By The Grace of God.





Was twenty-seven, surviving my return to Saturn.

A long vacation didn’t sound so bad.

Was full of secrets, locked up tight like Iron Mountain.

Running on empty, so out of gas…

[ ~ … ~ ]

Thought I wasn’t enough.

Found I wasn’t so tough.

Laying on the bathroom floor.

We were living on a fault line,

And I felt the fault was all mine.

Couldn’t take it anymore…

[ ~ … ~ ]

By the grace of God, there was no other way.

I picked myself back up, I knew I had to stay.

I put one foot in front of the other.

And I looked in the mirror and decided to stay.

Wasn’t gonna let love take me out that way…

[ ~ … ~ ]

I thank my sister for keeping my head above the water

when the truth was like swallowing sand.

Now every morning, there is no more mourning.

Oh I, can finally see myself again.

I know I am enough.

Possible to be loved.

It was not about me.

Now I have to rise above.

Let the Universe call the bluff.

Yeah, the truth will set you free…

[ ~ … ~ ]

That way, no.

Not in the name of love.

That way, no.

I am not giving up…

[ ~ … ~ ]

By the grace of God, I picked myself back up.

I put one foot in front of the other.

And I looked in the mirror,

and decided to stay

Wasn’t gonna let love take me out that way.

That way, no.

Music is, and always has been—a least for me–a powerful thing. There are just some songs that you hear and can only think, WHOA. Songs that stop you in your tracks, and lay you out flat. Cold. This song is one of them. I know it’s been out for years, but I only just heard it tonight, on a Spotify Playlist that I’ve been adding songs to for a while. I don’t actually remember adding this one, but once in a while I’ll add whole albums—which—without fail—I never seem to listen all the way through for some reason. It’s weird how the universe works some times. Had I heard the song 5 or 6 years ago, I probably taken it in a completely different way. It’s scary seeing how closely art imitates life sometimes. I didn’t write the lyrics, but if you changed “27” to “22” — the stark similarities alone— I probably could and might just as well have. The never-ending roller coaster of “love” and other emotions. The lying on the bathroom floor. The giving up; then choosing to live part. The struggle to accept the pain and move on and to fight to hold onto what’s yours. Figuring out and realizing your self-worth. Even the heroine sister part. It’s essentially the perfect mirror to my life. Which is kind of eerie, if you ask me. Cool and interesting…but still eerie.

[ ~ … ~ ]

I’m actually glad that I’m only just now hearing the song. It would have been completely different had I heard it before. That was a different place, a different time. I wouldn’t have been in the right frame of mind if I’d come across it before – back then. Those moments were some of the BEST and WORST of my life. They can’t be discarded. But still, I can’t forget, even though I want so badly to not remember. At 22, I didn’t have a clue. Now, at 29, I can see there’s been some changes. Now I see a lot of things that I didn’t necessarily see before. Humbling things.

[ ~ … ~ ]

When you’re standing at the banks of a major river, contemplating, it’s easier to reflect back on your life. There’s a much different perspective when you’re standing/have stood in those trenches. A better, unbiased perspective and outlook. And sometimes, that’s just what you need—a thorough look and the possibility of more. And that’s enough for me. For now. It’s a start. It’s somewhere.

[ ~ … ~ ]



The Lovers Noose … a poem

The Lovers’ Noose… a poem

You took my hand, promised to never ever let it go.

Saying “Baby, let’s just take this nice and slow.”

Then you fastened the rope, hung the noose;

held me close.

With a twist and a tug; tied a knot—then you pulled.

Yeah, you pulled so tight ‘til I gave in.

‘Til I was yours.

Heart, body, and soul.

A clever rouse, I should have known.

I was right there. We were so close.

So close.

Now we’re enemies and adversaries; each other’s greatest foe.

Oh, how did I not see it, how could I not know?

The sweet kisses and pretty words,

Reeling me in just to cast me right back.

Over and over again.

Then out of nowhere, not a word, you just turned.

And never returned.

You dug the hurt even deeper, made it worse.

You preyed on all my deepest fears.

I swear I must have cried an ocean’s worth of tears.

For you.

And I still remember those moonlit nights.

I replay the images over in my mind.

Not often, but sometimes.

Tangled together, your body and mine.

Feelings and emotions, felt but never spoken.

Alone in the dark, with no one to witness or see.

No one to hear or ask me why.

So…as I break the silence, close my eyes and cry.

I travel back in time.

I know the fury will come soon enough.

It always does.

Do you remember the broken glass?

The accusations you threw that I threw right back?

I remember all the lies,

The ones I couldn’t forget if I tried.

(And I really did try).

How you claimed your innocence in the public eye.

How you played that victim card of yours to the nines.

When you said the blame was all mine.

But you know, that’s just fine.

It’s your conscience on the line, not mine.

Not this time. 

How it ever came to this, how it ever went that far, I’ll never know.

We said no strings, no hearts.

No falling in love.

But then we fell.

We fell so hard.

And it was good, ‘til it all just felt wrong.

So wrong.

‘Til all that mattered; who I’d be and who I was, was gone.

‘Til there was nothing about you left for me to love.

Finding comfort in the fact that it was over with and done.

That the storm and the worst had passed.

Little girls out there listen close. 

You should know.

Even hurt like that…it doesn’t last.

‘Cause someday.

When you’re ready, when the time is right.

You’ll forgive, you’ll forget.

You’ll learn to trust again.

To live in the now, not then.

You’ll find someone new to love.

And you’ll box up the past.

Push it to some dark, deep place in the back of your mind.

To be forgotten for the rest of time.

Have no doubt, you’ll find your way.

You’ll find your purpose, your place.

Where you stand in the middle of it all.

I promise you will figure it all out, somebody, somehow.

You WILL find yourself.

Your heart will heal, your soul will mend,

The world will right itself again.

And as daunting as it will seem

(and it will for quite some time)

Just know.

You’ll get through the hell.

You’ll move on.

It may feel like you can’t, that you won’t.

Just breathe, just believe.

Just hold on, just be strong.

Be patient.

It just takes time.

It may not seem so right now. 

But… trust me.

You’ll survive.



When It’s Good, It’s Good…

Love. We all need it to survive. Or do we?

Is it weird that I don’t have a single memory from when I was little of playing Princesses. Not one. And most little girls do. I know, I have nieces. And they just love dressing up and playing make-believe and pretending they’re the pretty princess waiting for her Prince Charming to come riding in and whisk her off to that land of happily-ever-after that the fairy-tales all promise. My oldest niece, when she was like 3-years-old—or thereabouts—she had this little princess getup/dress/costume–whatever you want to call it—and she just had to wear it EVERY day. I swear she wore that thing for months. She took naps in it, would wear it over her normal clothes whenever she’d leave the house, and on the nights that she didn’t fall asleep in it, my mother and grams would sneak into her room and take it—then wash it and put it back in its place before morning came. She loved that dress and her little high heels that she’d prance around in. And she loved telling stories about her life as a princess and how, when she was bigger, she was going to find and marry Prince Charming and they would have the happiest life together. “Forever and ever,” she would say.

I never did that, at least not that I can recall. The same with Barbies. I do recall always playing “house” though, mostly with my cousin Katie. I remember that we used to argue over who’s turn it was to play the Mommy and the names of our “babies” aka dolls. For some reason we both had this crazy obsession with wanting to name our dolls Melanie–though I have absolutely no idea why. But that’s beside the point. I guess the point I want to make, for the purpose of this post anyhow, is that there was never a Prince Charming, or Ken doll in any of those “house” scenarios. Baby Melanie was enough. It’s a strange thing to reflect upon, to know that even then, I had the right idea—that happiness and capability didn’t have to be defined by the presence of the opposite gender. What do you know, even five-year-old me was too smart for her own good. Lucky for me, that hasn’t changed much. 🙂

I’ve always had this fear in the back of my mind, for as long as I can remember, that I’d somehow fuck up any kids that I might have. It’s no one’s fault really. It’s not like I had a horrible childhood or that my own mother was that awful. She just had different priorities, you know? She wasn’t mean or abusive and she always made sure we had what we needed. She loved/loves us…in her own kind of way. She just never really wanted to have kids…she didn’t have that overwhelming maternal instinct that some women do—like my grams who lives and breathes for raising children. And that’s nothing against her or anything, it’s just how she is. She’s always been pretty upfront about that. Do I hate her for putting whatever relationship and guy she was with at the time before us—my siblings and I? Not really. I think I realized fairly early on that she was flawed…and being aware of that at such a young age…it just was what it was, I guess you could say. I didn’t yearn for her love and attention. My grams poured that out in buckets when and if I needed either of those things. It wasn’t until I was in my teens when I started to really feel the effects of her behavior and increasing absences…and even then, it was more frustration than resentment. My brother, when he gets angry, he’ll throw the past in her face and give a whole litany of reasons for how she was/is a horrible excuse for a mother. But that’s the irony of all ironies, considering he’s got three kids himself and he’s not going to be winning any parent-of-the-year awards either any time soon. Personally, I prefer not to bother much with the past. The way I see it is that it happened, it’s over and if there are moments that she wasn’t around for and subsequently missed—well those are mistakes and choices and regrets—should she have any—for her to live with, and not me. That’s not to say that I haven’t been frustrated with her at times, particularly when that behavior began to impact my oldest niece. It was one thing with my siblings and I growing up–we had my grams to fill that void—but it’s different for my niece. My mother and grams both have custody of my niece, but my grams has my two younger nieces to care of and they—especially my niece Emma with her epilepsy and string of other medical and developmental issues—take up a lot of her attention. And my grams, who will be 76 next month, isn’t as active or patient or youthful as she was when we were growing up. That being the case, my mother has doted on my oldest niece since she came to live with us when she was just a month old. It was all about my niece for a long time and then my mother started, well…being my mother again. She’d stay overnight with her boyfriend, spend her weekends at his place. Little by little, my niece had to share that #1 spot with that guy…and he wasn’t a fan of kids being underfoot so more often than not, she’d get pushed aside and left behind, so to speak, by my mother. I never did stand for that, and I’ve been pretty vocal about it over the years—not that it’s made much of a difference. My mother is who she is. To think she’s going to change—whether it’s for us or my niece or anyone else–is just naïve. I’m not saying it’s right, but it is what it is.

To say that my mother’s behavior hasn’t influenced me in any way…that’d be a lie. It has. Of course it has. Even though I’ve never hated or deeply resented her for it, it’s not a behavior or manner that I ever wanted to replicate. In fact, I’ve sworn it my whole life that I wouldn’t be like her…that I wouldn’t be one of those women that needs to have a man in her life to be complete or that would prioritize a man over the ones that really matter and that should come first. I’ve promised myself that so many times that I’ve lost count.

I guess that’s where love comes into play. It mingled with that nagging fear I have to not be her and made everything so wonky. Love itself, it’s a pretty fucking scary thing (excuse my language). It’s heaven and hell…literally. It’s good when it’s good, but when it’s bad…watch the fuck out. Love takes no prisoners. The paths from love to heartbreak are so numerous, but each is littered with corpses. Corpses of those who either fell too hard or didn’t fall hard enough. Corpses of those who got too close and got burned and decided the pain wasn’t worth a replay; of those who traded their souls and self-worth for a chance to just experience the feeling, even just for a little while. I learned that first-hand. And the thought of doing that again…it scares the hell out of me. I was in love once—at least I think it was love—and I’ve got scars to prove it. I crashed and burned. The pain and the heartbreak—it was unimaginable. To be that vulnerable and to literally put your absolute faith in someone—to give a person the power to destroy you in one fell swoop should they decide to, to put your heart in their hands…it’s a rush, the greatest high—or the worst, depending on how you look at it. And sometimes it works out and it’s great…and sometimes it doesn’t. It’s like throwing a dice. You close your eyes and you hope and pray that it lands in a way that’s favorable to you. That’s big. That’s overwhelming.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel that high again—if it’s a rush and a taste that I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing. It’s not that I don’t want that happily-ever-after or fairytale ending. I do want it…if it’s out there. I don’t want to these fears of mine to define me, but in many ways, they already have. I’ve met some pretty great guys in the years since that one all-consuming heartbreak. Amazing, sweet, funny, and damn-near perfect guys. Through no fault of their own, I’ve bolted the moment things started to get anywhere close to being serious. I have one of those great guys in my life right now—for a while now actually. And it’s great. He’s great. The distance isn’t so great—what with my being up here in NY and all. I’m not sure if it’s “serious” …but he’s been more than obvious and even quite vocal about his desire for it to be so. I usually brush it aside or change the subject when it starts to lean a little too far in that “serious” direction. I like him a lot and I know the feeling is mutual. In fact, it didn’t take only a few months in when he said those three words. You know the ones. I, however, have yet to reply in kind. He’s, believe it or not, been really great about it. He hasn’t pressured me into saying it back. I think he can sense that I need more time. Which I do. I mean, the next time I say those words, I want to really mean them. I don’t want to say them just because he has and does. The last time I did it all wrong. I fell so hard, so fast and I let it consume me to the point where I no longer recognized myself or the person I had become. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I can’t go through that again. So when I say those words, I have to be ready. Ready to say them back, ready to take that step and make a serious commitment. I don’t mean marriage or anything—I’m not sure if I even want to get married ever—but something serious and real…and heartbreak-proof, if possible. I want to avoid the hurt, as much of it as I can. So I’m being careful…cautious. I’m taking it slow. And he’s actually okay with that, for now at least. Where the future lies for us is anyone’s guess. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. I’ve tried to picture it, a future with him in it, and it’s not terrible. That’s a sign, right? Progress. That means something. At least, I like to think that it does. We’ll see.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with him, with us…with me. But if I’ve learned nothing in the past 7 years, it’s that I’ll be okay. I’ve had a lot of time for reflection over the years, to figure out who I am and the person that I want to be. 7 years ago, I didn’t know any better. I was young and naïve and I put so much stock in an ideal kind of love that truly was the thing of fairytales. I put all my faith and heart in the hands of a man who was completely undeserving. I gave him all the power and he lorded it over me the entire time we were together—though I didn’t realize that until it was too late. He used my feelings to manipulate and get what he wanted from me, until he had no use for them anymore. It took me a long time to see that relationship for what it was: a teaching moment. I learned a lot from it. I learned to look deeper and not take everything at face value. I learned that monsters come in human form, of all shapes and sizes—even one with twinkling green eyes, smooth lines, whose kiss was like sin in pill-form that could melt you from the inside out. I learned to stand on my own two feet and how to be strong. I learned to expect the worst, so as not to be disappointed too much when people—ultimately—fail or let me down. I learned to be okay and to wipe my own tears. But most important, I learned that I don’t need a man to be happy or successful. Or whole. That having someone is all well and good, but not absolutely necessary. I learned that to really love someone else, I had to first love myself. It’s comforting to know that I’m still capable of loving someone else, if and when I choose it. I learned that love isn’t a given thing, it’s a privilege. You have to be worthy of it, deserving, and all-in for it to have the greatest chance of working out.

Love, it’s a beautiful drug. We don’t need it. We can survive without it. But if we do it right and we’re lucky, we don’t have to.



Washed Clean.

Still got the flowers that you sent / And the note you wrote that said that we were meant / To be forever / I keep them all as evidence / In a drawer under the mirror / Filled with empty promises / I don’t know why I keep letting you lie to me / Hard as I try it seems / I can’t break away / I thought that you would be the hero / Come and save the day / But you’re a villain / Your sins unforgiven


I’m going down, and you have watched me drown / In a river of tears, lost beneath the stream / Under the waves, I’ve found the strength to say / The river of tears has washed me clean / Go ‘head and wish me well / I’ll cry a wishing well / I’ll fly before I fail / I’ll set sail and drift away / So I won’t need you here / Love sinks and hope floats / In a river of tears, a river of tears


I catch your scent in every wind / And I recall the love we had  I can’t pretend / That I don’t miss you every now and then / But the hurt is for the better / Moving on, it’s now or never / Lost in the tide, I can’t keep my pillows dry / Like there’s a sea in my eyes / I realize that sometimes love brings you flowers / Then it builds you coffins / And far too often / We end up falling to our demise


Alessia Cara “River of Tears”

Oh, LOVE. It’s the damnedest thing, is it not? Why does it always have to be so hard—why does it have to be so damn complicated? So damn confusing?

I thought I knew what it meant once. I thought it was real. Now I’m not so sure. About love, about that time in my life…about any of it. Was it real? Or was I just in love with the idea of being in love? I have so many questions, but I always come up short with answers. So much time has passed that I’m starting to forget…that I’ve forgotten.

I’ve moved on. Let’s not confuse this for something that’s it’s not. That’s not what this is. This is looking back and sifting through some of the mess, with one hand letting go, and with the other trying to figure out what the future looks like from here.

Again, was it love? If you ask anyone, they’ll say it wasn’t. They’ll say he was a fraud. That I was only being used. And they could be right. It could be true. I’d like to think that it’s NOT true, but I’m not that naïve. Either way, it screwed me up. I’m screwed up now. Everything is different. Everything. I learned from it all—the whole life lessons thing and all that—but it changed me. Some for the better, some not so much.

I have trust issues. Commitment issues. Big ones. Granted, I had them to a degree before—but that mostly stemmed from inexperience and naiveté, I think. But now…now they’re worse. Much worse. It’s hard for me to let people in, to really be myself and open up and go there. With anyone really…but especially with the opposite sex. It’s not that I don’t want to or that I don’t try—there’s just this disconnect, this wall that goes up that I really have no control over. It just goes up and it’s there and I can’t do anything about it. Is it my fault? Well, partially I guess, sure. And at the same time—no. Something happened. I didn’t imagine that. I was hurt. Really hurt. I had my heart broken. I was used in some of the worst ways you can use another human being—emotionally, physically. I was tricked and misled and lied to…and we’re not talking about a couple of times here or a few days. We’re talking over the length of fifteen months. I was fooled into believing I actually meant something to another individual and against all my better judgement, I fell for that person. Hard. I fell so hard. For a lie. For a fantasy that never was and never could be. And it was all deliberate. It’d be one thing if the other person didn’t mean to, if he’d just gotten caught up in the moment and it spiraled out from there…but that’s not what happened. This person, this guy I thought I knew, this person I defended and stood up to all my friends and family for…what he did was deliberate and calculated and just plain cruel. Every phone call, every meeting, every stolen glance…it was all intentionally done. As was the betrayal and backlash when the truth came out. Every word he said, every accusation and insult, every lie he and whomever else he had do it with him spread about me—it was intentional. He wasn’t a victim. We didn’t just lock gazes in that bar or meet out of some twist of fate. It wasn’t some love story gone horribly wrong. It was a deliberate manipulation and planned attack. And I was the casualty. I was burned. Badly. And while the physical reminders of that might go away, the emotional ones are still very, very present. Even now, all these years later. Though his name is no longer a whisper on my lips, his face no longer lingers in my mind or in my dreams, and those memories—for all intents and purposes—have long been locked away and forgotten…the scars are still there.

Which is why I’m in the predicament I’m in. I’ve gotten better. Some. I’m not quite as jaded and cynical as I was. But when it comes to love, I’m still wary. I try not to be, but I can’t help it. I have this amazing guy in my life and as badly as I want to just let everything else go and just be with him…a part of me is still holding back. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because he can’t possibly be as amazing as he seems. It’s got to be a ruse. That’s how I feel. It’s not rational and it’s driving me insane, but I can’t help it. He’s asking me to jump. He’s willing to hold my hand. And I’m just standing there on the edge, like a complete and utter idiot, scared out of my mind. I want to. God, how I want to. But there’s so many what ifs running through my head. What if I jump and it doesn’t work out? What if I end up with another broken heart? I just got mine pieced back together…I can’t imagine going through that kind of pain again. Or worse—what if it works out? What if we take that leap and it all goes well for awhile…until it doesn’t. Because people leave. They just do. You see it all the time. Relationships, marriages—they don’t always work out. And growing up, I’ve watched too many “love stories” spark and then die out. People aren’t faithful, they cheat, they always want what’s on the other side of the grass, so to speak. It’s not pessimism…it’s being realistic. It’s a horrible way to live, always doubting everyone…doubting yourself. Even when you have all the facts, when you know that he’s not him—that he doesn’t have some girlfriend or wife and child stashed away somewhere—and you want so badly to believe again in fairy-tales and love and happily-ever-after…it’s still so hard. He’s not the villain in this, and neither are you…and still, you hesitate. Because you know what can happen when it doesn’t go the way you’d hoped. When you’ve put all your faith and trust in this one individual and in doing so, you’ve essentially given him everything he needs to break you down and tear your world apart, from the inside out, if he so chooses. It feels like a game. You don’t want it to—and you don’t want to look at it as that because you don’t want to be that girl that’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop or expecting the worst in people—but it’s out of your control. And that control—it’s all that you have. After everything that’s happened, after everything that he put you through and stole from you…it’s all that’s left. It’s everything. And you cling to it. And it’s hard to give that up. Even if you’re there, even if you’re ready to, even if you want to. It’s still hard to let go.

He understands. God help him, he’s practically a saint. After all this time and even the distance…he’s willing to wait. And I know that guys like him don’t come around that often. I know that I should jump at this opportunity and just let go, once and for all. But I’m scared. I’m so fucking terrified. Love hurts. Everyone says that it’s not supposed to—that it’s supposed to be this great feeling and that when it’s right—when it’s really right—it’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be the greatest feeling in the world. And maybe they’re right. I honestly don’t know. But I want to. I want to at least find out. I’ve already experienced the heartbreak and the devastation. I know what it’s like to have the world ripped right out from under you—to have that one person you gave so much of yourself to turn around and treat you as if you were, as if you are less than nothing. I know that feeling. I’ve been there. I lived and breathed that feeling for so long, slowly suffocating. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to come up for air. I want to breathe again. To feel clean again.

Am I ready? Hell if I know. I just know that I’m tired of living in fear and in the shadows of the past, second-guessing myself and everyone around me. There are still good people in the world—good guys…I have to believe that. And I have to trust myself to know the difference. I’m not that naïve 21-year-old girl who let herself be fooled by a pair of twinkling eyes and smooth lines and empty promises. I know better now. And he’s not him. If I have to keep reminding myself of that every single day, then that’s what I’ll do, but I’ve let him in this far…maybe it’s time to take down the walls…to really take that leap of faith. I’m terrified…but I think it’s time.

It’s time.


Scandalous…A Poem

– Scandalous…A Poem –

Lower me down

Into blankets of silk

Skin to skin

Cradle me close, lover of mine

Bathe me in sin

Over and over, and then over again

Tell me you love me

With feeling this time, like you actually do

And maybe, just maybe I’ll believe it, too

Your touch, such a frenzied-yet beautiful thing

Your whispered promises carry in the wind

The gentlest of caresses against my skin

Pull me in closer, do it again

Just like that

Baby, that’s the spot

A parry, a thrust

The time-old connection where soft meets hard

Your ragged breath against my neck

With you, I’m at my weakest

If it weren’t for the lingering remnants of my pride

I’d beg you to please show me some mercy.

My guard goes down, the façade is gone

In your arms, I’m lost.

Our bodies, they glisten with a most decadent sheen

The aftermath glow of a mutually satisfied,

yet purely self-serving need.

After, when we part,

The vow we make is always the same.

We try our best to hold out; to be strong

But to the world, we’re just pawns

In this hopelessly futile, self-deprecating game.

The world tells us lies

And we console ourselves with the idea that we have time.

Thinking we have more.

When in truth, we have nothing of the kind.

We’re been betrayed

Deceived by fantasies and fabricated facts

Happily-Ever-After doesn’t exist

True love is a lie

It’s a hard pill to swallow

Believe me, I know

It was hard for me, at first, too

To let it all go

But fantasies fade

And sometimes love dies, never was, or just needs to change—

For everyone’s sake.

So with baited breath, we wait.

We glide through life

Believing everything is meant to be

See and do things we aren’t meant to do or see

Until we see the light, slip on life’s black ice

We fall through the cracks

We fall so hard, we fall so deep

We’re not nearly as invincible as we might like to think

You and me

We’re walking vulnerability

Beach sand formed to fragile glass

We heat until we break

Then shatter what’s around us

Hurt the ones we claim to love

We’re flawed, we make mistakes

Just as children starting out so often do

We falter in our steps

We skin our knees, we bleed

It’s what we do

After all, we’re only human,

You and me.

– JLR –


Perfect Is Overrated

So, I’ve gone and fallen in love … with a band. Yep, it’s true. It happens.


And the name of this incredible, apple-of-my-eye band, you might ask? They’re called HEDLEY. And I am head-over-heels, crazy feeling in love.


Especially with this one track called “Perfect”. Its lyrics are literally, well…perfect. 🙂


This chorus, for instance…


I’m not perfect but I keep trying

’cause that’s what I said I would do from the start.

I’m not alive if I’m lonely, so please don’t leave.

Was it something I said or just my personality?

I know I’m not perfect but I keep trying

’cause that’s what I said I would do from the start.

I know I’m not perfect but I keep trying…


I mean, come on, who hasn’t been there before…who hasn’t stared at the retreating back of a person they liked–or maybe even loved–and wondered what they could have done or said to make him/her stay? We’ve all been there. Well…most of us, anyhow. And us girls especially–we’ll literally analyze every moment, every conversation, every word spoken…rethink every decision we ever made, every action we took…and when we finally (it’s a matter of WHEN, not IF) fall to the proverbial rock bottom, it’s ourselves we hold liable and assume are to blame…even when we’re not. It doesn’t matter who does the walking away…we blame ourselves for the loss…the failure. At first it’s superficial, then the blame and self-doubt goes deeper…under the surface. The blame becomes internal…more personal. We start to question our looks/appearance, our personalities, our self worth, and ultimately our identity as it relates to who we are. We start to circle all our faults and flaws and insecurities with this figuratively bold–albeit invisible to anyone but our own self–bright red permanent marker. We get paranoid and neurotic and we start to obsess over these so-called “flaws” until the obsession and  all those doubts begin to cloud our judgement and take control of our lives…until it consumes us.

Until it destroys us…and everything/everyone we love and care about–though unintentional–becomes collateral damage. We don’t mean for it to happen, but it happens all the same. Naturally, it’s different for each of us. Some are fortunate and just so naturally complete in their self-awareness that they can handle the fall-out with little to none lingering/lasting damage. And then there’s the rest of us who are just not that strong. That can’t let go that easily or move on that quickly–acting as if nothing had ever happened.. Some of us are dizzy with doubt and end up allowing ourselves to succumb to all the guilt and insecurity. Some of us have lost faith in ourselves and aren’t able to get it back. We put too much pressure on ourselves to be perfect…to fix those imperfections…if not to win him/her back, then to be at least prepared for the next time, and that next someone. Until eventually, it becomes a control thing. A way to keep some sanity and control over our lives. We change ourselves to fit the needs and wants of another…and we lose ourselves in the process. Until it becomes less about that person and/or about what happened and more about fitting the “ideal”… that state of being and achievement that we call perfection. We starve ourselves to fit the status quo, to blend in because standing out is far too terrifying for us to even consider. In the blink of an eye it seems as though everything that we once were ceases to exist.

And all the while, we fail to see the reality of it all…the reality of what and who we are. It’s a vicious cycle, that perfection business. Some reach the pinnacle…and others spend their entire lives reaching for it.


When you’re caught in a lie,

and you’ve got nothing to hide,

When you’ve got nowhere to run, 

and you’ve got nothing inside. 

It tears right through me,

you thought that you knew me,

you thought that you knew me…


But its as we all know…imperfection is inevitable. And you shouldn’t have to change yourself for anyone. And if they truly care about/love you…they won’t ask you to. They’ll love you just the way you are…


Un-fixable Me.

So I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple of months now. He’s nice and funny and overall, a genuinely great guy. Nearly perfect, even…maybe a little too perfect, I sometimes think. He’s nothing at all like the guys I’ve known. And everyone is telling me that its a good thing…that he’s the type I guy I should be looking for, rather than the bad-boy jerk type I tend to be attracted to and gravitate towards in the past….but I’m not so sure. Which is absolutely crazy because he’s so nice and so sweet…a real, in-the-flesh Southern gentleman. And I know it makes absolutely no sense–it kind of scares the hell out of me. In my experience, just when things start to go well and everything seems perfect…that’s right when the bottom falls out and everything just goes to hell. It always happens, without fail. As much as I like being with and spending time with him, I’ve got this nagging feeling that won’t go away–that’s telling me to end it now, to just walk away before it’s too late…before it goes any further. Before one or both of us get hurt. It’s a little ironic actually, considering that for so long, I’ve been the one that’s scared of getting hurt…but this time is different. This time, I’m worried that I’ll be the one to hurt him.

Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but I can’t help but think that I’m going to ruin him. I mean, he’s just this genuinely sweet, nice guy…and me, well I’m just 50  shades of fucked up. I don’t see the point in sugarcoating it. I’m a mess…a disaster…jaded in more ways than I thought possible. Especially when it comes to relationships. And I blame the jerk from 6 years back for that. For making me lose my faith in love, for proving to me– in the worst possible ways that he could– that the only person in this world you can truly trust is yourself. At this point in my life, after everything that’s happened, I just don’t know who to trust anymore…so I trust no one. I know it’s not fair to hold the mistakes of that one jerk against every other guy I come in contact with, but I can’t help it. I guess that’s just the unfortunately reality and consequence of having been hurt and used and wrecked by the people in my past…people I never for a second thought would ever hurt me like they did, like HE did. I was so wrong…so wrong.

When I think back on it all, I realize just how naive I was. I wasn’t some Cinderella-type looking for her Prince Charming or anything, but I believed in love. And I thought that falling in love would be the greatest feeling–and it was…for about 5 minutes. If that. Then, as if on cue, it all went to hell. For fifteen months I stayed on that emotional roller-coaster. Fifteen long, wasted months. I took a chance, let him in…then he wrecked my life. Or tried to, I should say. Either way, I don’t think I’d ever experienced that degree of hurt until then. Until Him. I still don’t know why him. It just was. The only way I can really describe it–being with him–it was like I couldn’t breathe or function without him…while at the same time, I felt like I was drowning. Suffocating. Turn into someone and something that I despised…had always sworn I’d never become. He broke my heart and shattered every ounce of trust I’d had for him…for anyone. Even when it was finally over, for so long afterwards, everyone treated me like I was this fragile, heartbroken girl who still carried a torch for him. They couldn’t have been more wrong. It took me a long time to realize it, but it had nothing to do with him. All those nights I cried myself to sleep, all those months I shut everyone out…it wasn’t because I was pining away for him. It was that I’d felt as if I’d suddenly taken off the blinders and could see everything in crystal clear, blinding bright lights…and that reality was what truly broke me. Not him. He might have started me onto the path, but the rest of the journey was all me. Just me. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror, it was like looking at a stranger…and I hated her. Despised her. I felt like everything I’d ever been taught, all the values that I’d ever held–had been stripped away. Just gone. I felt used and degraded, covered in a filfth that not even the most abrasive scrubbing or soap could wash away. I hated him. But the truth is, I hated myself even more.

That’s all part of the reason why I left and moved here. To escape all of that. All the lies and rumors and those hurtful accusations. And the memories. Especially the memories. It was as though I had all these images playing over and over in my head and there was no pause button for me to press. So I did what I do best, I ran. And for the most part, it’s worked out fairly well for me, believe it or not. Until now. Until this guy, this sweet, awesome guy who wants far more than I think I’m capable of giving him right now. I just feel like it’s all happening so fast. Too fast. And I’m not sure I’m quite ready to take the next step. Honestly, sometimes I’m terrified that I never will be.

I don’t want to hurt him and for that, I feel like I don’t have a choice but to end it now and walk away. It doesn’t seem fair of me to let it continue when I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give him what he wants. He deserves the truth, but I haven’t–I can’t–tell him mine. I mean, how am I supposed to tell him about my screwed up past and the choices I made? What will he think? I mean, when it came down to it, nearly everyone chose HIS side and believed him…what’s to say that if I tell him everything now that he won’t do the same? I’m not sure I can–or even want–to risk that. I spent 5 years feeling ashamed, feeling guilty for things I didn’t do, of avoiding the glares and ignoring the whispers. And now that I’m finally free from it all,’s back again. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I have the strength to go through that again. I really don’t. I barely made it through the first time. I won’t survive a second round. That’s not me being melodramatic either. That’s just me telling the truth.

I don’t know what the future holds or what life has in store for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my old self back. If my faith in love will ever be repaired…or if I’ll ever be able to trust a man again without seeing HIS face and feeling that overwhelming pain again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be “fixed”…or 100 percent whole again. Who knows. Maybe this new relationship will work out. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe this sweet guy will be the one to heal all the hurt and glue all the pieces of my broken heart back together.  Maybe I’ll be his Cinderella after all. And maybe we’ll have the fairy-tale and a chance at our own Disney-version happily-ever-after.

Maybe I just need to make that leap of faith and set aside all this fear. Maybe I just need to forgive myself. I think that maybe it’s time. Right here. Right now. Because the truth of the matter is, right now is all we have that’s guaranteed. The rest–is a coin toss. But we’ll see what happens….


“Because Of You” by Katy McCallister

Before you it’s been awhile before I slipped up
Before you I never thought to give a f*&#
And before you I was satisfied on my own
Before you I never let myself go
Before this I was always on the wrong side
Before this I was always bad at
hanging onto pride
But before this I was professional
about how to hide
What was goin’ on on the inside

And before you I was so content
Yeah before you I was unaware of it
I was unaware, of my loneliness

Now because of you
I remember why I have no self respect
Because of you
I remember why I always felt hopeless
I remember why
My perception of love was demented
I remember why I’m such a mess
Why I’m such a mess
Because of you
I remember why I was satisfied with lust
Because of you
I remember why I will never truly trust
Before you there were more yous and I know now why I will never expect much
Thought I forgot, but thanks a lot
Cause now because of you
I remember why I don’t love
I remember why I don’t love

Before you I had control of this
Before you I never let my heart win
Before you I was on my way to freedom
Before you I never let myself give in
To the disappointment of unrequited love
To the mislead illusion of mutual trust
I was unaware, of how bad love was

When somebody walks away
And you feel replaced
Left with your own embrace
A part of you gives up hope
Once you let it go
You never wanna go, back again
I look at you and I see him
All over again

I thought I forgot, but thanks a lot
Cause now because of you
I remember why I don’t love
I remember why I don’t love


And The Hits Just Keep On Coming.

Well, things have been pretty up-and-down since my last post, as is to be expected, I guess.

My mother finally had her appointment with the oncologist. It’s Stage Two Ovarian Cancer, which in terms of stages anyhow, is somewhat good news. As far as they know, it hasn’t spread beyond where it was found and that relatively, it’s in the early stages, so the better her chances are at beating this thing. She’ll be having chemotherapy, of course. Her first session will be later this week, I believe. Then she’ll have two more sessions, after which she has to have another surgery to remove her uterus and complete the partial hysterectomy she had in her previous surgery last month. Why they didn’t just take everything when they were in there last time is beyond me, but these doctors–in my opinion–are–to put it nicely–friggin idiots. I say that because they are. Or most of them are, I should say. I mean, it’s hard enough to find out that your mother has been diagnosed with cancer, but to find out that it could and SHOULD have been detected far sooner than it was–now that’s just unacceptable. The doctors found the cysts back in February and despite the fact that she’d gone to the Emergency Room on several different occasions because of the pain the cysts were causing—and despite the fact that the cysts her found to be growing at a rapid rate each time they did their sonograms and tests—AND despite the history of ovarian cancer in the family (my maternal great-grandmother died from Ovarian Cancer the year I was born)–despite ALL OF THAT, no one ever mentioned the c-word…or even tested her blood for abnormal levels of the cancer antigen. Could they have prevented her from getting cancer–probably not, but they sure as hell could have prevented it from spreading as it has to get to this point. If that’s not medical malpractice and negligence, I don’t know what is.  I get that doctors are human and that they too, sometimes make mistakes…but come on. This is just ridiculous. Really. You’re holding a person’s life in your hands…you can’t afford to make easy mistakes such as not running a simple blood test. To say that it’s just a mistake is bullshit. It’s careless medicine. Once my mother beats this, and I have to have faith that she will, she should sue the idiot doctors that missed the diagnosis and brushed off her worries every time she went to be seen. At the very least, she should sue them. Granted, it won’t change what she’s had to go through, or will continue to go through even after the cancer’s beat…but it’s something.

Unfortunately, there’s only bad news to report for my uncle Dick. He’s not doing good at all. We all got together at his and my aunt’s place, like we always do, for the annual family Memorial Day cookout last week. My brother-in-law took over the cooking, which normally would have been my uncle’s task…one that he, naturally, wasn’t up to this year. As happy as I know he was to see and have everyone there, he wasn’t in good shape. He spent most of the day in the house, away from the festivities, on his oxygen because the wind and fresh air was just too much for him. It was hard to see him like that…like this, to see him barely holding on. It just feels wrong, you know? Wrong. My sister and I stopped in with the kids Friday afternoon since we were in the area so he could see the boys, but he was sleeping on the couch and though we stuck around awhile, he didn’t wake up to see them. My aunt told my sister that they’d gone and made the funeral arrangements just a few days before…and that she didn’t think he had much longer. We were all hoping he’d at least have the summer, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be having even that. It was horrible, seeing my aunt stand there crying, admitting that she’d started having panic attacks in light of everything and that she didn’t know what she was going to do–God, it was hell. It really was. More so in that I don’t have the slightest idea of what to say to her. I really, really don’t.

It’s just sad, all around.

And to top it all off, I’m hobbling around again with this damn hurt ankle of mine. Went to see the ortho surgeon again on Friday, and yet again–surgery was suggested and shot down…by me, AGAIN. They did more x-rays, which found a healing fracture that had until then, gone undetected…which suggests that when I fell back in November, the bone was in fact, broken…and they never caught it. Which is just freaking wonderful, isn’t it? Oh yeah. And then there’s the matter of the ligaments and cartilage that’s all messed up in there. Since I shot down the surgery option, the doc suggested a cortisone injection for the pain. Stupid me, I went for it. I figured, what the hell. It’s just a shot…it can’t be that bad. Yeah…bad assumption on my part. Big time. First off–I nearly passed out when I saw the size of that needle. And screw that numbing spray–I felt EVERYTHING as she kept pulling the needle out and moving it around in there until there was literally a huge lump of cortisone inside my ankle. By the time I got home, my ankle was throbbing. I figured it was nothing and just wrote it off as having just had a huge ass needle stuck inside my ankle…but it got worse. It’s been hurting like a bitch–pardon my language–ever since. So needless to say, pain killers have been my bestest friend these past 48 hours. So since I’ve been laid up (because walking around is NOT an option) I decided to do a little research on it. Lo and behold, I found that it’s quite common…pain after a cortisone injection. It’s called a “steroid flare”, I believe. It can last anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks…which isn’t a very comforting thought. Especially since my doctor said NOTHING about it before giving me the shot. Absolutely nothing. She simply said that the shot should help take away the ankle pain…not that the shot will CAUSE more/worse pain. If I’d known that, believe me, I never would have agreed to it. Especially since the pain I’m having now is twice that of the pain I was having BEFORE I got the shot. I mean, the whole point is to eliminate the pain, not ADD to it, you know? So yeah, I’m in a bit of a narcotic-fog while I type this, but it’s unavoidable. Hopefully, this “steroid flare” doesn’t last much longer and the cortisone works as it was intended to. Here’s me hoping…

‘Til next time.

Always, xoxo MESSIE

It’s Like That…

These lyrics come to mind…

TRACK: “I Won’t Give Up”
ARTIST: Jason Mraz

When I look into your eyes,
It’s like watching the night sky.
Or a beautiful sunrise.
There’s so much they hold,
And just like them old stars,
I see that you’ve come so far–
To be right where you are.
How old is your soul?

I won’t give up on us.
Even if the skies get rough.
I’m giving you all my love.
I’m still looking up.

And when you’re needing your space
To do some navigating.
I’ll be here patiently waiting,
To see what you find.

‘Cause even the stars they burn.
Some even fall to the earth.
We’ve got a lot to learn.
God knows we’re worth it.
No, I won’t give up.

I don’t wanna be someone who walks away so easily.
I’m here to stay and make the difference that I can make.
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake.
And in the end, you’re still my friend.
At least we did intend for us to work–
We didn’t break, we didn’t burn.
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in.
I had to learn…what I’ve got, and what I’m not.
And who I am.

I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up…

Love, love, Loooooovveee it. <3<3<3


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