a nap. Then my dad walked down the hall again, inducing more panic, and dropped some batteries, but I settled back down again. The third time I heard him walk down the hall, I thought it was to go to the bathroom again… until I heard him say my name. I knew what he was about to say.

I reiterate the content warning from the start of the post. This next part might be difficult for some to read.

I jumped up and ran down the hall to his room… His breathing had become shallow, and was beginning to rattle. He was no longer responding to our voices. I sat at one side, Carla sat at the other, and mom took her place at his head. We spoke to him, and we all tried to sound strong but inside we were all falling apart. We began making frantic phone calls to get the local friends and family there as quickly as possible. I held his hand. My mind was racing. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. What would it be like? What would it be like to watch someone I loved dearly, a man I considered a second father and a grandfather to my child die? Could I do it? I felt like I needed to be there. I felt like I owed him that. To be with him in his final moment. I could see his heart beating, and I focused on that.

I begged and pleaded to anyone who could hear me to please make his heart stronger, please… give him more time, give us more time. Give him more time, there was still good he could do for the world.

I tried to bargain my life for his. His life has meaning, purpose, I’ve been trying to get rid of mine since I was thirteen, let him have it. Please, there are people that need him, there’s still so much he has left to do. There are still projects he’s never finished.

But no one listened.

I held his hand.

Surrounded by family and friends, I watched him take his last breath… I watched his heart stop beating. He died at 9:52 PM.

I had a lot of preconceived notions about death prior to this. I had always thought death would be….dramatic. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. It was so sudden, I honestly got upset because I thought everyone had just… given up on him. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t give up. I held his hand. I kept holding his hand. Everyone walked away. I held his hand. No, he had to be there still, life doesn’t just….STOP like that. I kept holding his hand. I couldn’t let go. If I let go, he was gone, and I couldn’t let go. I stared at his chest, willing it to rise again, willing his heart to pump again, bargaining again. Just not yet. Not yet.

I broke down… I sobbed… I didn’t care who was around me… I didn’t care who saw… I cried. After that everything became a blur of phone calls, of coroners, of investigators, of more phone calls, of funeral home directors loading him up and taking him away.

I let my daughter see him. She cried and held my hand. I couldn’t stand to just leave him alone, but it felt so wrong to be there when he wasn’t “there”. I kept touching him, kept kissing his forehead, kept… hoping… The universe is funny, maybe it just took a little longer to do the trade and any minute I would be in his place and he would be in mine. Any minute. Those minutes turned into hours as more frantic phone calls, took place… and I don’t remember much after they took him away.

CW: If you tuned out, you are safe to continue reading from this point

The past few weeks have been a blur. I was in shock for a few days. I felt like I was watching someone else live my life for me. I was a robot doing what I was programmed to do, and little more. When I wasn’t doing anything, I would just stare at the wall until hours passed. I didn’t sleep much. I didn’t eat much. He died on February 15, 2020, and I still haven’t quite worked my way back to normal.

It didn’t seem real. None of it seems real.

We did a simple graveside service for him where we buried his urn, precisely as he wanted. I am thankful for that opportunity. But it made it all more real.

And made me realize the hardest part of loss is not the loss itself. It is learning to live again after the loss. 22 years of routines, of patterns, of sayings, of understandings, gone. Just gone in the blink of an eye.

But Dave was more than that. He was more than a client, more than a family friend. He was family. He amounted to more than his things, his stuff. We had his trust, his love, we had “Daveisms” and memories.

I don’t know if I ever made him proud. I hope I did. I hope I have. I am honored to have been there during his final moments, and I hope he knows just how much he was loved.

Dave taught me many things about life. He taught me the power of giving for the sake of giving, but he also taught me the need for caution when it came to giving. Because many took advantage of his kindness. Dave taught me the importance of family, and helped me learn that sometimes the strongest family ties aren’t through blood, though blood family should be honored, such as his parents. Dave taught me that people make mistakes, and no matter how dumb they were, they could be fixed. Through him I extended my family to include new people, and feel the strongest sort of pride for having them in my life.

I also watched my mother be so strong through one of the hardest moments in her life, and I hope she knows how proud I am of her, and how much I love her. I know for a fact she made Dave proud.

I hope Ellie never forgets him, and always remembers his quirks. There was an interesting moment when he was still in the hospital. He was asleep, so we didn’t want to disturb him. I kissed him on the forehead to tell him goodbye, then Ellie wanted to say goodbye as well. Mom and I stood at the door and watched as she stood there. She didn’t say a word. Just stared at him. After a moment, she nodded, and walked out. I don’t know if she saw something, as kids sometimes do, or if she accepted what was happening. I just don’t know. But it was a powerful moment, regardless.

And if my life was not a good enough trade for his, then perhaps it means my life still has purpose? Perhaps there is something more I am meant to do in this world still.

We weren’t ready, and no amount of time would have made us ready. Even if we had a hundred more years, the world would not have been ready to lose someone so precious.

Thank you, David Colvin, Dave, for everything you did for me, for us. I hope we made you proud, and continue to make you proud. I hope you know how much you meant to each and every one of us.

Rest in peace, Dave. I love you.

 

 

Religion, and other ramblings

I had a long, and lengthy, discussion with a friend of mine on the topic of religion and beliefs. For the longest time, I thought of myself as a pagan. Then, when belief failed me, I turned to atheism. Now, I am not so sure what to call myself. I cannot say there is nothing out there, but I cannot definitively say something is out there either. I simply do not know.

What I can say with certainty is there is much to this world that we still do not understand.

I believe gods were created out of necessity. People needed something to put their faith in to believe that everything would be okay. This could be anything from the weather patterns, food, fertility, even death. Every culture, every people that has walked this earth, has held some form of  belief. By the time Christianity was conceived, tens of thousands of cultures had been long dead, and with them their gods died as well.

We must then choose to belief that there is something, or there is nothing. Furthermore, we must then decide who is right, and who is wrong. But what if the truth was no one was completely right, and no one is completely wrong?

I am of the belief that true faith comes from acknowledging the fact that we simply do not know. We can strive to find answers, but ultimately, we just do not know. We want to be right so badly that we sometimes miss the fact that answers can lie in unsuspecting places. Religion does not explain everything, and science does not explain everything. If you were to put the two together, however, you get more answers, and the divide between people is thinned. If you acknowledge that answers can lie within multiple religions rather than just one, more answers are presented.

I do not believe in absolutes. Nothing is absolutely bad, and nothing is absolutely good. Nothing is absolutely correct, or absolutely wrong. Bad can have good intentions, and with bad comes lessons. Good can have bad intentions, and good can also have its own set of lessons. While we argue incessantly over who is right and who is wrong, we are missing the biggest picture of them all; we are all human beings sharing an earth together, and our bickering is leading to our own demise.

Religion, and even a lack thereof, has led to countless centuries of bloodshed. Our earth is covered in gallons of blood from fallen warriors willing to die for what they believed to be correct, and its the age old chess match. There is no winner when there is death. The biggest armies does not mean one is more correct than another. A religion with a massive following is no better than a smaller following. The number of followers does not dictate the level of faith a group of people may possess. The only thing numbers provide is a larger army from which wars can begin, and how history will remember the fallen.

Going back to a point I made earlier within this post, I believe gods were created from faith, and that faith came from necessity. As people moved from land to land, they took their gods with them. The people changed, evolved, and the gods were forced to do the same. That is why we see so many who call themselves by the same name, yet believe so differently. This is why we see so many beliefs that are similar to other religious beliefs from countries we’ve never visited.  What I see now, however, is stagnation. The world, like it or not, is constantly evolving. New gods are being created out of necessity, new beliefs are forming from necessity, yet people cling so dearly to the old ways they have always known. This is not the way the universe is supposed to work. This is not to say, of course, that we should completely abandon the “old ways”, but we should not stay stuck in them. If we remained stuck, you would not be sitting at your computer, or holding your phone, reading these words while constructing your responses. We must learn from the old ways, and bring the old into the new. We must take the lessons we’ve been given, but continue to move forward. We will be ancient history one day. Our future generations will look back on this generation in disgust, as we look back on certain aspects of our ancestors, and wonder “How could people sit by and allow this to happen?” Stagnation.

There must be a balance, a harmony. The longer we continue to allow ourselves to be divided, the more we see the world being destroyed. Soon, there will be no one to argue with of right and wrong, because there will be no one left to have an opinion.

I do not believe faith comes from a book written by men. In fact, I believe religious texts are one of the poisons of our society. A book that teaches people how to live can easily be rewritten, or mistranslated, to sway the public opinion. We have seen the evidence of this, in fact, with the changes made to the bible over time. Faith comes from within, belief comes from within, and we create our gods out of necessity. Each person serves a purpose, and therefore we must also accept that “bad” people also serve a purpose. With the recent popularity in Ted Bundy, I’ll use him as an example. Ted Bundy did terrible things, but from those terrible things, we got a unique insight into the way the mind of a serial killer functions. We have a better understanding of just how terrible the human mind can be, and we saw warning signs. We bettered our understanding of the evolution of a serial killer, While we focus on the acts done by the man, we also looked at the victims. Each death gives us more answers about the human body, the human vessel. Each day we continue to move forward and learn, and that is the way we are supposed to be. We are supposed to move forward and learn more so that we may have stronger beliefs in the capability of mankind.

From all the negative things that have happened, good has come out of them. Every experience shapes who we are as people. While some events have a bigger impact than others, we cannot point fingers and continue to hate one group or the other. Instead, we take the information, good and bad, and we learn from it. The situations thrown upon us are up to us to decide how we are going to react to them. Bad can be changed to good.

Perhaps I’m getting a bit rambling, and perhaps I’m even not making sense now. I honestly cannot tell. I can only hope these words make sense to someone out there. I wish these words could help the progression by helping people realize the importance of accepting change, of accepting progression, of accepting we do not know everything, and accepting that absolutes simply don’t exist. No one is right, no one is wrong, no one is bad, no one is good all the time. It is simply impossible. Change, evolution of ourselves, however, is very possible, if we’d simply allow it to happen.

The True Power of Positive Mental Attitude

The True Power of Positive Mental Attitude

I get a lot of comments on my tattoos. Sometimes they’re positive, sometimes negative. You get used to it after some time, and the explanations can become jaded. But a nice woman came in to get a room, and asked me what this tattoo was all about, because it looked cool.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I decided to give her the actual meaning behind it.

I asked if she was familiar with YouTube, to which she said she was. I told her there was a man, named JackSepticEye, who does a lot of charity work, who makes people laugh, who publicly fights depression, and maintains a message known as PMA.

“What is PMA?” She asks. Her questions are genuine.

“Positive Mental Attitude.” I explain, “As a person who suffers from a mental disorder on a daily basis, I got this tattoo to show my support for him, his movement, but also a reminder to myself when things get bad.”

She’s fallen silent. I look up at her, having been busy looking down at the computer screen checking her in. Had I gone too far?

She breathes what I can only describe as a sigh of relief and says “I’m going to have to tell my husband to look him up. He’s bipolar, and he could use a bit of positivity in his life like that.” I looked at her, and we had an unspoken understanding. Mental illness is hard on everyone. It’s hard for the person dealing with it, and it’s hard for those we love. I set my professionalism aside, and told her she was awesome.

I’ve had people walk out of my life, cast me aside, because they “couldn’t handle” my “crazy”. Indeed, I’ve destroyed friendships with my “crazy”. To have her standing in front of me, and tell me of her husband’s condition not because she was ashamed, or because she hated him, but because she saw someone who understood from both sides how stressful and difficult it could be… I told her she was awesome, and thanked her for being a good person.

A man was sitting in my lobby at the time, and overheard everything. He’d needed a place to stop to change his daughter’s diaper. As soon as the guest left, he approached the counter and handed me $20. I was shocked and said “Sir, you don’t have to do that.” He shook his head, waved his hand, and said “Thank you for letting us stop. Keep up that positive mental attitude.” Then he walked out as I thanked him.

THAT’S the power of Positive Mental Attitude. That’s the TRUE POWER OF PMA.

Just a few thoughts

Just a few thoughts

​I’ve heard a lot of people say they’d prefer to be alone, without friends or lovers, because they wouldn’t get hurt. 

Wrong. 

No matter who you are around, or not, the person that can hurt you the most is yourself. 

But sometimes the people you bring into your world can help you fix some of the damage you’ve done to yourself. 

I also do not believe that a person is either good, or bad. These are simplified categories we use to justify feelings. I think it is all perspective. Everything is a matter of perspective. 

I do not believe that God, or the devil, has the ability to make us feel, or do, certain things. That implies we lack free will. If we didn’t have free will, I wouldn’t be writing this right now. You wouldn’t be reading this right now, either. I believe we are all capable of “evil”, and we use God and the devil in the same sense that we use bad and good. Without one, it is impossible to appreciate the other. 

I think country music is annoying. Sorry, that was random, but the man delivering boxes at Sonic is blaring it. Felt like it deserved mentioning. Everyone’s just whining to a twanging guitar. 

I wish the world could focus more on love than being right. The joy of a meaningful conversation, the laugh between friends, cuddling, surpasses the joy of being able to say “I’m right”. And that’s coming from someone who is addicted to being right and proving a point. 

Why is country trying to sound like rock and pop mated and had a strange love child? Sorry again. The song changed. I wonder if I should tell the Sonic delivery guy that he’s featured in my blog? Nah, that would be weird. 

I want to find a love that makes me feel as happy, as comfortable, and as accepted as my best friend makes me feel. Then he’d be my best friend and I could marry him. I want a love that isn’t forced, or fake…. But beautiful like a glorious painting, a symphony, and moving like a novel. I want a love that is…calming like a gentle storm. Does that even exist? Probably not. Which brings the entire blog full circle to the first sentence I said. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m going to be alone forever. I feel like everyone will leave eventually, or in the grand scheme of things I am nothing. I am the flame on the end of a match to most people, when what I want is to be someone’s sun. I want to matter. I don’t want to feel like I’m easily replaced with a new model. I want to heal, I want to help, I want to inspire, I want to love, and live. I want to matter.

But I’m going to be alone. At least that’s how I feel. Maybe it’s better to be alone? Because then I won’t get hurt. Trusting people hurts. Because people hurt. Because the world hurts. 

Yet I’m currently alone, and the only one hurting me right now is myself. My inner “demons”, if you will. 

And the country music. That’s not helping.

This blog went in an entirely different direction than I thought it was going, but I kinda like it. It’s very…real. Very me. Very random. It’s perfect. 

Perfectly me. 

Hatred is easy.

​We the people have the power to show love and kindness. With the power of music, the power of art, the power of writing, the power of small gestures. A single smile, or a simple “are you okay?” can change the world for someone. 

Trump supporters are being hateful, Hillary supporters are being hateful. When are the people going to realize that hate has done nothing but sow the seeds of discord even further into our hearts? Love. Acceptance. Being open minded. Humility. THESE are the things that will win our country back. Not killing each other over a difference of opinion. Not killing each other over a difference in race, sexual orientation, gender…. It’s going to take all of us. Sadly, we the people have forgotten love. Sadly, love has been replaced. Not with hate. Fear. We have been taught to fear our brothers and sisters. We’ve been taught to fear difference, because different must be bad. Kindness has been replaced with distrust, which leads to more fear. We’ve been taught that if someone isn’t agreeing with us, they are against us, and being against us is bad. We’re paranoid, and we’re scared, and we all feel alone.

 I choose to stand with homosexuals, I choose to stand with people of color. I choose to stand with white people. I choose to stand with straight people, transgender people. I choose to stand with Muslims, Buddhists, pagans, wiccans, Hindus, Christians, atheists, so forth. WE THE PEOPLE. CAN CHOOSE. LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE OVER HATRED. 

Teach me so I can learn! Show me the beauty of the world through your eyes. Spread joy and laughter, not blood of fellow human beings.

Our country was founded on freedom of oppression so that WE could all live the American dream. History has not been kind to our ancestors, no matter the race. I choose to educate myself so that I can avoid making the same mistakes my ancestors and my elders did, and do. I choose not to let the past rule me and my decisions. “This is the way it’s always been, so it’s the way it has to be.” BY WHOSE RULES?! No. I refuse to accept that. I refuse to accept that it will always be this way. I refuse to accept that we will always hate one another. Not if we all choose to do otherwise. 

Right now hate is winning. Fear is winning. Right now, YOU HAVE A CHOICE. I don’t care who is running this country because in the end, WE THE PEOPLE ARE THEIR BOSSES. WE THE PEOPLE HAVE THE POWER TO STOP ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING ANY POLITICIAN THROWS AT US. But we have to STOP. HATING. AND KILLING. EACH OTHER. 

Every single one of us has their own battles to fight. We’re all going through things. We’re all angry about something, we’re all scared about something. Every individual on earth is just as complex as the other. It makes no sense to judge someone by something they cannot help. Judge by character, by observation. Not by what a label tells you. PEOPLE ARE NOT SOUP CANS.

So what’s it going to be, people of the world? Let history continue to repeat in a timeless loop of death, depression, and fear? Or do we put our foot down and scream at the top of our lungs “WE THE PEOPLE OF EARTH HAVE HAD ENOUGH.”

Teach love. Teach respect. Teach kindness. Teach to be a trusting person, and teach to trust. It’s going to take us all. 

And believe me, if you see me in public and you ever feel afraid, ask and I will defend you. I will defend those who cannot speak, those who cannot reach out. Men, women, children, anyone. I stand with humanity.

We the people must vow from this moment forward to try and make a difference. One voice in a crowd is but a whisper, but put enough whispers together and they’ll hear our screams. Enough is enough. 

To My Fallen Brothers and Sisters….

I’m going to be completely poem and honest with all of you that read this post: I don’t watch the news. I don’t like reading about it, I don’t like watching it, I don’t like talking about it, and I hate writing about it. The media of today is so biased, trying to watch the news just ends with a bunch of pseudo-professionals trying to tell me what I should and shouldn’t think. The news makes me angry. The world makes me sad. Even employing all of my best avoidance tactics, nothing could prevent the announcement of the shooting in Orlando.

At the time of writing this, 50 have been confirmed dead, 53 injured, with the death toll expected to rise. Victims are still being identified, and families are beginning to grieve.

A lot of the information pouring in doesn’t make sense. What does make sense is innocent people died. Because they were in a gay club. And a bipolar Muslim did it.

Where do I even begin?

I’m seeing everyone shouting and pointing fingers. Blaming each other. Supporting the shooter. Calling for the death of all Muslims. And all I have left to say is…Are you fucking kidding me? Accusing anyone with a mental illness of being capable of this sortof thing. All I can say is…Are you fucking kidding me?

Let’s break this down a bit. First, we’ll go after the anti-gay community. If you are against gay people on the sole reasoning that a book told you to hate them, and yet you can also say “you reap what you so” supporting the deaths, let me ask you a few questions. My first question being the obvious of did you skip the part in the bible where it says God is love? Love thy neighbor? Did you miss where Jesus welcomed all? Did you miss the commandments that said “Thou shalt not kill”? If you’re just following the rules of your precious book, maybe you should stop being a sheep and actually read the fucking thing. You don’t have to agree with the lifestyle, but it doesn’t harm you. Stop being hateful.

Second, can you tell me for a fact that every person attending that club was gay? Straight people go to gay clubs all the time. It’s fun, and friendly. How many fellow Christians were killed that you just condemned with your assumptions? What if it had been your son, or daughter, killed? This hatred disgusts me.

You don’t have to like homosexuals, or agree with them, but how can you honestly justify the murder of an innocent person as being right? How can you look at a television, and instead of being moved to tears by the names of the dead flashing across the screen, you think “Fucking fags deserved it”. How can you stomach your own hypocritical existence?

To the true loving, and caring Christians out there who will, inevitably, get lumped into the same category as this bigoted nonsense, allow me to say you have not been forgotten. We hear you, and your support, or donations, or prayers, are heard and appreciated. Don’t let the harsh world around you take you away from doing good things.

Of course, I’m not here just to call out the hypocritical “Christians”, I’m here to call out the hypocritical homosexuals as well. You preach about love and acceptance, and yet some of you are screaming for the death of Muslims? You’re going to condemn an entire group of people because of the actions of one man, yet expect people to be more forgiving when there are cases of male on male, or female on female, rape? No, you don’t get it both ways. To be accepted, you must be accepting. You don’t have to agree with anyone to be civil. Our community has been hit by a terrible tragedy. Now is the time to pull together and show the world what true love is all about.

To the peaceful, loving Muslims who are tired of seeing people doing terrible acts in the name of your God, believe it or not, you haven’t been forgotten either. Not everyone in the world believes that all Muslims are terrorists, and I know you grow weary of this shit, too. I cannot say I understand, or agree, with your religion, but my lack of understanding is no cause for hatred towards those who want no part in this.

And finally, to those throwing the word “bipolar” around like it’s a dirty word. First of all, a mental illness is not an adjective to be used to describe a situation. And just because someone is professionally diagnosed with a mental disorder, it doesn’t mean they are capable of going out and killing people. It does happen, and that is a fact I cannot argue, and there are a lot of people who ARE capable of it. But a person who is being treated properly, or at least taught how to cope, knows how to deal with their disorders. Perhaps instead of relying on expensive medications, we should start shifting our focus to behavioral therapy? Especially in cases where someone can’t afford their medicine, but really need to be on it? Maybe instead of teaching people more hatred, or fear, we teach awareness. We teach acceptance.

Those of us who do know how to cope with our illnesses know we can’t get a gun, and the general consensus is we don’t want one. Not because we are against guns, but because we don’t trust ourselves to not use it to commit suicide, or worse.

I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all the hatred brewing around. I’m sick of accusations, of people jumping to conclusions. I’m sick of finger pointing and harsh words.

Bad people exist in every walk of life, be it gay, straight, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian. Stop labeling people and lumping them into groups. We are human beings, not labeled merchandise able to fit into categories. We are complex creatures capable of free- thinking and other amazing feats. We have thumbs!

Look at this without the labels: 50 individuals killed, 53 injured, by a lone gunman in a night club.

Look at this as the tragedy that it is, and let’s stand by each other. Let’s put differences aside, and try love for a change. Let’s try to understand each other, and help each other, whether we agree or not.

To the families and friends of the fallen, my heart is heavy with sadness for your loss. I wish I could reach out to you and offer you my love, my support, but I cannot. Just know that one small town girl keeps you in her thoughts. To those with injured, you have my well wishes and thoughts that your loved ones are able to pull through.

Let love shine from all walks of life.

I’m Fine

As I lay my head down to the sleep,
The demons find a hole to creep
Inside my thoughts, chaos spinning
Memories long gone come back again.
The yelling, the screaming, the torture, the pain,
The lies, the betrayal, the embarrassment made,
Shadows I’ve been running from for most of my life pick the time I want peace to pounce and fight.
I claw at my skin because I can feel them crawling
Like ants trying to devour my soul,
I keep resisting them.
Even when I wake I catch them creeping inside
Forcing me to relive my deepest sins.
Remember that one time, and how everyone laughed?
You’re such a mistake, a fool, your time has come and passed.
Remember that other time you fell asleep with your tears?
Let’s relive that, and all your worst fears.
I lay my head down to sleep,
I pray the nightmares away will keep.

But you’re all smiles and all laughs. 
Your problems can’t be that bad, you’re over dramatic.
It could always be worse, my dear, don’t you know it?
Keep your head up high and don’t try to show it.
Don’t let them see the scars or hear your pain,
It’ll be worse next time, they’ll be back again.

I open my mouth to scream, but all I hear is silence.
On the outside I’m calm, but inside there’s violence.
I’m being torn apart now, but don’t worry about me.
The demons aren’t real, or so they tell me.
It’s all make believe, I just have to keep trying.
How can this not be real, can’t you see I’m dying?
Can’t you see my soul bleeding from my eyes?
Can’t you hear the lies when I whisper I’m fine?
Can’t you hear the lump form in my throat?

No tears, we get scared when you cry.
You’re so happy all the time, just grin and lie.

I’m tired of lying, I’m tired of fear.
I’m drowning in my pain, and with every tear
I shed when I’m trying to dream
Is pulling a piece of my heart out, but I silence my screams.

Give all that you can to everyone around.
Maybe filling the void for them will quiet the sound
Of the monsters hiding in your soul trying to get in.
Or you’ll dry up like a husk, and eventually give in
To the temptation to pick up the razorblades
And let the demons carve their names into your flesh.

Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, I promise.
The final breath that I scream will be my loudest.

Dare to Hope

I feel as though I may have cheated my readers a little bit this morning by giving you such a short post. No worries, I hope that I can more than make up for that with this one. When I woke up today I actually had no intention of writing another blog post, but circumstances are always changing, and I felt inspired. What inspired me, you might ask? A man named Nick Vujicic.

Nick Vujicic, for those of you who do not know, is an Australian-Serbian man born with a condition known as tetra-amelia syndrome or, to put it in terms we can all understand: He was born with no arms and no legs. He travels around the world giving motivational speeches, and I have to say, it brings me to tears. My mother actually showed me a video of his years ago, but what he was saying didn’t really make sense even though it was entirely relevant to what was happening in my life; I simply wasn’t ready to listen. I am now, however, and I have found myself in a completely different state of mind than what I originally was.

What makes Nick Vujicic’s speeches so profound is the fact that he starts by making jokes at his own expense, but then grows completely serious. He looks into the crowd and tells everyone “I love you. I don’t care what you’ve done, or who you are. I don’t care what you look like, because that doesn’t matter. I love you.” And though he is religious, and he says he found his strength in God, he encourages everyone to find strength in whatever they need–be it religion or otherwise.

I think that is the problem with the world. We are too busy judging those around us. Whether they are gay, straight, black, white, Latino, European, etc. We judge based on the religion they choose to practice, the choices they’ve made in life, because we want everyone to be perfect. I’m here to tell you there is no such thing as perfect. Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder. The outside shows nothing of what is on the inside, and if we would look past our judgements, we may actually find we like some of the people we’re tossing down. This point is validated when Nick states

When I first stepped onto this stage, a lot of you felt sorry for me. A lot of you pitied me. You don’t anymore, do you? No, of course not, because you know me. You know what I’ve been through, you can see what I overcame. You’d want to be my friend now, wouldn’t you? Of course you would! But as you can see, I still have no arms and no legs. At this point you’d say, ” So what? Who cares?”

I’ve mentally written this blog a handful of times already, and each time I reach this point, I’m never sure where to begin.

I’m not perfect. I do not want to be perfect, as there is too much stress. I know what it’s like to feel as though no one likes you, or no one wants you around. I know what it feels like to think you’re not good enough, or pretty enough. I’ve been beaten down, I was pushed to the end of my rope on many occasions; one of them nearly slid me to the end. But I came back. I’ve popped up, and I’ve kept going. It’s true, we all worry a little about what people around us think, even if we are too proud to admit it. We’re always trying to please someone. But my question is why? Why are we so worried about browbeating others into thinking like us, and why do we care so much about what others think? The world around us is full of bullies, whether it is in the form of a kid in school, or a corporate business owner. People are constantly pushing and shoving others down–the only thing that changes is the motivation behind it.

I, too, have been told “You’re not good enough”.

What Nick Vujicic has taught me today is to have hope. I wish I’d listened then, perhaps I would have been a lot better off. But the beautiful thing about hope, is it isn’t too late to change. I’ll never be a supermodel, I’ll never be Einstein. I’ll never have a voice like some of the singers in history, I’ll never have a writing talent like Anne Rice. But I am me, damn it, and there is only one me.

You are more precious than diamonds. All the diamonds in the world.

And that is true. There is only one me, just as there is only one you. There will only ever be one you. Never again will there be another you.

My life has made a drastic change over the course of these past three years. I was annulled, married again, became a mother. I divorced again, I lost friends, I reformed some old connections.

There have been days where I just sat, and I cried. I remember the first night when my now ex-husband walked out, and I cried. I sobbed. I panicked. I mourned what the relationship had become, and celebrated what it had once been. I allowed myself to panic, feeling I deserved at least one night. But when the sun rose the next day, my daughter was going to need me, and I needed to pull myself together. So I did. I sat there and I had my arguments with my now ex in my mind. I made him sit and listen to me, and I told him everything he needed to hear, things he didn’t listen to before. At first, I thought that was enough. Until a few months later I realized I still had anger and hatred in my heart for him.

Then I realized that I’d never really be at peace with anything, or anyone, if I held that hatred. Which then led to the realization of just how much hatred I have in my heart towards a lot of things. Hatred is a poison, and it slowly kills us each day. Perhaps you cannot physically die by hating someone or something, but you lose a piece of yourself each day that you left fear, anxiety, and hatred control you. So this time, I had my arguments. I made him listen, but this time…. I let him speak, and I listened. This is all in my head, of course, so I’m sure I was a lot crueler to myself than he would have actually been.

The next day when he came to drop our daughter off, I took him outside and I forgave him. But then I turned around, and I said I was sorry. I don’t know if he knew precisely what I was apologizing for, as he’d not been present for the mental arguments–which is probably a good thing.

I used to feel so much hatred and feelings of betrayal from my friends because I felt as though they’d left me and they’d abandoned me. I hated them because I felt they weren’t showing me what I deserved. And sometimes that may be true, and I will always be hurt by certain things, I am better than that. So instead of hating them, instead of hurting them, I’m going to simply show them why *I* think I deserve better, by being a better person to them.

I felt so much hatred towards my mother, and towards my father, for a lot of things that happened growing up. I held onto that hatred for so very long, and I used to worry that it meant I’d lost valuable time with them. I’ve struggled, I’ve had my arguments, and though I am still hurt by a lot of things, I even managed to forgive them both. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future.

One step at a time: That’s the other thing Nick Vijucic stresses. You cannot take two steps at once, it has to be one step at a time. I have a long way to go before I find my own inner peace, before I am free of this hatred, but I will get there. One day at a time.

I am lonely, and I am afraid, but I have hope that with one step forward each day, I will become the person I want to be. I need to cast my fears aside, and I need to run headlong into life. I am better than that. I am better than the person I was yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll be a better person than I was today.

Instead of worrying about what everyone is wearing, or thinking, or how they look, or act…Instead of trying to make everyone fit to your ideas of perfection, or trying to fit into another person’s ideas, just be yourself. Be happy with yourself, with how you look, who you are.

No I’ll never be any of those things I mentioned above. But they will never be me either.

Do you dare to hope?

I never really knew what my purpose in life is. Hell, I still don’t really know. But maybe, just maybe, this is meant to reach someone. Maybe, just maybe, this will save someone. That being said….

You are beautiful. I don’t care who you are, what religion you practice, the color of your skin. I don’t care what grades you made in school, or what you can or cannot do. I do not care about what you’ve done in your past, because it is just that: The past. I love you.

Dare to hope. Dare to dream. Do not settle for those who cannot love you for who you are. Be you. Love yourself.

For those of you who may be interested in hearing more about Nick Vujicic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snDQe3tWwRQ

Thank you for reading.

 

It’s Just a Silly Fairy Tale.

I used to believe in fairy tales, when I was a child. Some might argue that this is time when we’re all “naive”. I beg to differ. I do not believe children are naive, I think they have the right idea. Of course, as children, we rarely appreciate what we have until we can no longer have it for whatever reason. “You can’t watch that television show, you’re an adult.” “Get off the playground equipment, you’re a grown woman!” “Hello! Quit daydreaming, you’ve got work to do.” And to think, when we were kids, all we wanted to do was grow up!

What was it about adulthood that seemed so brilliant to us as children? We didn’t have to listen to others, we could do whatever we wanted. We could go places, drive cars, Eat take out, candy, and ice cream whenever we so desired it. We wanted to be noticed, we wanted to make our own choices! But most importantly we wanted the freedom.

Growing up is a trap. It is the ultimate Bait and Switch. When you become an adult, you start listening to your parents even more. Unfortunately for some of us, by the time we are ready to listen, our parents aren’t around to give advice. You also have to listen to, and obey, whoever your employer is. Unlike your parents, however, they aren’t looking to make you better as a person. They’re looking to make you a better employee for that company. They don’t care about the day you’ve had, or the crap you have to put up with on a daily basis, as long as you get your work done.

It is true that, as adults, we can do and go wherever we want. So long as the budget permits. Don’t have enough money to go to that party? Too bad. Maybe next time. Don’t have enough money to buy that new game? Too bad. Maybe next paycheck.

We can even drive cars if we want to! After we save up our money to buy it, buy the necessary insurance, keep the license, tags, and inspection up to date, fill it up with gas, etc. Once you have a car, and all the necessities, can you really afford to go anywhere other than work? It is true that many places do not have to worry about this sort of thing, they have public transportation. I commend you for that, but in small towns such as where I live, public transportation is a joke. Everyone drives.

Yes, you can eat take out, candy, and ice cream whenever you want it. However, you also have to go to the doctor. “That’s not healthy for you.” “Look at your teeth, we’re going to have to pull that one out.” “Your cholesterol is too high.” “My god how much weight are you going to gain?” Not to mention the toll it takes on your budget.

You want to be noticed? The chances of that happening are slim and none. You’ve got to work super hard at it and even then, your net may not stretch that far. Even if it does, there are people all over the internet who are ready to tear you back down and stomp you into the ground. Why? Because people just don’t care. Everyone is trying to be something, and it is truly a dog eat dog world filled with people ripping the competition apart.

Make your own choices? Ha! Don’t even get me started on that. Sure, you can make your own choices to a certain extent. But your bills, and your responsibilities, come first. If you have a child? Those aren’t your choices anymore. Everything you do is for them. If it isn’t that way, then it should be.

Freedom. It doesn’t exist, not really. Not when you’re an adult. In fact, we are most free when we are children. We have way more freedom than we truly realize. Why? Because everything you do as a child is great. Pooping in a potty? WOO HOO!!! Learning the alphabet? AMAZING!! You can count to five? WAY TO GO!!!

As a child, you’re learning. As an adult, you’re supposed to have all of this figured out already. Everything you do is supposed to have purpose and meaning. I remember when I first started this blog, and people would tell me “You’ve got to find something interesting to write about. It’s got to have purpose. What audience are you going to try to get the attention of? You need high numbers.” I want to touch as many as I can, I don’t want it singled down to a particular age group. I can’t create something and gear it towards a particular group at all. As a child, we learned color for a reason: Because the world is not black and white. There shouldn’t be a limit on our imaginations, there shouldn’t be a “what you can and can’t” list everywhere you go. This is YOUR WORLD, damn it, make the most of it. Life is too short for this.

I remember being younger and writing blogs on Myspace all the time. Yeah, they weren’t very serious, but I really thought I was making a difference. I didn’t care about the low numbers. If two people read my work, I was happy as a pig in mud. Two people! My words were read by two people! TWO PEOPLE were inspired by something that I wrote! I wasn’t worried about criteria, I wasn’t worried about “fitting in”. Now, however? “That’s good but.” Or my favorite. “That’s not good enough, you can do better.” 

“You wrote a book? That’s good! You can do better though.”
“Awesome blog! You can do better though. It needs something else, something that will draw people in.”

Well I hate to break it to you guys, but I don’t stick to just one subject. As you may have noticed.

Then there is the subject of love. Ohh bloody hell. As a kid, we all believe that our prince charming will one day ride into town, sweep us off our feet, and we will have the perfect, fairy tale ending. We all, at some point, believe that our “special someone” is out there. After two failed marriages, I’m not sure I believe in that concept anymore. I think love is a confusing bundle of emotions that can be brought on–and satisfied!–by artificial means (chocolate, cocaine, etc). There is no such thing as perfect.

I miss being a child. I miss the freedom of expression, the joy, the mysteries…. I miss being able to be me, and not having to worry much about fitting in. I want the freedom of being able to ask for help and not being criticized for it, I want every little thing I do to be special again.

And I don’t want to be alone. I’m tired of being alone.

At least as a child, I could invent playmates and no one thought differently of me. Try that now and you’re automatically escorted to the nearest mental health facility. “But I’m not crazy, I’m just lonely!”

I used to believe in fairy tales. I used to believe in perfection. But now all I have are my dreams, my imagination, and the hope that one day I’ll be proven wrong.

Hectic days

It has been a long couple of days, my dear friends and readers. While waiting to pick up my daughter, I was struck with the sudden urge to speak about it. On Friday my grandfather went into the hospital, and I found out by means of Facebook. I immediately was thrown into an unnecessary battle with a so called friend, and I felt utterly betrayed by someone who claims to be my best friend. Between hardly sleeping, and rushing around trying to visit my grandfather, I’ve hardly had a chance to stop, let alone think. But I did realize a number of different things over the course of the past few days:

1). Take advantage of what time you are given, as nothing is guaranteed.

2). In the face of tragedy, your true friends will show themselves, while the wolves shed their skins and give up the facade of being loyal.

3). Be careful to give your trust to the right people, and avoid the wrong ones.

4). There is great value to simply sitting and listening to someone. It may seem small to us, but to the speaker, it may be the equivalent of opening their soul to you.

5). I don’t know what I would do if I lost my grandfather. For years I’ve battled my own demons, and didn’t visit as often as I should have for my own reasons. When I heard he was in the hospital, I realized how foolish my strange despise was, not towards him but to those around him, and vowed to be at his side whenever possible.

Today he was moved from ICU to a regular room, and we were over joyed. His doctor wants him home by Valentines day, which is romantic lol. But I knelt by his bed, held his hand, and even with a room full of people we talked, just the two of us. I don’t know if he had always intimidated me, or if it was my own fear of not knowing what to say, but I learned today that it didn’t matter. Sometimes it’s just about being there and holding their hand. Words are important, they have power. I believe, however, that the true power lies within what is unspoken, and in your actions. It’s like the old saying goes: Actions speak louder than words. I know now just how true that is.

Another very important moment came to me earlier, and I completely forgot to mention it. But now that I am at a computer rather than updating via phone, I’ll post about it. My grandfather started out in life being not a very religious person, but as he grew up and things began changing in his life, he accepted the Lord into his heart and converted to Christianity. He’s been a man of God and, as he says “has tried to do best by the Lord since.” Now, those of you who know me are well aware of the fact that I am not Christian. I haven’t been for years. So imagine my guilt and distress when he told me to give all of my troubles to the Lord. I spent the rest of the night questioning myself, my religious choices, which is something I’ve not done in years. He doesn’t know of my personal choices, and I am sure you can gather why.

As I lay in bed later that night, thinking over the conversation we’d had that literally had me in tears, I had a strange epiphany. I have my own set of gods, and deities. It may not be “God” or “Jesus” in the Christian sense of the word, but I believe in a higher being. I can still take his advice to heart without crossing my own beliefs. I felt such relief when I realized this, though looking back I should have known that from the start. And watching my grandfather battle through this, my faith is restored. I cannot tell you if there is a God, I cannot tell you if Jesus really did walk the earth. I don’t know which religion is right, which one is wrong, or anything such as that. What I can tell you is there is obviously something out there. Some higher being. Perhaps it doesn’t even have a name. But something is watching over my grandfather right now, and something will be bringing him home soon. And I am thankful for that.