Close My Eyes, I’m Five Again.

Sometimes I close my eyes and I go back. I’m five years old again and everything is perfect and right with the world. I’m young and free and I don’t have a care in the world. No worries. I’m innocent again. Untouched. Pure. My memories of lying in the grass aren’t yet associated with a night of horror. My free will is still my own. My heart is still whole. It hasn’t yet learned how to fracture itself into a million little pieces. I still believe in fairy tales and whatever fantasy my imagination can dream up. I’m not yet jaded, or cynical, or hardened by in the injustices committed by the people in this world. I still believe that people are good. I don’t believe in evil. I’m not even sure yet if it exists.

And then I open my eyes and I’m faced with the reality. And it’s such a disappointment. Such a let down. You know, I used to think growing up would be this amazing, grand, incredible adventure. I honestly couldn’t wait. And now, I’d give almost anything to go back. Just for a day. An hour. A moment. Just a fraction of a second to feel at peace again. To feel whole. To not feel this damn broken all the time. I keep waiting for this feeling to go away. But it never does. It’s always there. This sinking “entity” that turns everything to black, that swallows up all the good before I can even get a taste. It’s taken everything from me. I can’t see it, I can’t touch it. But I loathe it. With every fiber of my being, I do.

Part of me feels like maybe I’m running away from myself by moving to Tennessee. And honestly…maybe that’s part of it. I guess. Honestly. I don’t know. And then I start to think–is that so bad? Really, is it? Is it so wrong to want to start over? To just wipe the slate clean and say I’m done–that I’m ready to close the book on a life that’s been so wrecked beyond repair–and just start over with a new book, clean white pages, the binding so new it crinkles when you open it? Tell me, is that really so horrible? Sometimes I think it’s selfish and then sometimes…sometimes I think it’s my last resort–my only choice…so it can’t be selfish. Self-preservation. It’s survival. It’s basic. It’s ingrained. That’s not selfish, it can’t be. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. What to feel. I wish there were rules for this. A book to follow. Steps…a guide…something that would tell me I’m at least on the right path, going in the right direction and not just going in circles. I need a sign of some kind–I just need something. Anything. Because right now, I feel like I have nothing. Which is absolutely crazy because in reality, I have everything. But then again, if that were true, I wouldn’t be leaving…I wouldn’t be searching for whatever it is that I’m missing, would I?

Oh, yes, this was so, so much simpler when I was five. Everything was easier then. Why’d I have to grow up? Why?


miss being a little girl(edit)


There Are Monsters Among Us

I write this post with shaky hands and a heavy heart, for this topic cuts a little too close to home. I woke up this morning and scrolled through my news feed on Facebook, as I do most days, only to come across the unfortunate article from Friday confirming what I, and most assuredly a good portion of the nation, had feared…that the remains found in Virginia last week were in fact those of the missing college student, Hannah Graham.

I don’t like writing about these things because to be completely honest, the details just sicken me. They really, really do. And I try not to focus on evil like that. But for some reason, I feel the need to write today, to put my outrage to paper, so to speak. Not for me. But for Hannah Graham. I didn’t know her. Let me just make that clear. I never met her. I never even knew her name until I read it in the news when she went missing back in September. But I don’t need to have known her to know that she didn’t deserve the fate that she was dealt, to be sickened by the knowledge of what she must have gone through…how terrifying and horrible her last moments on this earth must have been for her. My heart breaks for her family and friends, complete strangers who right now, must be completely devastated. I can’t imagine the kind of hell her parents must be going through right now. Not only are they dealing with the loss of their child, but on top of that, having to know what she went through at the hands of her attacker–it’s every parent’s worst nightmare, right down to the sickest, cruelest detail. I mean, how do you live with that? How do you even process something like that? I can’t imagine it. I just can’t.

My heart breaks for Hannah. She was 18 years old. She was so young. So vibrant. So alive. She had everything going for her. Her whole life ahead of her. It’s stories like these that really make me question whether or not there’s a God…and how can you not? I mean, how does a loving God allow something so horrible–so undeniably evil–happen like that to someone? There’s no higher purpose in something like that. There’s no silver lining. There’s nothing good or loving about a God who allows something like that to happen, I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary.

I refuse to read the details of what they find out from here on out. I’ve already read enough in earlier articles about the previous women that were abducted and raped and beaten and killed…and honestly, I can’t read any more. It’s too much. I know this is America and we’re supposed to be all about “Innocent until proven guilty” but if you ask me, that’s total bullshit. This suspect they have in custody–if it turns out he did this–if his DNA matches and all that, then I say skip the trial and let’s go Middle Ages on his ass, excuse my language. Sorry, I know civil rights protesters would have a hey day with that statement right there, but you know what–I’d like those people to put themselves in Hannah Grahams’ parents shoes for a moment–and then try to spout their civil rights crap. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in the habit of encouraging people to trample on the rights of others…that’s not something that I do. But when you abduct a person against their will, beat them, rape them, and then discard their lifeless body as if they were nothing more than a worthless piece of nothing–then NO–you do NOT get to keep your rights or be treated with respect or deemed innocent until proven guilty. What you DO get is to be treated like the piece of evil SCUM that you are. Say what you will, but Hammurabi knew his stuff. I say that the monster who did this to Hannah Graham–whomever he is–I say they skip a trial and take him out to the farm where he left Hannah’s body and do to him what he did to her, only worse. Make him suffer, just as he made her suffer. Then leave him to rot like the animal that he is.

They say that evil shouldn’t beget evil, but in this case–and cases like this–maybe it should. I, for one, would feel a hell of a lot safer in a world where someone like him no longer existed, that much I do know. Maybe I’m a horrible person for thinking it, but there are people in the world that don’t deserve to walk this earth. They just don’t. Child abusers and rapists and murderers…they walk free and among us every day. Neighbors, teachers, friends, relatives…evil exists. I’ve seen it. I’ve looked it in the eye. I don’t know what Hannah Graham went through in those last few hours of her life. I don’t even want to venture to guess. It’s sad and horrific, but it’s stories like hers that really put what I went through into perspective. I mean, I thought being assaulted at 16 was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me, but when I think about Hannah–I was lucky. I really was. Did that night change my life forever–yes. Irrevocably. Undeniably. Yes. But at least I survived. There are so many women, Hannah included, who will never have the chance to say that.

So today while I’m counting my blessings, my heart goes out to Hannah Graham’s family and her friends…and all the other Hannah’s out there. Even to those who never knew you…you are not a statistic. You are not forgotten. Rest in peace, girls.


The Little Moments…

So my sister and I took the twinnies to the pumpkin patch for their first time today…

IMG_4587edit   IMG_4581edit

It made me think of all the little things that I’m going to miss when I leave. Which of course, made me tear up…which is so unlike me. I’m not the emotional sort. At least not out in the open. I cry…a lot. I just tend to do it behind closed doors. I don’t like to show my emotions. I don’t know why. I remember even when I was little and I’d get hurt, I wouldn’t cry. When I was upset, I’d bottle it up. When I got older, the same thing. When I was twelve, I started writing in a journal. It was always a journal, never a diary. I don’t know why I never called it a diary. I guess I just always thought I was too old for that sort of thing, even then. I was always older than my years, so to speak. I swear, sometimes I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in these 27 years. But yeah. There was my journal…and some other not-so-healthy outlets that I’ve (thankfully) since grown out of.

But these days, with the boys, it’s like nonstop waterworks–all the time. Like when Ty started crawling. I just stood there in complete shock, tears running down my face for a few seconds before–naturally– I ran to get my phone so I could record the whole thing to upload for my sister to see later. I guess it’s just that I feel so grateful to be able to be here to see all of it, to be here for these firsts. I’m the one that noticed both of the boys first teeth coming in, both of them rolling over for the first time, seeing their reactions when they try different foods for the first time, their first holidays and big celebrations, Ty crawling AND standing up on his own for the first time. Ty even calls me Mom–though I somehow convinced my sister that he’s calling me “Mim” and not “Mom” (she’s super-touchy about that lol).

Gosh, and here I thought it was hard when I left for college the first time around when Angelina–my oldest niece–was a baby. I was 18 then and school was only 40 minutes away. This might as well be another continent away, for how it feels. I’m starting to feel homesick already for the boys–and I haven’t even left! I can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be when I DO leave. I feel like my heart is being torn into pieces. I didn’t think it was going to be THIS hard. I keep telling myself that they AREN’T my kids. But for all intents and purposes, they kind of are. I mean, I’ve been with them since they were born…well, almost. Since they were a couple of weeks old anyway. Every day. 24/7. I know their cries. Their sounds. Their little laughs. I know that Jakey is NOT a morning person and that Ty LOVES to be cuddled as soon as he wakes up. I love these little guys like they were my own and it’s gonna absolutely kill me to leave them. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Pictures and Skype just aren’t going to suffice. I’m going to be in Jakey and Ty withdrawal. It’s going to be soooo tough. I really hope my sister learns how to take good pictures because she’s going to have to take A LOT of them every single day. And hopefully they won’t forget me. I know they’re really little…but hopefully they’ll remember. Because I will. Either way, I’m still grateful I get all these little moments with them. Their first year. It’s not everything, but to me, it’s so, so much.

me and tyler kiss   ME AND JAKEY SEPT. 2014

Juggling It All.

Well, I caved and bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday. Which…is just plain freaking crazy considering I just celebrated a year since I quit on the 16th of this month! Yeah…I have issues. Major, MAJOR issues. In my defense though, I haven’t opened them. I really, really want to. I just kept turning the pack over and over in my hand, wanting so badly to pack the darn thing and rip it open. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking buying the damn things.

Well, no…that’s not exactly true. I do know. I was thinking that I’m going nuts. Not like crazy, certifiable, lock me away in some white padded room somewhere nuts. More like the oh my god, I don’t know how I can keep doing all of this kind of nuts. I thought I could do this, I really did. I thought I could handle it. But now, I’m not so sure. The work for school is endless. Like literally…ENDLESS. The moment I get one thing done, two more things pop up that have to be done. I know everyone says that taking classes online is so much easier than taking classes on campus–but those people are talking out of their you-know-what’s! It’s not. The workload is double, if not more, than what you’d expect from an on-campus class. And the teachers just expect you to have the time to do it all. Like you have nothing else to do except devote your entire world and time to their class. I mean, if I had that, don’t you think I’d be taking the class on campus? Well newsflash dear professors, I don’t. I take care of ten-month-old twins. As in two crawling-climbing-constantly vying for my attention tiny human beings. They take up nearly every ounce of my energy…not to mention my time. I mean, I’m with them nearly 24/7. It’s a 5am wake-up call most days for me and the work day isn’t over until my sister gets home until around 6pm…if not later. That doesn’t leave much time for school work. She’s been trying to help out by taking the boys to my grandmother’s with her for a couple of nights during the week, but even with that, there’s still SO much work that has to be done, that it really doesn’t put much of a dent into it.

On top of all that, there’s a move. Granted, now that I’m going to be living on campus, there’s less to do with working out an apartment and all that comes with that, but still…it’s a lot. I mean, I knew this was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it was going to be THIS hard. And god, it really is. I had a moment earlier. And by moment I mean I totally lost it. Like full on tears, bawling my eyes out, feeling like I was going crazy kind of moment. I keep thinking, can I really do this? Can I really just pack up my entire life and move 900 miles away where I know nothing and no one? Can I really just start over? Does a clean slate really exist–or is this all just a really nice daydream? I’m great at dreaming these things up. Of making up these ideas in my head of how things are supposed to go…but they rarely ever work out. I’m starting to worry that maybe I want this too badly…and that maybe that’s a bad thing. I don’t want to mess this up and I’m terrified that I’m going to. Because that’s what I do. I mess everything up. Somehow…I always do. It’s like I’m my own worst enemy. Just when things start going good, I screw it up. It’s like I can’t allow myself to be happy…ever. Which I don’t understand because that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be happy. To belong. To be comfortable in my own damn skin. But this feeling I’m having…it’s anything but that. I feel…so out of sorts. Do I want too much? Am I pushing the line? Am I pushing myself? Asking for too much? Is happiness really all its cracked up to be? Is Nashville where I’m meant to be? I mean, I felt so good there. I really, really did. I mean, I thought I’d feel out of place there. I went down by myself. Just me. That, in and of itself, was out of the ordinary. It was the first thing I’ve ever really done BY myself. I bought the tickets, planned it all out…by MYSELF. With no help from anyone. I even rented my own car and refused to do any of those ridiculous tour things because I wanted the control to be all mine. I wanted to be in charge of where I went. And I did that. And I had fun. I had such a good time. And I loved the school and the people. And the area. It’s a lot of highway and interstate driving, which I’ll admit, was a little intimidating at first, but after the first day or two, I actually got used to it. It’s not so bad, once you get the hang of the names. I got lost a couple of times, but even then, it was interesting because I got to see a couple of neat areas in Nashville. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t once feel like I was in danger. Or feel uncomfortable. I felt safe. And good. I felt comfortable. It didn’t feel like home, but it felt homey…if that makes sense. This is just me getting cold feet…that’s what this is…right? I mean, I’m leaving in two months…so this is perfectly normal….right? Right???


Ahhh, I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. I wish I could see into the future. That I had a crystal ball and could see that everything was going to work out alright. Because honestly, that’s all I want. To know that what I’m doing is right. To know that I’m not making the wrong decision here. That’s all I want. I’ve made so many messed up decisions in my life and for once, I don’t want to screw up. I don’t want to prove everyone right and mess this up. I want to prove them wrong. I want to succeed. I want to show them that I can do this. I know that I shouldn’t be thinking of them…that I should be doing this for myself. And in a way, I am doing it for me. Because in proving them wrong, I WOULD be doing it for myself. I just wish I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. All their expectations…like they always have…just make it so much harder. It weighs me down. No one knows what its like to feel like this. To have the weight of the world on your shoulders. To walk around, knowing that everyone is expecting you to fail. It’s a horrible, crushing feeling. And it’s tearing me apart. I just want to scream sometimes. To scream and cry and tell them all to back off and to get their own lives and to let me live mine. If I fail, I fail. But it’d be nice to do so without their watching and prying eyes. It’d be nice, if just once, they wanted be to succeed…if they could believe in me. Is that too much to ask?

I’m not a horrible person. At least, I don’t think that I am. I mean, sure, I’ve screwed up. I’ve done things that I’m not entirely proud of. I’ve hurt people. I’ve made mistakes. But…I’ve been hurt, too. People don’t see that. They don’t ask and I don’t tell them because it hurts too much. They think I’m strong, but I’m really not. I’m weak. So weak. I feel like I’m going to break half the time. Like I’m thisclose to shattering. Or maybe I am shattered. That’s the problem, I don’t know the difference. I know that I’m broken. You don’t go through what I’ve gone through and not come out of it in some way broken. I’ve spent the past decade wondering where I went wrong. Was it that night when I was 16. Did that one night really determine the rest of my life? Did the actions of one cruel person shatter everything that could be good for me in the world? I’d like to think that’s not true, but then, I don’t know. I’d like to think that there’s still good in the world…that I still have a chance to be happy, but everything that’s happened in the years since makes me think that maybe its just not meant to be. I think a big part of it is that maybe I’m depending too much on other people to make me happy. Take love, for instance. I look for it in all the wrong places…with all the WRONG people. My track record is proof in point of that…for damn sure. He who won’t be named–holy Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? That’s all I’ve been asking myself in recent years. What. The. Hell. I’m not playing the blame game here. He screwed me up. That’s just fact. Every relationship I’ve had since has been, in some way or another, marred because of what I went through with him. I don’t trust anyone. I just…don’t. And it’s not just them that I don’t trust, it’s me, too. I’m constantly second-guessing myself. My feelings, my emotions, where I stand in the relationship, what I want, what I want them to want, what I should want…it’s exhausting. It’s gotten to the point where it’s easier just to be numb about it. I tried that, too. Just casual. I mean, guys do it all the time. Why shouldn’t girls? But…that doesn’t work either because in the end, then I just feel cheap, like I did with him. And then I’m right back where I started. So, I’ve given up on love. Maybe it exists, maybe it doesn’t. I thought I felt it with him–but he destroyed my life and crushed anything that I thought even remotely resembled love–so I don’t know anymore. A friend and I were talking not too long ago and somehow he got brought up in the conversation and she asked me what I’d say to him if I ever had the chance and I remember my response being that I’d probably ask him where he got off ruining my definition of love. Because that’s what he did. It’s funny because I didn’t hate him, not for the longest time afterwards. Years even. I actually felt sorry for him. And in a way, I still do. I feel sorry that he felt the need to do what he did, that he felt so desperate that in order to bring order to his own life he had to destroy mine. But amidst the pity that I feel for him now, there is hate. I hate him for what he did to me, for wrecking me like he did. I’m not angry because he didn’t love me back or because he chose her over me. Hell, I’m thankful he didn’t. I didn’t know it then, but I’m so much better off without him than I ever would have been with him. As I’m sure he is without me. I’m grateful for the hate, though. As odd as it sounds, it’s given me a lot of perspective on the matter. I was young and naive when I met him. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I was doing every time I went with him. My choices were mine and they were wrong. He may not have been married, but he might just as well have been. And that’s something that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. Knowing that. It doesn’t make me feel good, I’ll admit that. Like I said, I’m not a horrible person. I’m not okay with knowing that I was the other woman. It makes me sick just thinking about it. How I let it continue as long as I did, is something that I will never fully understand…and something that I have long since stopped TRYING to understand. It’s just one of those things that you have to let go and move past if you want to move on. It’s funny because because I used to think about him all the time. And then I just stopped. One day I realized that I’d just stopped…that I hadn’t thought about him once…and it didn’t hurt. And that realization…it felt good. Hell, it felt more than good. It felt great. It felt…healing, you know? They always say that time heals all wounds and I never really believed it, but sometimes, it’s true. I mean, sure, if I were to see him on the street, I’m certain the sting would still be there…but then, he was the first man to ever rip my heart out, tear it to pieces, then wave it around for all the world to see…so I think that’d be a fairly reasonable response. And I think I’m entitled to hate him just a little bit. I mean, it’s not like I completely despise the guy or damn him all to hell, though I’m pretty sure there’s probably a spot there reserved nicely for him 🙂 but yeah. I’m allowed. He was a jerk.

me and my ex edit

But yeah, I don’t know how to trust guys now. I don’t know what to expect from them. It’s not that I don’t expect them all to have a wife or girlfriend hiding in the shadows…they’re not all that LOW…but you get the point. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has baggage. I think my problem is that I’m just not ready for a commitment. That’s it. I’m scared. Scared of falling. Scared of letting go and trusting completely. Because that means opening myself up to the possibility of getting hurt again. And I’ve been there. I know how badly that hurts. I know that raw feeling of pain…that devastation…that oh look the bottom just fell out and nothing will ever feel right again feeling–and it sucks. I don’t think I’m ready to feel that again, at least not any time soon. I know that eventually I’ll HAVE to risk it…but not right now. Right now…I’ve got enough on my plate.

So here’s to hoping I can handle it all…


Ready. Set.

Well, I told Ryan. He took it surprisingly well…too well, even. We haven’t spoken since…I don’t expect to, honestly. I’m not sure if he’s mad at me or if he’s just got a lot going on…but either way, I’m not going to push it. I can’t apologize for something I’m not sorry for, nor should I be sorry for. I mean, it’s not as if I told him he couldn’t move down there. It is, after all, a free world. He’s free to move and to go wherever he pleases. Honestly, I don’t think he wanted to go…or his response when I told him about the change of housing plans wouldn’t have been to say …well, I’ll just come back for awhile and save up before I go back to Dallas. I was right. Texas is his default. I don’t think that’s changing any time soon, and I’m glad I realized that now, instead of a month into this move and realizing it then.

Is it a horrible thing to say that I’m relieved? I am, in a way. I’m glad it’s out there and I told him because honestly, not telling him was driving me crazy the longer it went on. And because, well…I really do think this is for the best. For him. For me. For everyone. I think he needs time to figure his life out. I can’t do that for him…heck, I barely have mine figured out. I’m the LAST person he needs right now–someone else who isn’t completely sure of where she’s going or what she wants out of life. I have plans. I’m going to Nashville. The rest, as they say, is up to fate. That’s where I’m leaving it. I’m just going to live and be happy and have fun. I’m starting over…reinventing myself, so to speak. Not that I need reinventing–I’m happy with the person I am right now…the person I’ve become. I’ve done a lot– A LOT– of soul searching over the past 5 years. I’ve let go of a lot of the negative I used to hold on to. I’ve grown-up.

I’m ready for this. I know a lot of people don’t think that I am–and maybe they’re right, and I’ll fail–but then again, maybe they’re wrong, for once. Maybe this will be saving grace. My story to write. There’s times when I feel like I’m still this confused 21 year old in some 27 year old’s body. I don’t feel 27. I look around me and everyone my age seems to be getting married and starting families–some people I went to school with, their own kids are in school already. That–to me–is just plain crazy. I’m nowhere near close to being ready for ALL THAT. There’s still so much that I want to do–call me selfish–but I’m just not ready. And I still don’t get what the big deal with marriage is. I mean, to tie yourself down to one person for the rest of your life–that’s another crazy idea for me. Maybe because I’ve never been with anyone that I’ve ever come even remotely close to wanting that kind of future with. I don’t know. But I like the feeling of being independent. Its female empowerment at its finest. This is my time. To shine or to fail–either way, it’s MY time. This is something I’ve been wanting to do — something I need to do. I’m ready.


And Sometimes They Do…

Well, I guess miracles can and DO happen. My mother got the results of her PET scan back today…and she’s in remission! No signs of cancer! I think I’m still in a state of shock, to be honest. I know in my last post I was all out with the negativity and only thinking positive and all that kind of talk…but deep down, I was so scared that it had spread. Hell, I was terrified. Now, I’m literally shaking with relief…or shock…or both. Whatever it is, I don’t care, because it’s good news. Actually, it’s great news. It means that these past five months of hell and pain that she’s endured with chemo and tests and shots weren’t for nothing. Granted, this doesn’t mean its over yet. She’ll still have to have check-ups and get her counts checked every 3 months, and then every 6 for the next 5 years or so, but it’s something…and we’ll take it. Maybe hope IS all it’s cracked up to be. And maybe if you wish for something hard enough, it comes true. I don’t know if it was medicine or some God who did this, but whatever it was, I’m grateful. Extremely grateful.

It’s hard, but I wish we could have said the same for the uncle Dick, who lost his fight in June. It’s kind of bittersweet, celebrating my mother’s good news while still mourning my uncle, who ultimately didn’t have the same luck as she is having, but I’d like to think that he’d be happy for her and for us.



deborah bald is beautiful 6.26.14

Little Strokes, And Breathe…

You know how you can tell you’re heading for a burnout? Yeah…I’m there. I forget what it’s like to feel rested. I swear, sometimes I really do feel like I’m just going through the motions. I seem to have developed a lovely bout of insomnia these past few weeks, which is less lovely and more like hell. I think it’s all the stress…taking care of the twins, trying to keep up with this insane amount of school work, and the move–definitely the move–that’s got me all up in this funk of sorts. In the words of a sullen teenager…this sucks. 😦

So I decided to go ahead and make alternate plans for the move–without Ryan. As much as it kills me to do it, I know it’s for the best. In the long run, I think if he did end up moving down with me, it’d only exacerbate his issues. He needs to get things figured out and I don’t think a new city and the stress of getting settled down in a new place is going help him any. And I really want him to get well. Regardless of what happens, I do care about him. He’s a good guy–even if he is a tad bit stuck on himself and he’s a thirty-something-year-old man who refuses to grow up. I’ve thought about it a lot over the past few days and I’ve come to the realization that you can’t fix people. You can be there for them. You can be their shoulder to lean on. But in the end, they have to fix themselves. It’s not up to me to judge him or tell him how to live his life. He has to want to change for himself. He says he’s there, at that point, but I just don’t know. And I’ve struggled with this, but I just can’t bring that kind of uncertainty down to Tennessee with me. I just can’t. This means way too much to me. This is my chance. This is my make it or break it moment. I have so much riding on this, so many people watching and just waiting for me to screw up and I can’t–I won’t–give them the satisfaction. Not this time.

Speaking of stress, it doesn’t help that my mom is sick. God, I hate cancer. I really do. It’s just taken so much from me and my family already and I hate it. I really do. She’s fighting back though. Or trying to. She finished her chemo treatments at the end of last month, so she’ll be going for her PET scan one day next week. A couple of days after that, she and my sister will be going out to Roswell in Buffalo and she’ll find out then if the chemo’s done its job or god forbid, the cancer has spread. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about the latter. I just can’t. It’s too much right now to deal with, on top of everything else. It’ll change everything, I know…and I don’t want to go there. For once in my life, I don’t want to be jaded or cynical. I want to hold on to the hope that miracles can and DO happen. That just because cancer has screwed us in the past, doesn’t mean it’ll win this time. I have to have faith that my mother IS the exception….and that’s she’s strong enough to beat this. She and I haven’t always seen eye to eye in the past, but she’s still my mother. Though there’s been times I’ve questioned her judgement and resented her for it, she gave me life. This crazy, hectic, mostly a beautiful disaster that I call a life. It hasn’t always been easy, but as the saying goes, it’s been worth it. I have so much to be grateful for–so much that I’m just realizing…and it all starts with her. Honestly, I can’t imagine a world without her in it. She has her moments and I have mine where I wonder how we’re even related–but I think I’d miss her bitching and nitpicking. She’s part of my crazy, dysfunctional puzzle that I call a family. And in the end, family is really all that you’ve got. But like I said…I’m turning over a new leaf and saying out with all the negativity. I don’t need it in my life. Nope. It’s all rainbows and puppies right now.

Life is good. A little chaotic…a bit of a mess…all kinds of insane…but good, nevertheless. For the moment. And I’m going to be grateful for that right now. Because right now…today…is all we’re guaranteed, as they say. Tomorrow…is a mystery.




How Do I Say This

So I talked to Ryan last night (the friend that’s supposed to be moving down to Tennessee with me) and well…now I’m rethinking everything–that is, the part where we move down together. He sent me this message pretty much listing a lot of stuff that’s been happening with him out in Dallas…and most it isn’t good. Not to get into particulars, but he’s gotten into some bad stuff and the situation has pretty much gone to hell for him. Now he says he’s moving back to NY and getting a job up here to save up before we go down in December and honestly, I don’t know what to think…or do.

I’ve asked the Bestie and my family for advice on what to do–and they all pretty much say the same thing…cut him loose. It sounds so horrible and so mean…but I’m really thinking it’s what I’m going to have to do. And I feel miserable about it. Like really, really miserable. I mean, what kind of a friend am I to essentially turn my back on him when he’s already got so much going on as it is? Heck–what kind of a PERSON does that make me? I feel really bad for him, I do…but at the same time, I have to think what about me? What about my plans and my goals and my dreams? I’ve been planning and saving up for this move for well over a year now. I’ve worked hard to get into this art school and to get to where I am now–to be both financially and emotionally prepared for this. I struggled with the decision to leave for months. And I still have that nagging guilt when I think of December and how I’m going to be leaving my family and everyone I care about behind. But the whole point of this was to finally do something for myself. To finally get the fresh start that I so desperately need–and deserve! Nashville’s supposed to be my clean slate. No drama from the past following me, no bad memories haunting me, no having to avoid people and places…nothing but a clean new slate. That’s what I wanted…and it’s what I still want. More than anything. And as much as I want to be a good friend–I have–no I need to put myself first for once. All my life, I’ve always done what everyone else wanted. I’ve always put everyone else first. It’s not that I regret doing all of that–but it’s time for a change.

Ryan’s my friend and I love him to death, I do…but it’s not like we’ve been the closest of friends in recent years. That sounds a little cold, but it’s the truth. When he left and moved to Dallas 8 or so years ago… he didn’t think twice about going and he didn’t look back. Naturally, we all fell out of touch with one another. I mean, 1200 miles will do that. It’s not like I didn’t try to keep in contact. I’d text him or send him a message on Facebook or write on his wall…but he rarely replied. The only times we really ever heard from him was when he’d send us a text to say that he was going to be back in New York visiting for a few days. Of course, since the Bestie and I were the only friends he still really had in NY, he’d want to hang out. But in the handful of times over the past 8 years that he’s visited, it’s never really made up for the fact that he’d go months or years in between without contacting us. And the last couple of times that he’s visited, he’s blown us off entirely. The last time he was here he made such a big to-do about coming to visit and begged us to hang out, and after a couple of days of hearing nothing from him, I got a hold of him only to find out that he was here for a day or two, got bored and fed up with NY–like always–and left and went back to Dallas. I mean, rude doesn’t even begin to cover what that was. And it’s not only that–it’s all the conversations we’ve had over the years. It’s always the same thing…him bitching about how much New York sucks and that there’s nothing and no one left here for him and that basically everyone in this area is going nowhere in their lives…yeah…it gets old after a while. Especially when hello–he’s dissing his own hometown, the place where he grew up. I mean, I don’t want to stay here forever either–but that doesn’t mean I hate it here. I’ve just outgrown it. And it’s like he never realized that when he said that stuff, he was basically saying that we–the Bestie and I–didn’t matter. Which wasn’t right. So yeah, he’s been gone for 8 years. And I’m pretty much just starting to realize this, but we’re not the same people that we were 8 years ago. I know that I’m not, at least. And a part of me wonders if we’re even really still friends. I mean, friends don’t just shut you out of their lives for years until it’s convenient for them, right?

I’m going to come right out and be blunt here. I don’t want the bulls**** that’s he mixed up in ANYWHERE near me. I don’t want to deal with it or bring it with me to Nashville. I just don’t. I think the Bestie said it best when she told me to tell him that he needs to straighten out his life. I think she’s right. He does. And as selfish as it may sound and seem–and maybe it is–but I don’t want to stick around and wait for him to do that–or be there in Nashville and hope like hell that he does what he says he’s going to do and changes once we get there. I mean, if he wants to get his shit together and THEN eventually move down to Nashville…THEN I might think of giving it a go and maybe trying to find a place together or something. But this whole idea of him figuring things out WHILE we move…yeah, I can’t do it. Again, I know that makes me a horrible person and friend–but I have my limits. And honestly, I have enough on my plate right now. I have to get MY LIFE straightened out. I can’t be trying to help him fix his. I need to do this alone. The way I originally intended. It’s the only way it’s going to work.

So…how do I tell him that and not completely destroy whatever definition of a friendship that we still have left…let alone push him over the edge and into doing something stupid–because I definitely don’t want that on my conscience!- ?? What do I say? Do I tell him the truth? Do I do nothing and see how it all plays out? Do I say nothing if and when he tries to contact me and just go down in December with no regrets? Ugh….what am I going to do…. ??



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