Silly Girl with a Flower

I feel like a fool.

My heart shattered like the lightbulbs on the wooden floor; tiny little pieces glittering in the glow of what’s left.

It wasn’t even your fault. I did it to myself, once again, but at least this time I feel the sadness of heartache. I allowed myself to fall, to be vulnerable. I knew that this could happen and I still did it. That’s growth on my part.

It’s possible you didn’t mean to say it in that tone. Maybe you just didn’t want to bare your heart to someone as drunk as him. There’s a millions why’s that could be nicer than what I’m telling myself now. How foolish I was to think you could possibly see me that way. A silly little girl with absolutely nothing but a flower.

And you didn’t even have a horse and stick.

Afraid.

Am I in love?

I couldn’t tell you. I’ve closed myself down. Forgotten how to feel. Made the wrong choices.

Now I feel broken. I feel like I’ve missed out. I’ve turned away from every opportunity. And I don’t know if I’ll come back.

He makes me feel different. Not better, not in love, but seen. He makes me feel valid. I love him for that.

Am I confused? Obviously. Do I want to sleep with him? Yes. I want to be open again and he is helping to heal that in me. But I’m afraid.

I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want to be misconstrued. I don’t want him to worry or hate me. I’m not in love with him. But I do love him.

I want to be vulnerable. I want to be alive. I want to feel again. I want to be wanted again. It hurts. But I can feel it.

I am not in love with him. I’m learning to be in love with me.

The End to our love story.

Sometimes friendships can feel more like actual relationships.

You meet someone, you click. Right then and there it’s decided by the universe that you are meant to be. You start to spend all your free time with that person, little by little you learn about them, their interests, their family, their deepest thoughts and dreams, and eventually their poop schedule. This is the pinnacle of all relationships.

And just like relationships, friendships can come to an end. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in sadness, but more often, in complete and utter nothingness. They dissolve into thin air, leaving only the memories of what used to be.

But that is not this tale. This is one of anger, or heartache and of a dead stop in the middle of a highway.

You see, this friendship was at the apex, we had made it through hardships, sorrow, and tears. We had come through the fire and into the light and were destined to be forever.

Or so I had planned, but you had something else in store.

You made an illegal u-turn and crashed your -ship into my heart. A dead stop. An absolute ghost of a moment where conversation, laughter, and emotions were no longer applicable. And I thought I would die in that moment. You vanished. My SIGNIFICANT other half, seperated and somehow left me with not half but a sliver of my former self.

It took months of silence for me to text you happy birthday. To which I was met with more silence. And then I decided I would rather see you just be happy, even if I wasn’t a part of this new life you decided to build. I was still ready to forgive you and continue our lives.

But it’s been years and what once was comforting is now maddening. I have many unanswered questions that I know will remain that way. And each memory, each photo, each mention of your name sends me back into that depressing hole of nothing. No answers, no talking, no friendship, not even a basic acknowledgement of existence. And Ive had enough.

I thought I needed you to get closure. I thought it took two people to end something, but it doesn’t. You turned your key a long time ago and now I’m turning mine. This is MY line in the sand.

I deleted you. Off my social media and out of my present life. Not in anger. Not in some desperate attention seeking mission. But literally so I don’t have to think about the hole you left in me. It will always be there, but if I don’t see you, I can’t feel it.

This is where I’m ending our friendship that you ended years ago. I won’t allow myself to hold you any longer. This is the end for me.

And I don’t need you to know that for it to be true.

Mother

Its been years since I’ve posted and yet, everything feels so familiar. The language of my posts, the feelings in my heart, the pounding in my head.

Today’s topic will be one that I’ve avoided for a long time. I used to be afraid of my friends or family finding this and knowing my darkest secrets and how I truly feel, but what the hell? Its not like anyone would believe the person who wrote these is me anyway. So I digress:

My mother.

Though there is a lot to say about her, i’m going to pick only a couple of stories to showcase her role in my life.

I remember being a child in my mother’s arms, perched on a hip, while she did laundry. I remember holding a towel for her while she opened a pantry. I remember thousands of ants crawling all over the towels in the cupboard. A nightmare. She dropped me.

I remember being a teen and having a fight with her. Furious as I always was, I tried to run away. Sobbing so intensely that I couldn’t see, I flopped down on my bed and missed the pillow. I remember blood pouring out of my nose and running right back to her to tell me what to do. I remember hating that I needed her.

I was older. I wanted to be free. I went to college. My parents got divorced. I remember how they blamed me. I was the reason their lives were terrible. I remember hating every person i’d ever known. I remember the blood when I tried to kill myself.

I ran away. I was broken. I remember needing new scenery. I went to the beach, to my aunts, where my parents wouldn’t be. I learned things about my past that I blocked out. I realized why I was better, better than my family. I am better than them. Because I learned how to lose toxicity. I cut everyone out. I became me. Alone.

I remember her trying to be my friend, to gossip, to seal what had been broken. It didn’t work. I broke myself into smaller pieces so she didn’t have any hope. I remember blocking her from my life and her clawing her way around. I remember wanting to kill myself again to get away from her.

I remember her getting married again. I didn’t want to go, but everyone told me I should. They were stupid. I hated it. I wanted to scream when they asked for objections. I clawed into my best friends arm to keep from vomiting. I remember her forcing me to take smily pictures. I remember realizing how much I hated her. And then I broke again.

I found a freedom. A light bulb switched on that told me I could be my own person. I started being honest and yelling and screaming at her. I remember being branded problematic. A pot stirrer. I was always the problem. And I wanted to kill myself.

And now, she’s here. Getting divorced again. Invading my personal space. Pretending to be grateful while selfishly demanding of us. I lock myself away. Pretending I care. But knowing that she could die and I wouldn’t shed a tear. The torment I have had at her hands can not be erased. And I am better than her. I have grown up into a caring, smart, compassionate woman in spite of her. I am better than her because I can see clearly while she is blinded by material objects and her own non-existant gravitational pull. The center of her universe that she made up. The reason no one will ever work out. Because she doesn’t know how to give, only take.

Mary Lynn. Larry.

Today was hard. It’s hard being in a room full of people and knowing you have no right to be as sad as they are. I have no right to cry in front of people who can call her family. But what most of them dont know is how much their family has changed me for the better. I won’t pretend I had a special relationship with either one of them, I didn’t. I doubt seriously that either one of them know just how deeply their existence has changed my life, but it has and I want to take some time to share just what an amazing life I owe to such wonderful people.

The first memory I have of her is at a Jr high basketball game. It’s a small memory in time, but big in value. Even though I felt completely invisible at school, somehow she saw me. She cheered me on while I struggled to run amd dribble at the same time. I dont remember who we were playing, if we scored, or anything else about that day, but I remember hearing her shout my name. “Go, Melissa!” Looking at this memory now, it feels like the first time I realized that what I was getting at home was not real affection, but what this woman had, was. It wasn’t long after this that her granddaughter would approach me about God on a school bus. And her other granddaughter, would teach me about Jesus in the band hall. 

Its because of these two girls i met my twin sister. Because I met their cousin, a whole world opened up to me. My life has been infused with Wisdom/Bennett flavoring and I am sweeter for it. My entire walk with God is owed to them. Not only did their granddaughters open my eyes, and their cousin lead me, but they opened their home and allowed me to be baptized in the place it all began for me. 

There is no way to explain how deeply they have affected me without even realizing it. And there is no way to say these things to someone who truly knew her. And my guilt for having this amazing life, basically embroidered with her in it and never having taken the time to speak with her, to know her as a person, is something I will always carry.

You never know what part of your life will affect someone else’s. So I will strive to live my life as she did. Always in love and with no reservations or requirements. And to live like him, strong and smart, wise and kind. 

Christian and Occult

I have been watching a lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer lately. I’m a big fan of the sci-fi, thriller, mystical, punching shows. Anything that takes me away from my own reality and plants me somewhere else, as someone else. When you watch these kinds of shows, though, you tend to open up things in your mind that you wouldn’t have normally thought of.

Oops.

In addition to having an active imagination and depression that makes me over-think absolutely everything, I also have this illogical need for discovery and depth where none is needed, which leads me to my topic today: This completely irrational and personal stream of consciousness about Christians and their blatant rejection of the reality of witchcraft.

It actually started out in reverse, I was watching Buffy walk through a college campus on her first day and people are handing her flyers for parties and protests and, as usual when there is a director that wants you to be annoyed, there was a girl handing out a flyer and said “Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior?” Buffy walks away annoyed and says a sarcastic comment and I had an AHA moment.

Buffy spends the entire show fighting vampires, demons, and witches at the Hell-Mouth, but, guess who created Hell. Even though it is never mentioned specifically, there are a million small occurrences that relate to the Bible and God and that brought me to a strange thought: If people who live in the real world believe in God and Angels, then it follows that all the things are true. If there are angels, there are demons. If there are demons, they have names (recorded in the bible). If they have names, they have separate personalities and powers. People who claim to be witches or practice Wicca could in fact be summoning real demons and be controlled by their powers which means it is totally plausible that someone in the real world could actually be using magic.

I dabbled myself when I was younger. My parents let me watch The Craft way too young and I was fascinated. I made pentagrams and looked up spells online. I made voodoo dolls and had a wand I used to recite incantations. I had tarot cards and healing crystals. I never was able to do anything, because I never really believed I could and probably because I wasn’t possessed, but the ideas were there. There are many people that truly believe that they are witches, that they can practice magic in this reality. If those people believe so wholeheartedly that they can do these things, who am I, or anyone else, to say that what they believe is not real. I fight with people everyday for my Faith. I believe that God is real. I don’t have a way to prove it except how I feel and my life experiences. There are a billion books about God, a billion experiences by a billion people. There are just as many on practicing magic. We believe God is real because we feel it. So who are we to say that something that was proven to exist in the Bible, does not still exist today.

People still speak in tongues, people still heal other people, why is it that we accept those things as “real”, but when it comes to magic, that is obviously not a reality. We glorify movies and books that portray magic as fun and thrilling, but reject anything to do with the real thing as “science we can’t (or don’t want to) explain. Why do we as Christians pick and choose what we think is real from the Bible and what isn’t? Is it not acceptable that maybe every part of the bible is actually true and is still true to this day? And why is it that we believe Jesus is going to come back and bring hell fire and war and unleash all this terror on the world and demons will play, but we don’t actually believe demons are real?

There are so many holes in the logic of the everyday Christian. You can’t just pick and choose what parts you want to believe. It’s an all or nothing scenario. Just because you don’t like it or don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not real and doesn’t actually exist. I’m not saying we should all seek out witches and burn them, I’m just laying out the reality that it’s possible that everything is true, all the stories, all the fairy tales; everything is true and we only want to believe a small part.

 

There’s a Name for It.

There’s a name for it, for how I feel, for who I am.

I’ve never tried to explain myself, my insides, to anyone. It felt insignificant compared to other peoples problems. I felt insignificant. I didn’t think people would understand and even if I could say the right words, would they even care if I had a problem that wasn’t visible?

But here, in my safe-space, in the place that I hide from the world of people I know and share with complete strangers, here, I can tell the truth. I can express what is happening inside my brain and my body and heart. So here it is:

I am different than everyone else. I don’t see things the way other people do. I don’t see the world that everyone else does and not the fun magical creatures kind of way, but in my own way I have two sets of eyes. One pair of eyes see the world as a child, full of wonder and excitement and appreciation for the smallest and strangest things. I truly love my life in these moments and oddly, these moments usually come when no one is around. The second pair of eyes don’t see the world, they look intimately, to my surroundings. These eyes don’t see the bright, colorful life I have, they see the flaws and scars that life has left on my soul.

It is in these eyes that I see my problem. The first pair of eyes belong to a girl I used to know, that I still try to be. The little girl whose parents hit her and hid her away from the world, trapped in her own thoughts. Those eyes learned how to read in such a way that she could escape the awful feelings of neglect and abandonment from people who were always there. These eyes could see the life that she was supposed to have and project it upon the world much the say way one would project a movie about an architect building a skyscraper on the side of a building that was consumed by the elements long ago. It’s an illusion that even I don’t know how to escape from, not that I would want to if I could. The world is in shambles and everyone is selfish, but not the little girl, the little girls with her sparkling eyes. She knows that there is a better place and why shouldn’t she continue to live there.

Then the little girl stops, and she replaces her glittering eyes with dull, dark, sullen ones. The world she once looked at has changed. It seems smaller, it seems like the world only exists around her, around me. A small space, usually my work space or house or gathering of friends, is all that is visible. The people that are immediately around me and are interacting with me become harsh realizations that I am not telling the truth, that i’m somehow hiding from the life that they are all living, the real world is how they describe it, but what they truly mean is the broken spirit and controlled freedom that accompanies becoming and adult with responsibilities. They don’t see that in me, because I don’t see it in myself. The dullness of the world presses in on me and makes me retract into a shell of self doubt and hatred. The sadness that no one really understands me, could never understand my mind or my heart. That no one really cares how I feel, what’s going on in my life, that no one would really care if I weren’t here to be the butt of all their “harmless” jokes, they would be better off with out the girl that retracts at the first lash and tries to be nice to those that intend to hate her. The darkness that consumes my thoughts and makes me wonder why life has been so cruel to her, to me, when I’ve always tried to do right by everyone.

And suddenly, the little girl with sparkles in her eyes comes back, her life’s not that bad. She has some friends, she has a church family that loves her, even though they don’t actually know her, she has grandparents that would break if she weren’t around to hold them together. She makes her excuses for suppressing the grayness, because life’s not so bad, in fact, it’s full of wonderful things, like reading and other distractions that keep her from falling completely through the black hole.

This cycle of complete and utter oblivion and then depressive brooding happens constantly, sometimes within the same hour. Some people call it mood swings or PMS, but it is so much more than that. Every feeling is multiplied by ten, happiness, sadness, grief, every emotion is intense and life changing. Every cut heals slower and every memory fades faster. There are millions of tiny workers that are keeping that little girl from the “real world” and they are not ready to go into retirement.

But today, they did get a pay cut. Today, I found out i’m not alone, that what I feel is not my burden alone to bear. It has a name.

Dysthymic Disorder is a real thing.

“People with dysthymia generally experience little or no joy in their lives. Instead things are rather gloomy most of the time. If you have dysthymia you may be unable to remember a time when you felt happy, excited, or inspired. It may seem as if you have been depressed all your life. You probably have a hard time enjoying things and having fun. Rather, you might tend to be inactive and withdrawn , you worry frequently, and criticize yourself as being a failure. You may also feel guilty, irritable, sluggish, and have difficulty sleeping regularly.” (http://www.allaboutdepression.com/dia_04.html)

“The symptoms may cause significant problems or distress in social, work, academic, or other major areas of life functioning.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysthymia)

The people around me may not know that I have a problem, they may think that i’m just irritating or naive, but I know the truth. I know what I feel is real. I know i’m not alone in my bruised self-worth. My mental instability has a name.

 

(I would like to note that this is a self-diagnosis. I have not seen a professional. I have, however, read peoples thoughts and symptoms and personal feelings about there own Dysthymia and could have written their synopsis myself. I do plan in the future to seek out professional help.)

 

 

The Boy That Sits Over There….

I just came to a realization, literally, one minute ago, that I am in serious denial.

I’ve spent most of my life expecting romance to come in a movie package deal. But when talking about the latest superhero movie “Dawn of Justice”, I had this to say to a co-worker:

“Critics say that people were building it up in their heads and were disappointed when it didn’t match what they thought it should be, but if you go in with no expectations, the movie was great.”

Why am I capable of going to see a movie with this openness, but I don’t use this same mindset for my life? If I can listen to a song, watch a movie, read a book and have a completely blank expectation for how those things will pan out and I’m always genuinely happy at the ending, why can’t I live my life in that state of wonderment and bliss?

I make up in my head what I think a certain scenario should be. Ex. Boy meets girl, talks about deeply personal stuff via messenger, boy asks girl out, relationship ensues. But instead of that being the case, boy just never does anything, girl has to decide if she even likes him and I wind up completely upset over something that I don’t even know exists. Instead I could just let things happen and be happy that I have made a new friend. But of course, my romantically inclined body wants more from everything and everyone. I want the most intense, most amazing love story, I want friendships that will last for 50 years instead of 50 days. I want more than this world has to offer. (Disney reference!)

I need to find a way to open my heart to something that might not be perfect. Messy is not necessarily bad, it’s just not what is expected. And the unexpected can be great. Spontaneity can not be planned, right? Which is something us romantics tend to appreciate.

This is the beginning of me just accepting life as it comes, not planning how things SHOULD be, but letting them happen as they unfold and appreciating those things all the more.

The way you look tonight.

Something that has always affected me deeply is how people view me.

I know that I am not a “bombshell”. I do not have the physical characteristics that magazines claim all women need to have to be sexy. However, I have always been very at home in my skin. I’ll start this blurb by telling you what I think of myself (head to toe), what I tell people when they ask what I look like, then I will give you facts. The difference between the two is almost deafening.

My description of myself: 5’5”, long flowing brown hair, sparkling brown eyes that glow honey colored in the sun, tan skin, not skinny, but definitely not hefty, very gypsy/country/rock and roll vibes, great legs, very active, average breasts, and a heart the size of Texas.

What I tell people is my description: 5’ 3”, frizzy brown hair, poop brown eyes that are too close together and too small for my face, no neck, double chin, broad shoulders, fat/huge/obese, thunder thighs, can’t see my girl parts, gross feet with too much dead skin (because I always wear sandals or flip-flops, try to buy my friendships, terminally single, overzealous with everything, try hard, teacher’s pet.

My actual description: 5’3”, dull fluffy brown hair with dry ends, just brown eyes, I am obese which does entail a lot of meat on every part of my body, but on the inside I am kind and gentle, I am fun and energetic.

The reality is, who I am on the inside does not match what I look like on the outside. Which I feel is true for a lot of people. Your body is a vision of your circumstance. You heart is a vision of who you truly are. A lot of times, those two people do not match. Some people try to solve the problem by changing their physical appearance to match what they feel that they look like, other try to alter the internal image to match they’re outward looks, and still other just deal with their day to day by being exactly who they are, even if they are conflicting ideas, making no changes because it “doesn’t matter”.
I fall into the last group. I know that my internal view of myself is not correct. I know that my outward appearance does not reflection who I actually am. *Insert ‘Reflections’ by Christina Aguilera here* But I have no desire to change my body to fit my mind. I don’t want to go to the gym and lose weight, I don’t want to deal with my hair and it’s weirdness, I REALLY don’t want to accept the fact that I will never be able to push my eyes apart. I don’t want to make changes to my body because the work is too much and too hard. If I was to actually try to fit my hearts description I would have to lose 150 pounds, wear a wig and get major plastic surgery. While all of these things can technically be done, I don’t want to do them.
It’s not that I’m lazy and it’s not that I don’t have the money. I AM both of those things, but that’s not the reason I don’t want to work towards this goal. I grew up in a generation that’s motto is “Just Be Yourself”, “Accept Who You Are”, “Don’t Change For Any Reason”, “Don’t Listen To Anyone That Says Your Fat Because Even If You Are A Health Risk And Could Develop Diabetes No One Should Tell You To Lose Weight Because You Are Perfect”. My generation has basically made it okay to be a fat slob because we can just say “Don’t try to change me, I’m perfect”, something that is so far from the truth, it can’t even see the truth. The truth is a dot to you. (F.R.I.E.N.D.S reference!) This is my typical excuse: I don’t have to change anything because society wants me to change and that’s bad. When I really should be saying: I should make my outsides match my insides if I want to be truly happy.
Please understand that I am in no way saying you have to make changes to yourself because of your physical features. I do not promote eating disorders, going to the gym obsessively or eating only grass products to make yourself more attractive to the world. What I promote is trying to match how you feel on the inside to how you look on the outside. If your inner child wants to be a ballerina but you are think you are too fat to do it, prove the world wrong. Go out and practice your heart out and pirouette your way onto the stage, regardless of your size. If you want to be a firefighter but have the strength of a toddler, hit the gym and build those muscles.
Be who you want to be. Make changes to yourself that benefit your heart, not your sex partner count. If you are unhappy with the way you look because it doesn’t match who you are, go ahead and do everything in your power to make yourself feel like you do on the inside. Just understand that change your looks to please other people will not make you happy. If you dye your hair blonde because your boyfriend prefers blonde and you hate it, that’s not making YOU happy. Dump the boyfriend and find a guy that digs the dark look. Make YOURSELF happy.

*Disclaimer: Again, I do not promote having major plastic surgery or doing anything to harm yourself to change your physical appearance. To the contrary, if the thing you are wanting to change is an actual feature, ie. nose, lips, butt dimples, try first to find the reason you want to make these changes. Is it because someone once told you that your nose was too big/small? Did you start to hate your nose because it didn’t look like Jennifer Lawrence’s? Don’t change your features to look like someone else or because someone told you they weren’t good enough. Life tip: you don’t actually hate yourself when you are first created, it’s something you grow into. Find the root cause and deal with that before you make any life altering change to your body. In the end, you might realize that you love that weird mole on your elbow because it makes you different and it’s shaped like a balloon and balloons make you happy.

Workplace Internet

I live in constant fear of losing my job.

I am not a terrible worker. I do exactly as I’m told, I give great ideas to my boss and I’m always willing to pitch in. I am the girl that is constantly asking for something else to do, just to keep myself busy. Where my fear comes in is when I have downtime. Idle hands make me a little anxious. I sit in my desk chair after I’ve finished all my work and I wait while my students take their tests. I am expected, at this point, to sit patiently and quietly until a student has a question. Imagine, sitting in a chair, staring at a computer, waiting on someone who is taking a three hour test to need your help. It’s madness, especially for someone as restless as I am. And I have found myself turning to the internet for it’s guidance.

Out of an eight hour day I spend six of them on YouTube. Only two hours of my day is devoted to answering questions, taking pee breaks and snacking on chips from the concessional. The minute someone looks like they are going to ask me a question I jump up to help. I do not use the internet to avoid work, but to make it go by faster with nothing else to do. This act alone is enough to warrant my fear.

I’m not watching porn. I’m not watching anything particularly controversial.  I am usually perusing MineCraft videos and watching Jenna Marbles play with her dogs. It’s mindless and numbing, but it takes up some of the dead time in my work day. Somehow though, it is always seen as a terrible thing in the workplace. I am no doubt looking up different way to murder my coworkers and I obviously do not have enough work to do. Only half of that statement is true. There isn’t enough work for me, but there also is just enough that you need me here. I am terrified that my boss will walk in and be upset that I’m watching StacyPlays lose over and over again to Graser10 in Mineclash.

The moral of this story is: You may lose your job one day because you can’t sit still for a few hours, but do you really want to work someplace that bores you so much that you need to make a new Pinterest board?