234

Two years, three months, four days.

Since I felt inspired enough to write something meaningful outside of Facebook.

Since I wanted to create.

Bring light to a part of my heart and soul for others to see.

It’s been about that long since I faced the consequences of my actions too.

Two years ago my marriage was ending. Much like it is now. The shift.

Two years ago the death of a love I knew myself through forced me to gaze into a wound I never understood, one I didn’t want to revisit.

It forced me to understand myself.

It forced me to be accountable.

To quit drinking. Sober up.

You might have noticed I’ve been gaining weight. I do that when I’m drinking more than I am sorting through positive life choices. It’s called numbing. Avoiding. Hurting. So many names for one large feeling of failure.

If I’m being honest that’s how I feel most days. 

I failed my children, my mother, my father, and myself. I failed society, and my passengers. I try but it doesn’t matter.

That’s negative self talk, that’s depression. 

I’m realizing I need to love myself through this. I need to accept myself and all my perceived imperfections. I’m fine.

I’m actually fine.👌

What’s not fine is this desire to lose myself every night, to run away from everything and everyone who knows me. 

Everyone who loves me.

What’s not fine is staging a future without me in it, in hopes that everyone will be fine without me.Because most of the time, if I’m not bringing joy to my city or people who aren’t especially close to me, I feel like I’d be better off...not here.

That 👌scares the fuck out of me.

I want to be here. 🙌💕

I want to be loved and known and accepted and understood.

Sometimes it feels impossible, when all I’ve experienced is people telling me that I’m different,  or quirky, that I stand out. They make it sound funny or refreshing.

All I’ve ever wanted was to belong somewhere. That I fit in.

Lately I feel like I don’t belong anywhere anymore. It’s maddening. It’s infuriating, it’s confusing as hell. It hurts.

So I’ve been fading out. 

This is my first post in 2 years, 3 months, and 4 days.

234.

I looked that up

http://sacredscribesangelnumbers.blogspot.com/2011/07/angel-number-234.html?m=1

“Angel Number 234 is a message to put some extra focus and effort towards your creative endeavours to ensure that you manifest long-term rewardson all levels. If you have been considering a new direction or beginning a new project or venture, now would be a most auspicious time to make that choice and take action. Trust that the work you do today will bring benefits to your life in the future.

Angel Number 234 is a message from your angels to have faith and trust in them and the Ascended Mastersin their ability to assist you in miraculous ways. Rely upon the assistance and guidance from the angels and be open to receiving their support, help, healing and love. Trust that they are guiding you along your Divine life path.

Angel Number 234 is also often seen as ‘steps’ along your spiritual and life path.”

Kind of fitting yeah?

It’s a stretch yes, but I don’t believe in accidents or coincidence. Everyone comes to you when they should, everything happens as it should, when it should.

Makes the ride more meaningful.

Wounds

A majority of people suffer from a lineage of karmic roles/patterns. 

Through the years resentment builds, insecurity festers and the cycle continues. After developing my own scars through an intense desire to run away, I came to an understanding that my mother never intended to hurt or neglect, she had been tending to a very large wound open in her chest for most of my childhood. 

It wasn't until I moved away that she found the solitude necessary to process the level of hurt she incurred as a child herself.

Filled with animosity towards a someone who's arms I'd run to at the first sign of trouble, we'd go back and forth spewing toxic energy back on one another. Despite the bond we shared. Despite the love we had.

When I lifted that veil of hurt, and understood her heart's ability to show love, I realized the magnitude of our actions. Generations of hurt from an inability to heal. I remember going to her and holding her as she sobbed into that bloody hole inside of my chest. 

It wasn't until that moment, that we were able to fully heal and move forward with compassion for her, myself, and others.

1997

I can feel the vibration of our bedroom fan,
the buzzing of Susan’s hot tub,
my children sleeping, timing their breath.

Unable to sleep, I am taken.
Into the night of creative blogging.
What kind of road trip are we on today?
Should I bring up Jacksonville? Casa Grande? Maybe La Jolla beach...

 I was 9 years old, my mom quit her job unannounced and told me to pack.
We were moving to California and for some reason we couldn’t get there fast enough.
I remember packing my toys in produce boxes my mom got from the grocery store. Tangerines.

I envisioned us frolicking around on the beach listening to country music in white spandex shorts.
I got a 3 mile walk to a new school by myself, blistering heat, and an Abraham Lincoln book report.

After begging mom to take me back to Arizona, she said she had gotten a job offer in Oregon.
She needed to scout out a place to live over the summer and get situated. Off she went.

I remember writing her and asking her to send for me on cactus stationary. When I started school again that September I could hear my grandparents arguing about me staying there. Door slammed. Grandpa left. I could hear Elaine crying.

I went upstairs to watch Tv, peeking out the window to see him driving down the hill back to the bar. Just then the phone rang, and mom had sent for me.

I couldn’t wait to see my room and play with my cat. It was a nice apartment. We had a view of a lake, only she’d put all my stuff into storage. She forgot to mention we’d be sharing a room, and that she’d be working nights. I started out my first year in Oregon at a woman named Candy’s house five days a week. She smoked inside and made me go to bed at 7:30 every night.

Clutching a Felix the cat doll toy my secret crush in Arizona had given me from Taco Bell, I realized my mom had never planned to send for me. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel like I had nobody on this whole fucking planet, so I cried myself to sleep.

School wasn’t much better, turns out it rains all the time in Oregon past September. I dressed funny and had weird bangs, so Mallory Poff and Danielle Phillips decided it’d be best to call me weird and treat me like an outcast. I spent every recess and lunch break in the library helping Mrs. Warren re-alphabetize books. It gave me an excellent vocabulary and won me library helper of the year award.

Eventually I made a friend, but soon after she moved to another school 20 minutes away. That same weekend I got invited to Danielle Phillips’ sleepover. I just had to beg my mom to go pick up my friend so she could come with us. Deep down I knew I was her plus one, but I didn’t care.

When we got there everyone was downstairs eating popcorn, we sat watching movies for a while when somehow everyone else disappeared and I was alone. I went upstairs to discover they’d all trickled away and locked Danielle’s bedroom door to keep me out. I went to the kitchen to see if anyone else was there and recognized her big sister Anne, she made me a 7UP float, then kicked her sister's door down and called her a brat for being mean to me. After that things just got awkward.

Needless to say 1997 was not my year.

The Power of Words

Exceeding distance and time. Weightless yet heavy. Invoking emotions between strangers if discernment is forgotten. They can save a life. Or end one. They give meaning to symbols and inspire the masses. Revolutions grow beneath them. A paper and pen. A poster board. A fearless tongue. A penetrating mind. The power of words mean nothing without intent. A souls intent captured in ink.

Diving deep

One last date.

One last vacation.

One more time in your arms, 

a familiar kiss,

tracing the outline of your chest, 

a moment of weakness...

Even still, as I write, tears fall.

Sobriety's a bitch.

No lack of alcohol, just reality sneaking in. 

It's as though my heart will collapse.

Or my eyes may never dry,

this tide will never turn,

my storm will never clear...

Air creeps in a tightened throat, 

I look around our home, 

the life we've built.

Watching it dissolve.

Instinctively I reach towards my heart, gripping the flesh and pulling out,

wanting to expel this pain.

Praying it will stop growing,

my brow aches.

My lips tremble.

More tears, rain.

I miss you.

I wanted you.

I hated you.

I love you.

None of that matters now.

We're done.

Watch it fade.

The light we shared, 

all those years.

I hoped for your awakening,

Pray you'd find your path,

with each mistake a lesson guides,

to one where we could last.

Another path keeps calling you,

one with shadows cast,

upon the light inside of you.

You disappear so fast.

Too many nights spent wasted,

following your steps.

There's always one more rabbit hole,

I wish I could forget...

This life goes on forever,

never ending second tries.

I can't pretend I'm interested,

In hearing heart felt lies.

I never doubt the love you felt,

it pulsates through my veins,

but every time you've poisoned me,

I lost myself to stay.

Each new found truth, discovery,

revealing hidden strength,

the depths to which I find myself,

have reached unbridled lengths.

Mine

Waves of pain push through my chest, 

tears stain, and warm my cheeks.

Holding every breath, 

Clenched jaw.

Breath normal? 

I get dizzy, mouth dry.

Stomach aches.

Lick my lips, sip another drink.

Whatever it takes, fall asleep.

I'll quit the moment you're gone.

The moment you stop talking...

about a future we no longer have...

about how upside down our kids lives are...

The moment I acknowledge my instinct...

that love blinded...

The moment I stop hating you...

for breaking our hearts....

because you never knew yours.

Because I never knew mine...

The moment I realize there is no hate.

Just a lot of hurt.

Spread around.

Right now we're swimming in it.

Understanding betrayal is one thing,

Living in it is another.

I can only hope you'll stop betraying yourself.

For her sake...

For his.

For you...

Don't worry about me.

I'm still here...

Just different.

Not yours...

Mine.

Dandelion spirits

A three foot dandelion rests under her staircase, fashioned from jewelry, trinkets, bits and pieces of wedding dress, glued and painted onto an old piece of plywood. It'll remain there until she finds the right words to describe her dandelion soul.

All the dreams of past, scattered in a single breath...seeds for growth lay in the path ahead.

She pretended not to notice the tattered fabric on their living room floor, instead stuffing it down into the depths of a thirsty mind. 

Waiting for sunlight to ease a buried soul.

Day by day she grew, reaching up towards the sky, blossoming into a vibrant new creature, marveling at the ability to transplant herself from a seed in the wind, to a lovely spring flower. Over time she turned inward, hoping nobody would notice the absence of her yellow petals. Twisted up in isolation night fell upon her, and suddenly an explosion of power crept up her spine, unveiling more seeds for growth, because the life of a dandelion never slows. 

She transforms, over and over again, in a million different ways, across a thousand different lands. Impossible to predict, she goes with the wind. With the breath of a small child.

To a shoreline, towards the sunset, or an urban city street. She'll find beauty wherever she lands, and she'll make a home there. Until the winds of change carry her away, like they've done a hundred times before.

http://youtu.be/Q6jSaVTUzGU