Suicide is always an option. 

Published July 6, 2016 by ohmageezers

People never realize just how screwed up someone is until it’s too late. We stop begging and crying and screaming for someone to care. We just… Give up. 

To be numb is better than to question and to ask “God” why? To wonder why you can’t be good enough or wonder why you couldn’t change enough. Being numb means you can let go of your hopes and dreams. You can be okay with nothing. 

And when the numbness finally faded you find a better option.. 

Yes it may leave people behind hurt, but you see- when you’re so numb.. You forget about anyone but you…

And I have forgotten about everyone. I have given my hopes, my dreams, and my love away for the dark comfort of being numb.. And maybe, just maybe- I can find a more permanent comfort. I can find a way to give up the last bit of ache that comes when I sleep, how much I hate to feel the longing in my dreams. 

It will never be what I wanted. My dreams are only the foolish ones of a little girl, who was clinging to hope. 

I know no one follows this.. But it’s nice to think that my voice may echo out somewhere deep.. And that maybe- someone’s heart will break with me.. Some girl who knows the pain, and maybe, then I won’t feel so much. That last bit can be given away.. 

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Nothing can even describe..

Published June 14, 2016 by ohmageezers

I know that I am far from the first person to write something about this weekend’s Orlando shooting, but here I am. I’ve been sitting here taking a class that is based on “What does it mean to be human?” This past weekend really made me look at the class at a different way.. To see what has seemingly happened over and over and over again. When do we start to lose our humanity enough to walk into a club, an elementary school, a theater, and decide to hurt innocent people? Where did we go wrong as a community to not teach ourselves and our children to grow and to become healthy adults? When did we decide that it was okay to turn a blind eye to the people we see that obviously are struggling with finding who they are? Whether that is with mental illness, struggling to admit or accept who they are, or admitting that they have something severely wrong with them. Why do we allow these people to mix into and disappear into society, and more importantly- what drove them to such a horrible extreme?

I learned from an early age that one of the biggest experiences that humans endure is pain. And my heart breaks for the families and friends in Orlando. My heart breaks for the mothers and fathers, the sisters and brothers, the lovers, and the friends. And so many have the same questions: Why did this unspeakable act have to happen? Why us? Why here?

I can’t answer why.. Only the people who did so can.. And coming from Colorado- growing up in the shadows of Columbine and barely missing being a victim of the Theater shooting during the Batman premier- I feel the pain of the community. The fear, the frustration, and the unanswered questions.

When I see a horror like this on the news I always wonder why.. What compelled the person to think that was okay? Why did they think that was the only way to disapprove of something or be upset about something? Or just think that it was a “good idea”. It’s overwhelming to think that this person decided either knowingly or subconsciously to let go of that human part of them.. To decide that they no longer put themselves in the same category as their victims. It’s a debate that I truly wish I could sit down with a panel of psychologists and doctors and just ask- WHY.

But in the end, even unanswered, there are the people left behind from the disease of violence.. There are the so many to the already numerous victims from this weekend… So many broken hearts. So many families that will never be whole again…

Partners In Crime 

Published February 5, 2016 by ohmageezers

The neighborhood is pretty good at identifying my child, and my cat. Between the wild blonde curls (don’t forget our blankie!) followed by the lazy swag of an orange and white tail high in the air, anyone can tell that these partners in crime are up to something. 

 

Both the little one and my four legged child find it utterly ridiculous that I don’t let them adventure to abandon during the winter. The snow is simply a new adventure! 
 So as we all eagerly wait the warmer weather, here’s my small throw back to warmer days and far more fun adventures. 

   
 

Not so imaginary romance. 

Published February 4, 2016 by ohmageezers

Sometimes you wake up realizing just how lucky you are. Just how special your day is. 

I woke up today to read the sweetest thing I could ever imagine. I thought that we were special, but sometimes I forget just how he thinks about me. How special I am to him. 

This is so rare and new to me, even a year and a half later! I’m always ready for something to hurt. Always ready to hear him say he doesn’t love me anymore. When in reality, he’s far from the other guys who have so clumsily dropped my heart before. He’s so much more… 

He has been my rescuer, my confidant, my best friend, and my lover. He is everything I’ve hoped and dreamed for. He makes my stomach to backflips from the butterflies just from looking at me. That feeling myself as a hopel as romantic never thought I’d feel.  I used to wish someone could love me the way that all these movies and books portrayed. And by the time I graduated high school, by the time I thought I had initially lost him forever, I stopped believing in those stores. I started to laugh at the fictional romance, thinking well- it must all be bullocks. No one loves like that anymore. I was an anomaly in a generation of quickies and online dates. 

But when he found me again. When my soul pulled to him unknowingly- like some starved, broken creature- I never would have realized that he would be my everything that the books had hidden away. That feeling that I thought authors had made you.. They were only portraying a much bigger feeling that no one could truly describe. 

This man makes me feel like a queen. He makes me feel everything that so many had wrote about and so much more. 

Chocolate Kisses

Published February 3, 2016 by ohmageezers

I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.

Maybe we are from the same star.

~ Emery Allen

This man is my everything.. He’s my sunrise and sunset.. All I want is to wake up and to feel his warm breath on my shoulder, to smell that russet deep spice that is him, and to look into his eyes and feel beautiful.

He’s all I’ve wanted, and my first love… To find him again, to have the fates help align us the way they did.. I can only beg the gods to let us keep each other.

Because I feel like I’d fight the world to keep this man in my life. I look at him and I see my future.. I’ve felt my soul pull to him since the moment we crossed paths, and I’ve never felt anything quite as strong again.. All those years he was gone, a whispered memory would come back from the depths and I would think of him. Wonder where he had gone, if he thought of me while he held someone else. Never in a million years did I think my soul pulled so strongly to him that we’d find each other again.. It’s like I KNEW I had to go.. I KNEW I’d find him again..

And now I’m so excited. To see where our adventures bring us, what we work through, and all the fruits of working our relationship. To see what my star destined soul mate and I have in store.

One day I’ll get to sign off on here with a new name.. With an exciting story, and be able to finally write down the stories my heart has begged for since the year I first spent with him.

But for now, I’m content with enjoying his sweet words, those safe arms, and enjoy those chocolate kisses.

Our story is far from over.

Jealous…

Published January 31, 2016 by ohmageezers

I’ve been sitting here for days now trying to think of what to write… Of what to put out there just for anyone to read. At first I thought- Oh! I’ll just be whitty and write funnies about my outrageous two year old’s antics. But then I remembered what kind of writer I am.. How I can’t help but display far too much of my soul to be displayed in the black and white of letters and ‘paper’.

So here I am. Here is all that is me, and I’m sorry for the feels. I swear I never intended for this kind of shenanigans.

I’m sitting here listening to Jealous by Labrinth and.. My mind keeps going back to so many things.. It makes me miss my Grampa more than words can explain..

But I guess the one thing I miss most is I can’t come in, sit across from him at the table, and ask “Am I doing this right?” I can’t cry to him and tell him how much it hurts, how lonely I can be, and how terrified I am that I’m making all the wrong decisions with both myself and my son… I have no one to dismiss my mother’s outrageous declarations of me being a messed up mother, and a broken person. No one to tell me to stick to what my heart and God would want.

I’m not jealous that he’s pain free. I’m not jealous that I can’t hug him. I’m not jealous that he’s somewhere happy without me.

I’m jealous of all the people that can go to him and just talk.. I’m jealous that I can’t go to my father to ask for advice.. To tell him about the amazing man that has become so integrated in mine and my boy’s life..

I just want him to look at me and tell me that I’m doing alright… And I know that I can never have that again.005

A survivor’s story, and the door to a happier life.

Published August 22, 2013 by ohmageezers

Being a young expectant new mom has pulled back a lot of the past I’d rather not remember.. A lot of fears of how I’ll be when my child comes..

I don’t really know how to say this without saying something someone may not agree on, but I’m going to say it anyway.

I had parents, yes. But I didn’t have parents. I didn’t know who my father until I was almost six, and the only reason I did, was because I was the deep dark secret that my dad didn’t hide well enough.

In other words, he never told his other family about me. And the reason being? His older brother night have also been my father.. Pity neither of them wanted to find out until my mom decided someone was going to pay for the bastard child she hadn’t wanted.

My step mom still to this day swears my uncle is my father.. My father doesn’t speak to me very often. It’s a new excuse every time. Our last conversation consisted about how he demanded we didn’t name our son the name we chose because it had a bad light in horror movies. His demands fell on deaf ears.

My mother was stuck with me, and after my grandmother (her mother) passed, and my only protection in the house was gone, she made sure to make that clear. I was too light skinned.. I didn’t have as pretty hair as my baby sister whom had a dark skinned father.. Her perfect baby..

I had turned into her personal punching bag. I annoyed her the moment she walked in the door, and learned that any small action would encourage screaming, name calling, and a beating. I learned that in her eyes, I was a waste of space. And for a long time, I believed it and I hated myself..

I have quirks now that no one understands, but if I ever explained, they always tried to pity me. This is not being posted for pity. I don’t need that. This is a story of my survival.

Surviving the nights where I was afraid to fall asleep until the pills knocked her out because I knew she’d find a reason to come into my room raging and scare me awake, or how I hated to shower when I was young, and now have to shower with the door locked or when everyone is gone, because she was notorious for coming in and beating me for me leaving something out, or taking too long. Having my mother wrap the cord to the iron around my throat while she got her Sunday clothes ready because I didn’t want to go play happy at church.. (It took a long time for me to actually enjoy church again..) I rarely wear belts and wont wear one unless it is for fashion simply because I sported the design of my mother’s woven leather one on my legs and back far too much..

I wasn’t one of those kids who kept their secret hidden, no.. After second grade I told people.. But I learned fast that telling on my mama only got us attention. She would lie and tell some outrageous story to the police or Social Services and the moment they drove away, I was punished.

I started to remember a lot of those things that happened when I got a phone call from my mother this week.. We spoke for a bit and I asked her if she had told her friends that she was going to be a grandmother. Her reply? “Oh god no!” She then tried to make some pitiful excuse about how it “wasn’t her place to share my news” and such. I knew better.

She forgets that I was raised by her and know when she lies through her teeth.. Actually, her lying only works on strangers.. Even the people at my home church can tell when she’s lying, and that’s pretty bad.

But this conversation cut deep, and I knew I was a sucker for punishment just to answer her call.. But I guess.. I guess I was hoping that for once, just once, that she was happy for me.. I knew better than to be that hopeful. I knew what she thought of my fiance and how we had met. I wasn’t the one she would ever be proud of, and that had to be something I had to accept. If i was to be a good mother, and feel like I was doing things right, my mother couldn’t be part of that life. I could never ask her about things when my son got sick, or leave him to visit with his grandma. She had to be a shadow in my family’s life..

My biggest fear is that my son will hate me like I hated my mother. Like she hated her step father. And my grandmother detested her father.. My biggest fear is that I won’t break this generational curse.

I’m too afraid to say anything to my fiance simply because I know he’ll scoff and tell me I’ll be an amazing mother. I have to tell myself that no matter what, I’ll take those years of abuse and depression, and make my son’s life like mine should have been.. To teach him that I always will love him, and that he’ll never have to be afraid of me like I was of my mother.. To be the mom I always wished I had. That was proud of every single one of us, and not keep a favorite.

I am set on keeping my stories of survival close to my heart, and use them as tools to always remind myself what my son’s mother should never be. To always remember the feelings I had when my mother’s words were harsh, and the rules simply set to torment. I will keep my ten year old self close to me to always whisper when I’m doing things right.

My son’s life counts on how and what do. And I’ll move mountains for that little boy.. For his future siblings.. My children will be happy.. They will be loved.. They will never have to walk the road I did or fight the demons I did as a child. I will break this generational curse, and be that parent mine couldn’t be..