I Made A Promise In The Morning Breezes. You Can Have All The Space You Need, And; You Know Me Better Than You’ll Ever Need To Prove.

I’m lovesick. It hurts. I’ve tried. There’s no getting over it this time.

Mother’s Day is a difficult day for, like, almost everyone I know.

Segues are weird.

My two best friends lost their Mothers tragically, and not long ago, and I ache for them both on this day.

My Mom lost her Mom at eighteen.

A close friend and one of my heroes lol lost her Mom this year to Parkinson’s.

Someone I volunteered with at the Rape Crisis Center — back in the day — had no less than five miscarriages. Once, she delivered a baby to term, only to have it die from SIDS three days later.

My Godmother abandoned her station (read: me — she abandoned me) this year because I asked her publicly to stop saying things to me like, “stop throwing yourself a pity party.”


I have fucking Fibromyalgia+++++. It’s hard not to complain and be angry, even on a good day. You know, the days I can walk. It’s not a fucking game.

I’m tired of placating her backwards-thinking-ignorant-of-anyone-else’s-situation ENTIRE immediate family’s views on EVERYTHING anyway. It’s a full time job in and of itself. (Again, don’t be an asshole if you don’t want me to call you an asshole.) I’m NOT my Mom. I can’t always be the nicest quietest person in the room. I can be that person. But not even close to always. Sometimes, if I’m going through it, and you push me too far, I just stop giving a fuck.

I know I could be better.

But I’m not.

Nobody’s perfect.

I’m just killing relationships left and right.

Don’t think that’s lost on me, oh haters who read this blog.

It’s not.


My brother has never really been into planning anything.

And when I called my sister last week, because I missed her, she told me she decided she wants me out of her life forever. Cooooooooooooooooool.

For the past five years, the love of my life (quotes gone now — as opposed to months ago — because it’s a fact that he is, I’ve realized) and I, celebrated both of our Mothers according to their schedules.

Gary. The love of my life.

Our first Mother’s Day celebration, (I think it was Mother’s Day), that we spent at his parents’ house, was a truly magical one. We were still in that honeymoon phase.

Thinking of that this year, the first time I can’t have it, breaks my heart twelve ways to Sunday. So Mother’s Day was a bit hard on my heart this year, to say the least.

I loved Gary so much.

Last year.

That first year.

This year.

I still do. I never stopped. I just got stuck.

I think about him every single day. I write letters to him whenever I wish I could talk to him or tell him something. They’re all in a journal.

And maybe he hates me and I’ll never hear from him again.
THAT — would be really inconvenient because I still have so much of his stuff. He was going to come back for it. He said he’d be back for it. But he NEVER came back. So I have everything. (Including things, like, his deceased now(?) Grandfather’s hats.)

But mostly, it would break my heart FOREVER. Not in a hypothetical way.

In a, “maybe I’ll be lucky enough to stumble upon someone who gets me enough to build a life with, but I will always carry a huge emptiness inside,” way.

In a, I would literally do ANYTHING to make it work, way.

In a, willing to move to the city with him to accommodate his work schedule, way.

In a, taking all the blame for everything and signing a relationship “pre-nup,” way. (And that’s saying a lot because I’m a lawyer.)

I love him with everything I’ll ever have.

And I’m terrified it’s too late.

I even texted him today for the first time in months and months.

I didn’t get a response which is actually preferable to a “go away forever” response.

Maybe I’ll get that go away forever response eventually.

But for now: I hope.

So, for Mother’s Day this year, for the first time in my life, it was just my Mom and me.

And we probably had one of the nicest weekends a mother and daughter could have.

No family drama.

We kept it low key, but significant.

I put a lot of effort and thought into everything I did for her (as I try to do for everyone in my life) and she appreciated it all.

I am so sick right now.

My Fibro has kicked into overdrive. You don’t wanna know about it here.

But I gave two good full days to the weekend. I know I’ll be paying for it for days. I know, because I already am.

I have four important things I need to do today and I’m all out of πŸ₯„s already. (Look it up if you’re curious; it’s a Fibro thing. My attempt to explain — would be terrible.)

I regret nothing.

Because I know I only have one Mom.

And I’m so lucky to have one who is 100% in my corner about EVERYTHING.

It’s no secret that O.A.R. is my favorite band. I have written about them a lot. They “recently” dropped a new album called, “The Mighty,” which is only ten songs long, but I love almost every single one, if not every single one, which is a rarity when it comes to me and albums.

Nothing’s perfect.

But the title to this blog is from a song off that new album.

And.

It’s.

🎢All because of you 🎢

Gary.

I took my Mom for a drive on Saturday and we listened to the album because it was gorgeous here. My Mom loves the band too, she always tells me when I have her listen. Now if only I could get her to a concert!

✌️ and ❀️ to ALL.

Like Dorian Gray. I’ve Heard What They Say. But I’m Not Here For Trouble. It’s More Than Just Words: It’s Just Tears And Rain.

I’ve been staying away from my posts because someone said something very hurtful to me and I was all stubborn about it since I have already confessed I have a lot of healing I need to figure out.

But, I won’t be shut down.

My Brother said something cruel. That’s all I’m going to say about what his actual words were.

When I responded to him that I was really hurt, he replied, “YEAH? WHY DON’T YOU GO BLOG ABOUT IT?”

Ouch!

Not cool, Bro.

Perhaps FAIR. Maybe I deserve that — after pointing fingers and making admittedly untoward exclamations about others in my now deleted but recent post.

But DEFINITELY not cool, Bro.

This space isn’t a joke. Those who take it as one, well, I guess you’re the bullies. I don’t know.

Writing is me, and hate comes and goes about it, but that’s just life.

FACT: My Brother really hurt me when he said that. I can’t stop replaying it in my head. Because, as I’ve written before, when someone says something to me, I believe him/her (at least initially), and if it’s something bad — well — it sucks. I’m hurt.

BETTER FACT: Oh my goodnessto all of you who have been mailing or handing me friendship bracelets since the now deleted post about my Sister!!!

^I am so freaking touched and I feel so incredibly loved! I felt so bad about myself for saying things that were true but hurtful to not just me, that I NEVER IMAGINED those of you who have sent me bracelets you MADE read a different story than the one I came to resent.

I’ve only put one (a beautiful blue one!) on so far (pain, hand, wrist, life problems abound), but I WILL try to post a picture of them all ASAP.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so much for your time and consideration and love and notes.

^YOU have ALL helped me realize that haters are gonna hate, but we’re all just DOING OUR BEST, so thank you for understanding MY pain, AND helping me through it. I’ll NEVER forget your strength and support.

FACT: I am going to try my damnedest to STOP calling ANYONE a “bad Christian.”

Anyone who DOES THAT, is not only DEEPLY TROUBLED, but also just incredibly cruel — and — frankly, not someone who should be judging anyone, like EVER (including me here).

Like, get help, now. You’re not okay.

I shouldn’t have done it when I did, because it’s not for me to judge. I’ve repented and apologized, and asked for forgiveness, and I am at peace with that.

The. End. But.

^Shame on those of us who dared assert such a thing. Upon deep reflection I was truly shocked that I had stooped so awfully low that I dared judge others like that. No one should do that, in my opinion. Myself included, of course! I am ashamed I did.

I had this one person from “my Church,” tell me I was a “bad Christian.” πŸ˜†πŸ˜…πŸ˜‚πŸ€£!!!

I care just enough about “his” opinion to say all he does is use and/or hate on others, so I don’t respect him and barely regard him. Maybe he’s hurting, like me, so he hurts others? Not worth harping on, but my “bad Christian” self GAVE TO HIM, at my own expense, so I did nothing to him directly to deserve that in my opinion. Maybe he doesn’t know what I did for him. Maybe he’s just too blinded by attention to care.

But, just as I pray for all people in that Church, I’ll still pray for him. Oh! Just remembered. He’s the “minion” mentioned a few posts back. (Not worth looking for. TRUST.)

I may be done calling people bad Christians, but I’m not going to pretend people don’t hurt me.

I’ve been trying to say — if you don’t want me to write about you — don’t be shitty in front of me or toward me.

You’re literally giving me content to write about! Stop!

“My Church”, as a reminder, (means the Church I went to my entire life, SINCE BIRTH, until June 2018 when Pious Peter emailed me what qualifications I needed to earn as a member, sending me definitions of who qualified as a member as “proof,” cc-ing the wardens, and, even though I fell under each membership category for qualification, in a private conversation dismissed me from the Parish).

In summation, as I truly, honest to God, try to cleanse myself of posts that speak ill if others, I must say, he is, without a doubt, one of the worst people I have ever known.

And how he “preaches” there (I MUST use the term LOOSELY, because I’ve never learned anything from his meandering sermons. — See John Mulaney’s standup special, “Kid Gorgeous,” for an example of “Pious Peter’s time wasters.”) — I literally can’t even.

Not to mention, I’ve been on the Prayer List for months and months and months and he NEVER offers to come and give me Communion or visit me. He NEVER asks my Mom, who now, sits ALONE most Sundays, about me, though he knows I’m ill — and I know he visits other members of the Church. So what do I file that behavior under? He only cares about politics, and I’m disgusted by him. I know at least two other members who he has “cast out” who agree and are concerned about this behavior.

(I no longer feel comfortable, safe, or welcome in that space, thanks to a significant population of the Church, and I’m not healthy enough to get to that service).

ANYWAY.

Focus.

Breathe.

I’m getting it all out.

Peace and Love. ✌️❀️

I Was Burning Up A Fever. I Didn’t Care Much How Long I Lived. PART I.

This is my plea for forgiveness.

I have to come to grips with my reality, AND I want to set the record straight before I let go.

I have been what I consider MY WORST self lately.

I’m not proud of me.

I’m not proud of what I’ve written. Dragging people’s names through the mud, so to speak.

I have deleted the post that I’ve gotten more hits on in the past 48+ hours than I have since the first time I wrote about my sister.

Of course she wasn’t the only person I attacked and blamed for what I described as terrible behavior in that post. It wasn’t a good look for me.

I feel sick about the traffic on my page due to that “Takedown Piece,” (see “The Newsroom,” for the reference).

After some not-to-be-taken-lightly thinking, I justified my actions by telling myself that MY out of character behavior was a direct result of the behavior of others.

But, regardless of my opinions of those people, regardless of their behavior, their actions, or otherwise, I forgot something.

I?

I AM IN NO POSITION TO JUDGE ANYONE.

I wasn’t raised that way.

I wasn’t brought up to tear anyone else down.

I was brought up to be kind.

NO. MATTER. WHAT.

And my behavior as of late, has taken parts of myself I can’t, and won’t, ever get back.

I don’t feel sorry for myself.

I have never thrown myself a “pity party,” (though a number of relatives who I was finally honest with about their “Christian based” bigotry), might disagree.

And, perhaps, most importantly, I am not making excuses for myself.

To those I have hurt with my words, I deeply apologize. This is not a plea for your specific forgiveness. Even if you were willing to give it, I don’t want it. I will come to terms with my sins when I meet my death.

Gary truly made me a better person when he was around because he spoke the truth, for better or for worse. He world tell me, “eff that person,” or, “you’re too hard on that person.”

One thing. I had to saw apart this GORGEOUS shelf we made together, in order to move to be with my baby kittwins. From this:

To this:

Ouch. That really hurt. So that’s a thing that happened. Anyway.

I judge people. We all do. It’s part of our socialization.

I’m not saying whether it’s right or wrong.

I don’t think anyone can help it. (But I do think the torture of law school makes that judgment “gene”(?!?!?!) harder to fight, urging us to become self-righteous vigilantes).

But I’m going to leave that “job” to anyone else right now.

All that being said:

I am truly, most sincerely, sorry for any words I’ve said or actions I’ve taken that have hurt other people, especially anyone alluded to, specifically, in my blog.

This blog was supposed to be my story. I thought I was being true to that.

But now? I believe I was truly behaving aggressively toward others I love and care about (rapists I mentioned along the way excluded).

Many months ago, I was told by several people to “put my oxygen mask first,” you know, that allusion to ✈️ turbulance…imminent death…the cast of “LOST.”

I think that I took that advice way too far.

I warped it to mean, “say exactly what you think, consequences be damned, choose you first, forget what you’ve done before, take the reigns and go.”

I allowed myself to be SO selfish, that I lost myself.

Like, REALLY lost myself.

And I have to cope with that. I hope I can.

Yes, I am deeply suffering.

But, I’ve gotten off track, and it’s time to correct my course.

So I’ll go back to telling MY story. NOT those of others.

Obviously, I don’t live in a vacuum. People will come up in my narrative.

But I’m done calling people out. (I hope.) And I really want to change back to being a person I’m proud of after all.

Do I have excuses? Absolutely? Will I share those excuses? Absolutely. But do any of them justify what I’ve done?

I don’t think so.

But I won’t judge you if you do.

PART II is next.

✌️

What. A. Loner.

Oh, change the “n” in “loner” to an “s.” That’s better.

I made a promise to myself that I would be candid and honest in this space. If I cannot be honest in my writing, where can I be? Besides — I truly do believe that pretending everything is one way — when it’s actually another — causes a lot of problems.

That doesn’t mean everything sucks, or is scandalous. It’s just — true.

Full disclosure, I AM a loner. Big time. My entire life I’ve simultaneously wanted to be left completely alone, while ALSO wanting to be SURROUNDED by friends and family and people who love me so I can talk and talk and talk forever.

I have almost no luck with the second part.

I do this thing.

I’ve nick-named it “The All or Nothing Paradox.”

(I’m too afraid to “Google” that to see if it’s actually already “a thing.”)

What it means to me, though, is pretty much self-explanatory. I want everyone, and I want no one. There is NO “in between.”

In fact, I’ve been known to go through these kind of “purging” experiences with friend circles.

Part of it stems from never feeling like I fit in.

And part of it stems from my being paranoid constantly, not to mention insecure.

But — basically, after something happens within a group I’ve been friends with that I don’t like, (usually something I do), or I something happens in that group that I can’t change, or something happens that I’m embarrassed by, I tend to bizz-ounce.

And. I cannot be alone.

And I have praised living alone. But I’ve decided, not only did I absolutely NEED that at the time I experienced it, but I also really need to NOT be doing that anymore. I CAN’T do it.

I moved so I could live with my baby boys. My kittwins. I can live with these loves of my life now. And my baby boy is sick. But he’s letting me pamper him now, Which I like, but I also hate, because Peyton isn’t a cat I’ve been able to “catch”….until now.

Look at this love:

He’s my little Playboy.

I love my Eli too! I’m grateful he’s so healthy:

Don’t talk to me about lighting. They are sleeping cats. Grow up. πŸ˜‡

Also, this^ is, is my jam.

Do with that pun what you think I’d want you to do.

SO.

A Church member commented, “Wow,” on my post regarding the Church stuff I said. This member is SO INTO the family of the dude I called out. I’m sticking to it.

“Wow,” is right.

I said something that someone told me, perhaps expecting it work never be repeated.

But he didn’t say that.

“Aw, Sum Sum. Nooooooo.” As Rick said in Season 3 Episode 2.

So now — people are on notice: don’t say things of that nature to me.

Don’t gossip about things like, “isn’t it CRAZY that this person is dead and probably killed himself and I have to be the first to tell everyone because I get off on it?!” DON’T DO THAT. Then we’d be cool.

I am not scared of your minion writing, “Wow.”

I do, though, miss Gary. Because I’m watching “Rick and Morty,” and Peyton’s dying. And at 4:30 today when I had MINUTES to get to the Post Office — my car’s battery died. So I had to wait for AAA. (Thank God I made it!!!!!!!!!) But $164.13 later, I have a new battery and MORE bad than I can handle:

It made me sad that the AAA guy was IMPRESSED that I knew how to “pop the hood.” SO sad.

But alas, everything worked out. Except of course for the people who hate me hating me, and Peyton dying, and my very desperately needing a job.

But! My best friend is engaged and getting married!!!!!! πŸ₯°πŸ˜˜πŸ€©β€οΈπŸ’•πŸ’–πŸŽ‰πŸΎ And my other best friend is about to have a baby!!!!!!!! OMG!!!!! 🐣🀱🍼πŸ₯°πŸ‘©β€β€οΈβ€πŸ’‹β€πŸ‘©πŸ’πŸ’žπŸ˜πŸ’— And my other best friend is moving back from Michigan to New Jersey in JJJJUUUUULLLLLLYYYY!!!!!!!!!! πŸŒžπŸŽ‰πŸ˜πŸ€ πŸ™‹β€οΈπŸ₯°πŸ‘©β€β€οΈβ€πŸ’‹β€πŸ‘©πŸ’’πŸ’žπŸ˜

So. Monitoring Peyton and my cup of noodles await. And. So. Much. Sugar.

✌️

That Means Everyone’s Sick.

You have to be really careful with a razor
You have to be able to cut just right

Too deep, and your secret pleasure could become an accidental emergency
Too surface level, and what’s the point?

I made a red portrait
It wasn’t created through my smeared blood

My boyfriend begged me and begged me to tell him what I wrote in the portrait
But I was hungry, and tired of explaining my truth

But you know you’re on the right track when you can peel a tissue off the blood without reopening the cut into messiness
How many will you endure tonight?

As many as it takes, bitch
Because you own that shit

🎢 Don’t you ever try to judge me, dude
You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through 🎢
On repeat
Repeat
Repeat
Resist

Your feet are your best weapon
No one will look there

Just as no man will check what you hide under tampons in your bag as you go through security
This information is for your safety, not to abuse

You love someone
Many someones

Forever
Until forever collapses like a mine

Everyone involved is trapped
And recovery is brutal

Tragedy?
Comedy?
Both?
Neither?

Then an unexpected twist in your privileged world
Someone you know is dying

Don’t talk about “it”
“It” upsets your Mom when they say “it” out loud

But you get it
We’re all dying

Relatives screaming, “how dare you not appreciate what you have — why must you host a pity party?”
Your reaction will cut ties, I have just learned

I miss G-unit rubbing my neck
He’d touch every muscle and it would be excruciating

Fibro
Undiagnosed

But neither of you knew that
Your body screaming in protest while hoping for more

Who’s “The Joker” now?
Why. So. Serious?

If only he’d known
If only you’d known

Maybe the pain could have subsided and accounted for
But being misguided for years?
Being misdiagnosed for years?
Who can endure that?

Not him. Not your Protector. Not the one you BELIEVED this time
For better or worse, until death did you part

You must continue the pain now
It’s not for attention

“Man up,” now
You can take “it”

Society wants you to be sick
Society wants your guilt to fester

Think of all of the jobs you’re keeping alive!
Think of all the people you’re helping by being sick!

Most people don’t believe your illness is real
And most people ask you why you can’t work when you look, sound, and appear, “fine”

I fall asleep now an hour at a time
Always waking up, reaching for something

Know your role
And accept that I know mine.

He Was A Boy. She Was A Girl. Can I Make It Any More Obvious?

The love of my life is gay.

The second love of my life is dying…

…but only because we all are.

The third love of my life is also dying.

I know he’s a cat, but he’s MY cat. He’s just under twelve years old. He’s been through so much with me. Let’s go through the bad things I can recall at this moment, in no particular order, since that’s what we’re here for, right?

  • The guy I dated the longest, (prior to my gay ex-boyfriend/soul mate/love of my life up to that point, and the man I thought I might marry), told me I shouldn’t adopt him and his twin brother. Don’t care why. Later that year when he broke up with me and broke my heart, I never needed my kittwins more. I cried on my Dad’s shoulder for so long that night. You know. My Dad who is no longer alive. I thought the guy wanted to marry me. He didn’t.
  • Law school. Enough said.
  • Preparing for, and passing, two Bar Exams, one of which is considered the second hardest in the nation (second to California, for those who care).
  • Crushes.
  • Heartbreak.
  • Insecurity.
  • Hate.
  • Addiction. To everything which I’ll admit.
  • Cutting. Lots and lots of careful, and painful, and extreme cutting.
  • Abandonment when I moved in with the second love of my life, leaving him behind with his twin brother for nearly five years.
  • Hating myself.
  • My Dad dying.
  • The second love of my life killing me, still, right this second, over, and over, and over, every second of every day.
  • Getting sexually assaulted at work.
  • Getting raped.
  • My hate for myself.
  • Him getting his own death sentence.
  • Today.
  • Hopefully tomorrow.

I used to LOVE this time of year; the week after Daylight Savings Time used to bring me instant joy in the form of more light than dark in the evening.

I, probably like many people, enjoy the lengthier daylight.

The night can be scary. So scary. For so many reasons.

Last night I slept selfishly.

Protecting my baby boy has become priority number one for me.

If that means keeping two to three other cats away throughout the night, then that’s what it means. (That’s what it means.)

I mean, look at him:

Wouldn’t you?

So I don’t sleep much these days.

Waiting.

For his death.

Oh. And. My ex’s Mom texted me this weekend (on her birthday). It really messed me up. How much can a person take?

I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

✌️