Life is hard. I have not hid from personal issues. These will be the least forgiving. Perhaps because they have never been overlapping. Anorexia, Myopia, Depression, Anxiety, etc. I say et cetera because I have no clue who I am or what my problems are. If I have one more person tell me I am pretty or I am using my appearance the wrong way then I am pretty much done. I can’t handle social media bullshit. If I have not been able to look into a mirror for 10 years– and have Meg do things like plucking eyebrows…. I certainly don’t want people rating a facebook picture of me. I am so shy. I ran into legit friends in the store and hid the other day. Life is a game of duck and cover for me. I will never feel comfortable. Unfortunately, I am a pale, blue eyed, light brown haired gal…..I get noticed everywhere. Please know….. I am just not cool. You are better avoiding me then engaging a conversation with me. I can’t delve into details, but, don’t try to be involved in my life. I wake up every morning wondering why I survived. I have a fiance I cannot marry. 4.5 years means nothing to the Government. I cannot drive because of my vision. Meg works at a minimum wage job. This is our love. This is our life. It is everything. I have to fight my brain to use my left hand. Worth it. All I wanted to say was that who gives a fuck waht I used to look like? I have never changed sizes– still the same size. But, my girlfriend has changed sizes and hates herself because of it. So, let’s stop applauding us for not gaining weight.
Author Archives: littlelostsunny
This is the time of year that I start to get an itch for my old life as a retail drone at Best Buy and Hastings Entertainment. It’s the busiest period, the most bustling and chaotic, the most dreaded by everyone but the higher-ups in this consumer based field. The ringing of the Salvation Army’s charitable bells are the shrieking of banshees to the employee and the mythological Sirens to the shoppers. Ting-a-ling. Ting-a-ling. Cha-cha-cha-ching. The repetition of carols and holiday classics quickly morph into this maddeningly melodious nightmare–losing their chipper quality and instead taking on an eerie, slow motion horror film quality….crackling and echoing inside your mind and ping-ponging against the cavernous four walls around you. They haunt and fa-la-la-la- follow you everywhere. Sweaty, stressed and surly shoppers come and roam the aisles in droves with lists, demands and desires aplenty. These zombie-like hoards are relentless…. blinded by the baubles and twinkling lights and lulled into submission by the subliminal advertising, they grunt and groan their way through the aisles with no regard for anything or anyone but themselves. Physical decay is replaced by moral and social. Filthy beasts! Lines are long, tempers are short, products sell out, ads are misprinted, feet are aching, babies are crying, etc. This is most employee’s idea of what Hell might look like. To me, however… this was my happy place. I loved it. And I miss it. I miss being a part of the process of making people’s lives a little brighter. I flourished amidst the freakshow. Schmaltzy and scarily honest.
I worked retail for about 6 years. I never felt ashamed of my job title. I never thought that I was lesser of an individual because I was not making much money. Sure, I was surpassed by my peers and not even coming close to fulfilling my potential. It’s painfully evident that I never truly even physically attempted to stretch my wings wide enough to accomplish any real goals that should and could be attainable by me…. Mentally is another story entirely… But, I was paralyzed by fear of being mediocre and thus I searched out something easy and low on the stress totem pole. Interestingly enough, I soon learned that this undesirable little shift job was one that I was enjoying and surprisingly adept at. It bolstered my confidence, provided a service to the general population, and it suited my debilitating social anxieties and phobias. It was a good fit. It still would be.
My only problem with retail, besides the negative stigma attached to it, is that no one else ever seemed to care about being the best they could be at the position that they held as much as I did. It was exasperating, confusing and perplexing on many levels. I prefer to surround myself with others who mirror my enthusiasm and desire for excelling at any given task…no matter how trivial it seemed or probably was. To me,each time I was challenged to solve a customer’s dilemma, locate a product, utilize my encyclopedic knowledge of film trivia, recommend or suggest their entertainment selection for the evening, answer any questions, or just offer up light conversation with a smile– I would take those seemingly mundane assignments as seriously as I would anything else in my life and any misstep would linger and haunt me for days (and sometimes even years!). As they say at NASA, “Failure is not an option.” No problem could be too big or too small and nor should it be.
I’ve always believed that I would thrive at a local independent establishment– one where you are rewarded with incentives, hours and raises rather than threatened with cuts, department switches or even termination. The idea of forming relationships and true bonds with returning regular customers and almost familial ties with coworkers appeals to me…to be a part of something that lived and thrived because of your individual contributions and determination fills me with intrigue and want. I crave that community.I love the thrill of a good add-on or upsell… but only without my being forced at hypothetical gunpoint into doing so by corporate bigwigs and their impossibly out of touch policies and numerical goals. One of the worst aspects of being an underling at a big-box store was essentially working as though you were receiving commission, when really you were just fighting for job security. I always felt that I caved to their mandate of pressuring customers into buying product and pushing promotions that lacked sincerity or customization because…well… I was. But, on a personal level I gained nothing. I did not enjoy being a corporate puppet or talking mouthpiece for faceless boardroom suits and ties.
I understand how capitalism works. I understand why rules, regulations, guidelines, etc are in place and play at these establishments. I don’t have a problem with any of it in theory. And truly all of this could of been rectified by the occasional pat on the back. There is nothing that makes me work harder than affirmation that my attention to detail and devotion to my craft is noticed and appreciated by others…and nothing that cripples and demoralizes me more than harsh words,unnecessary discipline or worse…. a complete and utter lack of any acknowledgment whatsoever! The degree to which other people’s opinions and words matter to me is incredibly unhealthy, but a fantastic motivator!
I also enjoyed taking pride in the physical area of my department and fastidiously maintained it to meet my most stringent of standards. Everything had its place, everything was alphabetized and orderly as to make it easy for the customer or employee to find the appropriate product and to promote an air and aesthetic of professionalism. This was not as important to a big corporation than the bottom line was, which made for many days that I would come in off-the-clock as a “customer” and furtively arrange and tidy things to my liking. I could spot a misplaced item a mile away and it would send me into fits of panic and unease upon its detection. I inherited this from my mother. She who would sweep the pine needles from the dirt floor at a campsite in the woods. The appearance of the environment around us is representative of ourselves. I also firmly believe that if your surroundings are clean, streamlined and efficient then you will feel better and perform at a higher level as a result. I keep my little hovel of an apartment orderly for the same reason–despite us never having any visitors!
But, I digress… the fact of the matter is that I am a little bummed that I don’t possess the keen vision that I did four years ago. Reading signs is near impossible, staring at a computer screen is a challenge, flying through tasks at record time is no longer a practical possibility…. I’d be a great asset and addition to anyone’s team, but not an all-around MVP anymore. I find that unacceptable. Without the leniency and forgiveness that I could find in an independent setting– I am out of luck finding a suitable business to share my wealth of retail awesomeness with. I was beyond thrilled and even more envious of the Northeast on my most recent trip to Massachusetts. There were a myriad of reasons for this, but one was the abundance of locally owned and operated stores and shops–streets of them! It gave me hope for my future. But, in the meantime I save my smile, small talk, and never ending endurance and willingness to go above and beyond for my friends and family…and mainly my dog. I still get my kicks by picking up fallen items in the grocery store, folding clothes that are crumpled and tossed aside at the mall and laser lining the hell out of stocked shelves. I might even awkwardly continue utilizing my ingrained mantra of helping anyone within ten feet of me. Sigh. Perhaps in time my confidence will catch up with my mental drive… or I’ll wake up in Beantown with an accent and new life. Until then, I will be the lunatic who yearns to be the communal whipping boy in a sea of real cynicism and mock enthusiasm during this crazy shopping season.. I’ll continue being jealous of my girlfriend who wears a vest and name-tag, wants to strangle Charlie Brown, Snoopy and The Vince Guaraldi Trio and comes home doused in glitter, tinsel and disdain for humanity. Ah, what a wonderful world!
I will still enjoy this holiday season. I will enjoy it more than years past. I will not be participating on the commercial side, but I will throw myself into the mix of that of the consumer. Perhaps monies won’t be exchanged for goods because of the whole lack of funds thing. However, the material will be replaced with the consumption of ambiance, energy and second-hand frenzied hysteria. The jubilance and cheer will enchant and mystify me enough to detract from my deepest insecurities and personal failings. My visual acuity may be dismal in regards to details and minutiae, but it excels at absorbing the warm embrace of color and light. I do not have to strain my sight to become instantly engulfed in a kaleidoscope of candy-coated razzle dazzle, sparkles and shimmers, twinkles and glimmers, an explosion of pure wonderment. It truly is a feast for the eyes and a dizzying array of decor and delight await me in the coming months. This year I’m truly happy to be a part of the festivities that come hand in hand with autumn and winter. Unlike the past six years, I won’t be singing the blues but rather rockin’ around the Christmas tree. I won’t be in a holidaze for the holidays and will instead be soberly (but not somberly) soaking up every precious moment of the season. I am prime for people watching. So, bring it, Santa! Let’s do this!
So, it’s been about a year exactly since I woke up behind a veil of haze and fog–to what I thought was nothing more than a temporary side effect of a night of fitful sleep. I cracked open my crusty lids to a blurriness that I believed would dissipate shortly after getting up and at ‘em. However, minutes turned into hours, then days, then weeks then months…. and after many ophthalmologists and specialists poked, prodded and peered into the frightened distressed blue marbles resting upon my broken visage…. it was deduced that this was my “new normal.” I had already accepted the inevitable by this point and instead of being visibly crushed I was silently and graciously accepting that I could now close this taxing chapter of uncertainty and focus on that which now laid ahead (I have to choose my paths, directions and such more carefully and with more trepidation these days! :P).
I am still not comfortable with this new ocular outlook.. I’ve adapted and adjusted to this astronomical shift in my life in the best way I know how….not well. But, I manage. To go from 20/20 with glasses to being incapable of driving a car or reading a book after twenty-something years is…. not something you can segue into easily. I am the partner of an artist of whose work I cannot fully appreciate. The daughter of a photographer of whose pictures can no longer be seen in the detail they deserve. The daughter of an avid and voracious reader whose enjoyment and appreciation of books can no longer be shared with. The sister of someone who writes a blog for a living that can now only be skimmed because of how frustrated I get with being unable to focus on the screen. I worry about what will happen when my parents are no longer able to drive me to and fro. I have to strain my eyes at all times just to make sure I don’t trip, misstep, or fall. I have to rely on others to tell me what items are on menus or ask them what signs say or what they are talking/laughing about. I have to memorize what people are wearing when I am in a crowded area so that I have at least a slim chance of finding them again when separated. I have mistaken others for my parents, sister and Meg on more than one occasion. I have to watch foreign films while sitting on my computer an inch from the screen to read the subtitles and I still don’t always catch the entirety of the written dialogue. If I see a gnat or a spot on my glasses– I panic thinking that maybe the impairment is growing more severe or morphing in some way. And I go to bed each night worrying that in the morning there will be no sunshine–and all that will envelop me is total darkness. It’s a fear that I am not quite sure is completely unsubstantiated.
Yes, it’s scary and more than a little deflating to have each minimal task multiplied by a million in terms of complexity, but you know what? It could always be so much worse. I can still see. I can see colors, shapes, the freckles on Meg’s face when I’m up close, the flowers peppering the ground, the blooms on the trees, the major details on buildings and landmarks, the sun in the sky, the smiles on faces and virtually everything wonderful about this world. I just don’t see it the same way I did… or that you do.
Life has it’s way of throwing curve-balls at you and keeping you on your toes. I’m pretty good at baseball, but I would be most appreciative if the powers that be could lob the pitches from now on– a little harder to catch and prepare these days! And looking on the bright side (which is always a good idea now) is intrinsic to my plowing through each day with vigor and fervor. I’ve become more social and mirthful since I started having to stare through the equivalent of a waterfall or frosted glass all day. My dependence on others has forced me into this position and I have had to learn to accept that my independence in this particular area is no longer an option. I find humor in the mundane and joke to make it seem or feel less awkward and frustrating. And as mawkish and ridiculous as it may seem… I appreciate everyone and everything just a little bit more. The sight that I have, the cacophony of sound around me, the breeze on my cheek, the pounding of each step, the touch of a hand, and the kindness of others. There are worse things. However, I am still waiting on my new super power that takes the place of sight.
So, yes, I may now read like a four year old stumbling and stopping over each individual letter. I might appear as though I am using a foreign language dictionary in a strange land to translate words into sentences that make some semblance of sense. I might quadruple check both ways before I cross the street as though I am playing the classic “Frogger” arcade game. And I might have premature wrinkles from squinting with such prolonged intensity. But, that’s all ok. I’m somehow happier. From this myopia and dystopia came a cornucopia of happiness, empathy and unbridled enthusiasm that had been held captive and laid dormant for so long. Stranger than fiction.
I went into a period of cessation from documenting my life for multiple reasons. One main purpose was to stop feeling as though I was complaining too much. I never sought out that type of confessional . I always wanted this to be a diary of thoughts and realizations that I encountered each day. The reason it became so intense was because I entered a realm of disorder that needed to be attended to in a professional manner.
I have no shame in that. Yes, I have sliced my skin to shreds, I have wounds that will never heal, I have hurt everyone around me, I wanted to die, I went to a psychiatric ward, and I am still a pawn in the ultimate chess game of life and loss.
There is a silver lining here. I am twenty-eight and am now finding happiness in my day to day existence. It took about as long as I would of anticipated. I did not start my period until sixteen and did not lose my virginity until twenty-two. I’m just always going to be late to the party. I’m ok with that. I’m very logical, level-headed, and literal. I will never alter the way I view the outside world. I have no inkling nor any innate desire to do so. Practicality courses through my veins.
All I concentrate on at this juncture in my life is making everyone around me’s life easier. This is what I know I can do without any extra effort. I am a generally nice person. I will always be as kind as I can when granted the opportunity.
Each day is another chance to prove that there are great people in this world. And I hope to make someone smile and feel a little happier every morning! I may not be religious, but I am always hoping to be a saving grace.
Reflections are an interesting fear to tackle. There are two main fears that are associated with what a mirror will provide you with instantly: a look at yourself in the present and/or send you spiraling to a situation that you may have experienced in the past. I somehow managed to gaze both directly into these perpetually confounding eyes, always aglow with the prospect of gaining knowledge and understanding…. (but, still not sure if they are blue, green, or a new crayon color) on a daily basis without even coming into contact with reflective glass.
I’ve avoided mirrors for years and years. Much the same way that I have also evaded the dictatorship that a traditional scale will provide me with. I don’t need to know how much I weigh and I am perpetually aghast by the pallor, the pimples, and petrified wood effect that my skin has been forced to endure over the years. Government, fix that! I don’t need to be reminded of the ghastly visage and general mien that I possess.
There have been zero days where I found myself attractive, but I have sort of learned a valuable lesson during the epoch of anorexia that provided an unwelcome shady umbrella that literally fell upon my life– and that was to never look at myself in the mirror or to calculate my pounds on a scale. Ever.
I’ve held true to those sentiments as outlandish as they are. I’m happier that way. (Yes, I have to inform nurses at the doctor’s offices. However, if you must know… I am 5’5″ and weigh 120) Thanks useless people at doctors’ offices.
Eating disorders are not things you just wake up and cure yourself of. They stick with you forever. They can and often times do consume you- literally. At this point…. I have given up on the idea that I will ever be “pretty.” I am not going to be THAT person. And this is a big step for me in the sense that I can let go a little on the attempts to achieve perfectionism. It would of been a goal that left me reaching and reaching and reaching further for a finish line that never truly existed. It became time to accept the wonderful blessings that I was bestowed in lieu of a waist-size that is unachievable Make the best of what you were granted, because honestly you are beautiful, gorgeous and special no matter what you believe yourself to be :)
I’m going to also add this little tiny bit of knowledge and realization that has provided me with confidence that I never knew that I had. I have learned to stand up straight and hold the door open for others– while asking them how their day was or stating that I hope they have a wonderful evening. I am so shy that none of this comes naturally. However, I have determined, just utilizing a simple five day venture into the Nation’s Capital, that a simple phrase or praise can turn someone’s life around. It can change a Monday into a Funday. Why not try to help someone…. if you are granted the opportunity? A smile and a familial exchange can go a long way!
No one wants or deserves to live inside of a calorie calculator.
I may be the opposite of what my parents wished for their second child, but when you combine the powers of my amazing sister and myself– we are unstoppable! Caitlin can be added into this triforce. And yes… that is a Zelda reference.
What an unusual life that I lead and live. When I was in the midst of my adolescence… not once did I foresee my future playing out the way it has. In most people’s eyes– I am the text book definition of a failed prospect. I had the pedigree worthy of an epic success story in the making. However, my life took a severe 180 degree turn while in my early and mid-twenties. Decisions and repercussions that I am facing head-on now at twenty-eight.
I’ve noticed that the way I view the world and other people in general, has instigated a significant shift in the past year. I have always been a late bloomer in every avenue imaginable. And my appreciation and acknowledgment of the weight of responsibility placed upon mature adults is no different. I’m just now learning to figure out aspects of survival in a democratic, corporate, financially based world. I’ve had the amazing benefit of having both of my parents live near me, help me, aid me, and treat me the way a daughter (or son, if that is the case) should be treated. I am blessed. And I’m non-religious–so, I use that term quite infrequently.
However, at this ripe old-age…. my cavernous (often times carnivorous) brain has become the dictator in the otherwise symbiotic relationship between sense of self/emotion and logic and reasoning. The Civil War ended 149 years ago, but it still runs rampant in another form or facet within the confines of my head.
And this is not an expression of admittance to suffering from multiple personality disorders. Quite the contrary, in fact. I am actually in the process of finally getting a grasp of who I am and what I have to offer to the world. As is the case with many people– I hit rock bottom before I regained the drive and energy to climb to the top. The enigmatic quality of my persona is part of the charm, yeah?
I will not deny that the past ten years of my life have been a free-fall into the lowest depths a singular human being can endure without lasting repercussions. I’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel figuratively and literally. I have, at points during the height (and yet, literal lows) of depression pondered if I were even worth the air space it took to fill my lungs with oxygen and subsequent life. Of course I have been able to accomplish that. But, my reflection in the mirror breeds insecurity and self-loathing. I am learning to curb that innate hatred. I have adapted and adopted a new way of viewing myself. Gone are the days of focusing on failure–whether it be a pimple or anxiety or the ultimate soul-crusher of not graduating from college…. and in comes the faux positive. It’s become clear me grasping desperately onto the elements of life that prove to be somewhat optimistic are key to eliciting a smile from my dimpled face…. and inevitably lead to the stimulation of euphoria in my little head and heart. I can convince myself that everything is great. As Tegan and Sara say in “The Lego Movie” EVERYTHING IS AWESOME. Even when it is not to the outsider looking in.
I’ve been with Meg for four years and five months. She is the centrifugal force in my seemingly useless world. I love her more than I am capable of expressing in words, because as of now– there are no words to describe her or our weird connection to one another. It works. Even when it doesn’t…. we have never slept apart from one another. We are otters…. we hold hands when we fall asleep to prevent drifting apart. Cheesy? Yes. But, does it work for us? Also yes.
I recently had the opportunity to visit Washington DC with my parents, sister and 4.5 year old niece. My sister is a travel blogger. She has proven to be quite successful in that field (mommypoints.com). I adore my sister and she is the epitome of a woman that anyone should look up to. She has drive, she has ambition, she has charm, she has humor, she has knowledge and she is….on top of all of that…. a fantastic mother to my niece and a wife to my brother-in-law. She, on the surface, is always calm and collected– a true testament to the American Dream. She had a vision, she worked hard, and eventually conquered.
I admit that I am sometimes envious of her success. I grew up fearing her. I was a pawn to the Queen and ended up enduring what any sibling five years younger would be faced or forced with. She was the center of attention until I was born– and she did not like the spotlight being shared. She ingeniously concocted many ways to eliminate the sunshine from my innate persona. However, years later she has become a more intrinsic part of my life. She is an inspiration. She is who I wish that I could become. And though I know that that is not only improbable, but borderline IMPOSSIBLE– I do hope that some of her ability to succeed and excel rubs off on me. Yes, she makes a lot of money, but she uses it to help and benefit others. She’s a hero in my book. And will forever be the best sister in the world–even when I ask too many questions :)
I have faced a lot of obstacles this year–last July (a little later in the month) I was officially informed of the irreversible eye condition that has stripped away over 50 percent of my vision in both ojos azules. Yes, I’ve had an entire 365 days to become accustomed to it, but it never felt so real and devastating as it did on this recent Washington DC trip. Fighting back tears is something that I am more than accustomed to…. I am a sensitive person. But, being unable to read all of the information presented on the tags and labels in front of the memorabilia and historical artifacts on display in the Smithsonian Museums’ that we visited (most of them) was a hard pill to swallow (apologize in advance for colloquiums.} It became even more evident while sitting on the Nation’s Capital staircase and not being able to differentiate between red and white fireworks or being able to understand why the crowd was cheering (it was because of a showcase of white stars inside the fireworks). It wasn’t until then that I realized that I will not be able to drive a vehicle again. I won’t be able to live a normal life as most would define it. I actually need bifocals at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. And even with that– I will never have perfect vision again. However, when and if I get those bifocals… I will spare my poor current glasses the terrible life of being ripped from my face when I look at a book compared to a billboard. Despite all of the physical ailments– including a left arm that has so much nerve damage that I can barely type with it and the lack of clear eyesight (but with bookoos of foresight and/or clairvoyance — she claims to love me. And as of right now, I am inclined to believe her. I truly hope. Meg is a terrible liar. And I like to believe I have thrown a lasso on any indiscretion. I’m also so cute. :P
However, these impediments are not just genetically predisposed to me. I exacerbated the situation by imbibing alcohol to the extreme. I did so to alleviate the symptoms of severe social anxiety, major depressive disorder, borderline personality disorder, etc. I have been diagnosed with every ailment imaginable. Who knows anymore? Unfortunately for me…. compulsive behavior runs in my family. Many times this is an attribute that can aid and boost you into a VIP status (my sister), but it can also smother you and confine you to an endless darkness that will never relent. I fell into the latter trap.
My idiosyncrasies morphed into compulsions that led to my former eating disorder and suicidal thoughts. Remember– I never actively tried to kill myself. I thought about it, but never once attempted it. Be careful what you type in blogs or you could end up in a psych ward like I did.
The bright side of all of the aforementioned sentiments is that at this point in my life I am learning to be happy. I’m learning to find happiness in each day. I wake up early. I take the dog on a walk– 4:30am or 6:00am and I smile. I am happy to be alive. I am happy that I still have a family. I am happy that I can afford food. I am happy that I outgrew my past. I knew I would, but impetuous behavior was a major obstacle. Now, I want and seek to be the conduit for others to find some semblance of normalcy in their life (Note to Meg: “I’ma Warrio! I’ma gonna win!)
As an extremely belated afterthought– I would like to express that on a personal level…. I have nothing against any of my conservative friends. I hope that you all understand the fact that I am, and always will be, leaning towards the liberal side of the spectrum. But, if logic and reasoning is utilized in an argument for your beliefs– I take that in…jest (I kid, I mean ingest) and dissect all of it. I pull apart fact and fiction *and oftimes friction) and will probably comment on it. Politics are important to me. I’m not a liberal, conservative or moderate. I am nothing until I read about ten pieces of confirmed fact before I lean towards an affiliation. Regardless of your personal belief or hatred of your Chief, I always hope that your moral compass directs you in the right way. Spend a weekend with Meg and I and you will see that even us deplorable gays are sometimes a natural coupling and worthy of a marriage license. Even in Tejas.
Her family may not understand or attempt to grasp the constraints that these disabilities impose upon me and my plight for living a quasi-normal life. That’s fine. I know I can’t win their affection. I have tried. Looking up bead/jewelry stores in the area, hiring my mom (no pay, but lots of love granted her way) to help deep clean the apartment before her Mom comes to town and prior to my vacation. I do everything I can to make the transition from a haute coutre boutique to a Hampton Inn (enjoy those clean down comforters).
They will never ever ever accept me as a suitable suitor for their red-haired goddess of a daughter. Understandable. I wouldn’t accept me either. But, it is what it is. I love her. Unconditionally. I have for over four years. I never want to walk away. I just want to step closer. I’m not going to be rich. I am going blind. But, even with those inconvenient issues…. I am certain on my belonging with her. Never even been up for consideration or termination.
As every fairy tale must accept and applause its’ conclusion: “The End” And I hope the addendum of
Happily Ever After” prevails!
I know my relationship is on the line and I have little time to let her know how much she means to me. I am here, I can steer, I will be the one in fear– I protect you from all that dare to persevere. I am all you need, I am your shield when you heed defense, I am yours when you need a strong fence.Life is tough, and ofttimes I am too rough. But, I am never giving up. You are going to be mine throughout the course of time.
I’m sorry, but you are stuck with me. :D
There is no other way to say, To close my lips and walk away. I work so hard and leave the scene. The drivel can be so mean. I only want to say words that can just wash and wipe away. The life I have lived cannot be changed. The patterns can just be rearranged. I lied, I stole, I opposed and suppressed the truths I told, The stagnation in this situation was you…. my mother. You remain a formidable suppressor in this screwed up realm. You are my beacon, my object to cling on. .. every time I’m scratching or crashing you are who I’m going to latch on to . I fail to show it, I neglect to prove it. But, there is no one who can be more important than what you became to me. I’m hardheaded, I’m hardened, I’m ofttimes downtrodden. Despite all my failures, you peek through the fissures. You love even when I never reciprocate. You’re always there to anticipate all of my stumbles and tumbles– All my ups and downs. Every step of the way you can upright a frown. Without you I would have only blank verses, but because you exist my life still traverses…. A simple laugh or a smile, makes each day worth while. Yet, this one is for you and thanks for all that you do.
Touch can mean so much. I am one of the few…. where it does more harm than good. It scares me. It envelops me in panic. A blanket of care turns to a blanket of scare. Nothing can be pinpointed in this issue. The irony is that I grw out of this into someone so detached and afraid of human contact. Explain that one.
I had to go to a funeral recently. I got dressed up in a tie and a blazxer. But, I sat outside out on the out-skirts. It was so crowded it didn’t men much. I felt secure being all demure. My dad, a best friend, was the solo speaker.
I’m not the one you invite to the plight, when you need someone to make it seem alright. I am a hermit, don’t you see? I cannot live up to the fantasy. of being brave, being calm helping others carry on. I’m just me. The last one in your call’s history.
Despite all that…. I am a Democrat. I came and I went. And I was stagnant as a daughter as a friend. It’s not the end but a beginning of solidarity. My thoughts are just swimming with words to say and others to decay, but I am nothing but a kid who still wants their dad’s affection and attention.
Honestly, life is completely fruitless if you do not talk to your parents once a day (if you have them). Mine are my rock. Different, but better than I could ever be. And I can guarantee that no one, , has a baby book like me.