Continuance Day

Birthdays get hard when you get older.

I generally have looked upon every birthday after 30 as extra lives. HOLY CRAP! I honestly thought I'd be worm food by now. Spending years in the throes of suicidal angst will do that to a person. Then, the minute I got over the whole emo-before-emo-was-a-thing-please-kill-me-now-I-don't-wanna-live-nothing-can-make-me-happy phase of my life: cancer. Then I kicked cancer's ass for 10 years before it came back. And at 30... I was no where near death. I'd had a few near escapes, but I was pretty healthy at 30. Huh? How'd that happen?

31 and 32 weren't my best years. Actually, I wasn't really there. I was broken, I was a shell. 33 has been a bitch of a growing year. I actually loved it. I am more aware of myself, who I am, what I want, what I'm doing than I ever have been. I walk through my life with purpose now. I am fully invested. I alone am responsible for what my life looks like at this point.

So, the hardest part of turning 34 tomorrow is forward momentum. I've changed so much in the last year that I'm afraid I might not be able to keep it going. How self-aware can I get? Do I want to be? Am I going to be happy this year? Will I get complacent in my mental health that I get lazy and let the depression creep back in? How self-absorbed am I going to be? Will I be a good enough mom for Liam?

I've made promises to myself and Liam that I never intend to break, and most of them are about keeping our lives safe, and happy. I just wonder if I can keep it going.

So yeah, getting older is hard. But not because I don't want to be old. Because I worry I'm not doing enough with these years I never thought I'd have.

On Writing...

Few people know or remember that I was a writer once upon a time. Writing once was a safe haven for me. I used it as a tool to rid my soul of all the angst and horror that filled me. When the angst left, so did the desire, the need, the ability to write. It was almost as thought my writing ability was housed in that bitch of a cancerous ovary.

This poor little neglected blog was supposed to get me back into doing that. However, there was zero accountability other than my half-hearted promises that I would do better at it. And I never did. For a couple of years, this little dark blog has hung out on the interwebs, waiting for me to fill it full of the anecdotes that used to flow from me so easily. I've paused momentarily throughout the years to reflect on how writing used to soothe me, and promise to try again... with no results. I do miss writing. I have friends who are publishing things now and I can't help but think, "That could/should be me." And it should. I shouldn't have let dying stop me from pursuing my goals.

So, where I'm going with this is that I've been writing again this weekend. Really. Not on this blog, but on my other online journal. A certain person suggested I get back into it, and his praise has really freed me to keep going. I have written outlines for a couple of stories, and it feels amazing to be writing again. I can't promise that I'll be writing here on the regular, but I am making progress. I feel obligated now to do this, since he has asked everyday if I've written anything new. And it's more obligated to ME. To my own growth to keep at it. I'm hoping to get back to the point where it's second nature again.

Who knows what this may lead to? I might actually be happy in my life someday if I keep making progresses like this.

Sometimes, Praying Works

About a year and a half ago... I said a very public prayer for a dear friend. I've known her since forever. (God knows why anyone who knew the teenage me is still my friend, but she is.)

Today... the Universe has answered.

Little Arabella was born this morning. All 5 pounds and 15 ounces of her. She's beautiful, she's tiny, she couldn't be more perfect if she were mine.

Generally, I fight with feelings of jealousy and mourn my uterus whenever a baby is born to someone I know, but not today. Today all my emotions are happy. What a lucky girl she is; she'll be coming home to 3 big brothers and a set of parents who are over the moon.

This post is going to be short... I've got to get back to sewing cute little lacy stuffs for Miss Bella. I'm even planning a trip south to (maybe) deliver the pressies.

Sometimes, the Universe just works like it's supposed to. I, for one, am grateful.

Broken Bones and Silly Faces

So, my little man is broken. 

He fell at his father's over the weekend and broke his foot. We spent today in the ER getting a cast and a walking boot. 

He's a trooper though. He's a big fan of his "robot leg" and even shared it with his cousin. Let's hope he faces all of his life's obstacles with grace and a touch of humor.

The Saddest of Sad Days...

Twenty one years ago, a selfish act destroyed my life. The girl that lived twenty one years ago yesterday died with you.

Who knows what that girl could have been? She was dead set on taking over the world, and had all the tools to do it. But with one act of cowardice, one blip on the radar, one self inflicted wound... you destroyed all the confidence, self-love, and worth that girl ever felt about herself.

The girl that came out of that? Let me tell you a little about her: She is amazing. She doesn't always see it in herself, but it's true. No one fights harder, loves with more passion, hurts deeper, or is more loyal. She's even still loyal to you, the first person to break her heart. She forgave you for that years ago. And tomorrow, she'll be happy. Today, she is sad.

Your exit began the cycle of horrible Februaries. Even on the sunny days, this entire month is just wrong. If I could go to sleep on January 31, and wake up on March 1... those 4 weeks would not be missed. There's always a death, there's always heartbreak, there's always strife in February.

I miss my father with my entire soul. Everything I do is colored by the fact that he chose to leave my life in the most final way possible. I see him in my son's smile, in my nephew's eyes. I scream into the wind with curses because my son will never know his grandfather. But, deep down, I forgive him. I might have done the same, but for the hurt on my grandmother's face when his name is mentioned, these twenty years later. I could never hurt another human being like that on purpose.

This is the first year that I can say I'm not broken. I am finally healing. Not just from the pain of being orphaned, but from the horrible decisions I've made because of it. I'm sad today, but my life is good. And I will smile in spite of today.

~I can only guess it was time for you to be free. To ascend to a broader, more wonderful life than this... Be sure to comfort and protect your children. They need you now. Stand beside them, rise within them, and love them. -Leisha Hailey

Finding THAT Girl...

Wow. I might have done it. I don't really want to put everything in writing because that's a sure fire way for it to fall to pieces tomorrow. But today, I am happy.

I've discovered some truths about myself that actually make me proud to be me. I am fierce, amazing, and I love this girl I am. I really do.

I've got a hell of a long way to go to get to where I need and want to be, but a hell of a lot farther than I have been in a long time.

I've not seen a future for myself in a long long time. And now, I can see this huge, happy life just opening up.

And with that said, this post is going to be short. I'm still a work in progress, and this kind of bragging is too new for me to keep it up for long. Just know, the smile you see on me is real.

The Difference A Year Makes

I meant to write this yesterday, but I am the world's best procrastinator. Plus, my heart was heavy with this post... and I took to my bed early.

This has been a year of great change. A horrible year, but the year that began my future. It's been a year of self discovery and a year of freeing myself from being treated like I'm worthless. It's been a year since the scary high blood pressures and heart palpatations, a year since sleeping with one eye open, a year since existing without a future, and a year since the violence of a domestic nature.

I took myself and Liam to a domestic violence shelter on January 17, 2010. The events of the previous two days had escalated to the point that I was afraid for my life and the future of my son being raised without a mother. We spent the next four weeks healing myself, filing for divorce, and preparing to be a single mom. The days were long and hard, but I slept like I have never slept before. For the first time in too long, I was safe.

There have been many repercussions from deciding to choose safety. Not a day has passed that I have not realized something new. But every single one of them has been worth it. I spent so long being deprived of affection, that I have now turned into an affection whore. I crave it. I still cringe when a man's hand leaves his side, even when it's overly obvious that that hand would never strike me. Certain common phrases that were loaded with hate when coming out of his mouth are still paralyzing. There are even songs that make me feel less than nothing. I will probably deal with a lot of these things forever.

The thing about all of this is, I have a future now. I'm not going to be stuck in that space ever again. I am relearning how to be myself again. It's still a learning process, but I'm leaps and bounds ahead of where I was 365 days ago. Hell, I'm further than I was 3 months ago. I have smiled genuinely, laughed heartily, learned to love again. It's been a bumpy ride, but at least I'm outside of the house again. I'm finally living.

There are some good things going on in my life right now. There are several amazing people that have entered my life during this year, and my heart is grateful for them. Someday I might believe them when they tell me I'm amazing myself. I'm still making changes, and still moving forward.

And I'm still alive.

Which was the only motivator in the beginning of this reinvention.