I wrote a lot as a child and I have boxes in storage full of notebooks from around 3rd grade up until around the time I was married. I found and old journal tucked away on my book shelf while cleaning today. I am guessing it was written when I was about 9. Inside was a mix of things. I conclude I was a weird child. I found lists- tons of lists! Lists of words to remind my self to use- utilize, irrepressible, sumptuous, beguile, obliquely. Lists of carefully planned out gifts for each person in my life. Freakishly well done diagrams of household electronics. Pep talk / self hate phrases written repeatedly. “Get up at 5:30. Do all your work quickly, Don’t stop for breakfast, Just do your work early.” A recipe for a drink I used to like that called for warm milk and balsamic vinegar and just one tea spoon of honey. I think I spent too much time alone. At the end of the journal was a little paragraph scribbled in red ink that I must have wrote while waiting in the car. It read:
Hi! I am at the Deli. I hope christmas comes soon. I love to write and ride horses, socialize, and think about driving. When I grow up I want to enjoy my life and have lots of parties.
So there is a breast health issue that I have. I am in a high risk category now after the surgery. The spot showed up a few months ago or so. I don’t do the monthly exams or anything- I know, I know. Doctors in a week. I have been telling everyone that its nothing to worry about, I am too young, its whatever etc. I told my Stephen that it was probably cancer and I was going to die. He quickly said “don’t think that!” and tried to give possible harmless explanations for the issue. He loves me too much. He is just as miserable as I am in this life and it hurts even more to think about dying and leaving him to face this stormy life alone. Life isnt so miserable when we are together. I tried not to cry but it would be just my luck to live this short confusing life and right before it got better I just died. I don’t believe in karma, Jesus or any other fantasy story made to band-aid real life problems. I feel so deeply hurt when people give you those “comfort lines.” I don’t know if this issue is really serious or not. It could be anything at this point. I’m just feeling really bad right now and these tears wont stop falling. I am thinking about death a lot. I think about my loved ones who are gone. Everyone dies. Everyone dies alone. You are alone in death. You experience it alone. You may be surrounded by family and loved ones- but you die alone. Even if you die with someone else who is dying- you still die alone. I don’t want to die right now. I don’t want to be sick. The worst part about dying is your family slowly watching you fade and get sicker over the months. I couldn’t bear to be such a burden to them. I feel like a burden to them as a healthy individual- I think if I was sick it would be worse. I already made up my mind if the doctor has bad news that I am not telling anyone except Stephen and that I wont get chemo. No one would understand my reasons so its best not to say anything at all. Freewrites over- time to go play Uno with Ally.
"Sometimes it’s not the people who change, it’s the mask that falls off."
— Unknown (via selflessheart)
(Source: awakenedvibrations, via daddyfuckedme)
"He is not a constellation.
You should not wish to be the cigarette touching his lips.
He will not appear through the fog and heal your wounds.
Only you can do that.
So get out of bed and put on some lipstick.
Stop falling at his feet.
— Emery Allen (via theglasschild)
(Source: wethinkwedream, via daddyfuckedme)
"You mean, she’d rather imagine herself relating to an absent person than build relationships with those around her?"
— Amélie(Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain), 2001 (via slavation)
(Source: confused2014, via daddyfuckedme)
Taking the back-roads to get to the parkway I sometimes drive by a small sheep farm. The old weathered barns and roughly manicured pastures are close to the road and any activity is visible. A few times I have seen the old farmer caring for his animals. He is a smaller built older man and always has on dark wool driving cap with white grey hair peeking out in a disheveled fashion. Reminds me of the farmer from the movie “Babe” with his old English sheep herder style. I have always wondered about him. What is he like- What type of person is he. I imagined he would be kindhearted and sweet with a noble “poor man’s pride” spirit. Curiosity got the best of me today as I drove past and saw him walking besides his shabby wire fence.
I turned around and parked in the small dirt patch beside the barn. He stood there looking at me as I walked towards him. When I reached him I had spent my energy and confidence and now feeling awkward and shy managed to chirp out a quick “Hi! How are you?” He smiled stiffly and replied “Can I help you?” I averted my eyes as he peered at me from beneath his bushy grey eyebrows with a look of curious annoyance. “Um… I just see you taking care of the sheep sometimes… I was just thinking-” I stammered, unable to finish my sentence because I had no idea what to say. “About sheep?” He sharply replied crushing my rosy hopes of him being a warm kindred spirit. “yeah… They look like they would be sweet and nice pets” “Not pets! They are stupid fucking animals- and they keep finding ways out’a this pen.” He turned and began pulling some wire off the post. “I wouldn’t recommend you just going out and getting sheep-” He turned and looked at me his gaze resting at my colorful 5 finger socks and flip flops.
”Are you look’in at gett’n some sheep?” “Um… well, Not really… Not right now- I don’t have the facilities for…. for sheep” He scowled “You one’uh them Bardies?” “No… never went to Bard…” I quickly replied. Bard collage was known locally for its liberal earth loving students and was frowned upon by the local country folk. I began to regret stopping and bothering him. Awkwardness and uncomfortableness took over this failure to launch conversation. I envy my likeable husband who can strike up a successful conversation with just about anyone. The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and began to light one. “I thought you’d be like the farmer in the movie “babe.” He exhaled. “I only watch the weather.” “Did you always want to be a sheep farmer?” I asked, ready to turn back to my car. He took puff of his cigarette as he stared into the sky. After a long paused he turned back to me and smiled with his eyes twinkling. “Not always…. but you have to do whatcha love. Find something that makes you get out of bed in the morin’n.”
"I realized I was not alone in my insanity when I was snubbed by my imaginary lover and my husband comforted me by saying “It’s ok… Im sure he didnt mean it- give him another chance..”"
Recovering slowly but steadily from this breakdown. The nightmares have stopped. Dreams are still confusing and vivid but not enough to wake me or steal so much energy from me. Still have no energy but my mind is quieter. When I feel it start to scream I have been able to distract myself enough to collect my composure. I have not drank or used any sleep aids but have managed to get some sleep in the early morning hours. Smoking still but stopping that today. I feel strong enough to deal with the irritability from the nicotine withdrawls especially when I know after day 2 I will feel so much better. I get so mad at myself every time I end up with a pack of cigarettes. I know they leave me feeling worse but the initial release of the smoke seems to be more important at the time. I cried all day yesterday which was nice because it was not a choking sobbing but a slow release of emotion and after each wave of tears I did feel a surge of contentment. I spent some time with my kids and just listened to them. Enjoying their laughing and little thoughts. I didnt have to do anything or get anything done. I just laid down on the couch and felt at peace- a rest. My dog has also brought me great comfort. He is a dorky newf mix but is the most caring soul. Was by my side through all the nightmares, the crying, the heartbreak. Those quiet comforts are the most healing.