The Final Months…

Teenagers. We were all one at some point. We were all probably pretty snarky to our parents, and the majority of us probably thought we knew it all and could take on the world.

As a parent, no one tells you just how difficult the final few months are; those last few months before they turn 18, when they are just chomping at the bit to leave the nest and start their lives. The home stretch just seems to drag on forever, and then, before you’ve realized it, 18th birthday has happened, and bam! They are running out the door before the candles on the birthday cake are out.

I currently have one teenager left in my household. She’s the final one of my underage kids. It’s been a very long journey; if you’ve followed my blog, you’ll know that my life has pretty much consists of raising kids, since I was 16.  Even before I had kids, I was the neighborhood / church babysitter. So basically, my whole life has revolved around children. I don’t mind it so much, but now I’m at a crossroads. I’m getting ready to be a fulltime “free” mama. This opens so many opportunities up for me, but that’s a blog for another day.

My last teenager as of late, has been really trying my patience. I love her dearly, but honestly, she’s getting to the point where I just don’t want her around right now. Don’t get me twisted, readers. I won’t give up on her, I won’t throw her out on her keyster. She’s a smart girl, but she is dumb in life. She makes thought-out choices in most situations, but her attitude of “I know best”, is getting the best of me. Not to mention, she’s said so many hurtful things within the last couple of months, it’s broken my heart. I know, I know. All kids do this. It’s perfectly normal. (Hell, I once was a heathen and completely disrespectful to my own mother).  But, as of late, she’s getting a little more bold with her mouth, I’ll spare you the gruesome details of that little slice. Grounding her just won’t work now, she’s too close to the end. So, let’s just say that I am thankful she has friends she can hang out with, and other parents to deal with her; it gives me a break and I KNOW she is better behaved when she’s out then when she’s at home. Repeat after me: This. Is. Normal.

She’s always saying how much she hates living at home, because she feels stranded (we kind of live out in the sticks, so I get it). She’s always talking about moving in with her friends. (Good luck with that, kiddo).  Once a parent observes her snarky ways, they’ll quickly give her the boot too. Granted, she may not be that way with the others, but you never know. Once the “new’ wears off, her attitude and unwillingness to help out on the parent’s terms, they’ll quickly give her the boot.

She is begging for a set of wheels, but she’s got no job, and I am just not in a place where I can afford to pay for a 2nd vehicle, let alone insurance. She knows that if she wants a car, she’ll have to work for it.  She’s failing right now in that department. I get that too; she wants to be a kid, and hang out with her friends, hiking, swimming, etc. She’s basically stuck between kid-dom, and adulthood.

What she doesn’t realize, is that when she’s out the door, I stop paying for all of her things; makeup, eyelashes, birth control, phone, clothes, food, etc. I probably won’t stop paying for her phone, but I will severely limit what she has access to. (meaning, she’ll get the joys of talk and text ONLY, but no snapchat, IG, or any other form of SM, because she won’t have access to unlimited data anymore).  I’ll still probably pay for her birth control, because she’s SO not ready for a kid, and admits that. Still, I’ll “threaten” her with it. (poor parenting? Maybe. But what would you do??)

I have high hopes for her, but she’s so unfocused right now; I feel like she will fall, and fall hard. I understand it’s part of the growing up process, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared or worried for her. I can’t help that. Not only is she my last, but she’s my only girl. I don’t want anything to happen to her, the way things happened to me. I was stupid, I admit it. However, I was a product of my surroundings, and didn’t know better, not entirely anyway.  I was also a mom by 18, and I had way more responsibility than I knew what to do with, and had to make some pretty serious choices that would not only effect me, but my son as well. This is something I hope she doesn’t have to deal with at such a young age. (Raising babies as a teenager is harrrrrrrd). 

I can only hope I’ve done right by her, and pray that she can make it in this crazy, mixed up, world.  My job was to raise her into a strong, independent, fierce, smart young woman. She is all those things, but she hasn’t even begun to “live” yet. I never claimed to be a perfect parent, in fact, I probably had more failures than accomplishments. But I would say about 98% of the time, my kids came first. I made mistakes, lots of them. But I’ll never give up on these blessings I was given, no matter how hard they push me. God gave me a job to raise these children, and see them into adulthood. Some of them have had it harder than others, but they all turned out amazing. And as much as she is pissing me off right now, I feel she’s destined for greatness.

In the meantime, four months and counting. I’m hoping they don’t just drag on. I’m hoping they are easy. I’m hoping it’s a pleasant time for all of us. I’m hoping I can talk some sense into that little head of hers, and hoping that she’s got the gumption for understanding that, if you wanna act like a grownup, I’m gonna treat you like a grownup. But she’s damn sure gonna treat me with respect in the process, or she’s going to get a crash course in life, real quick.

I’d pray for strength, but experience tells me that the more I pray for strength, the more “obstacles” are put in place to “teach” me how to be strong.  I am just praying for her to be relaxed, open-minded, focused, loving, and respectful to all of us.

Until next time, dear readers…

~Mama

What Being Unemployed is Teaching Me…

As being someone who is recently unemployed, let me share with you a few lessons I’m learning along the way:

• There will be a LOT of unsolicited advice from those who are currently employed.
• You WILL get a lot of looks and comments from people who think they know or even, understand your situation.
• There are a TON of hoops you have to jump through, just to get noticed, or even apply for some sort of assistance, once you’ve eaten through all of your savings.
• Depression is a total bitch, and gets worse by the minute if you even stop long enough to think about the “what-ifs”, if you don’t gain meaningful employment, and soon.
• On a positive note, your house could potentially be….immaculate. (If you’re anything like me, dear readers, being stuck in the house all day, even after you’ve beaten on every door, and sent out 30 resumes and made just as many follow up phone calls, you tend to get a little stir crazy, and start organizing everything from kitchen cupboards, to living room furniture. Sweeping and mopping, a chore that was once a week or even every two weeks *gasp!* now becomes a daily occurrence.
• You start to experience your neighbors daily little nuances, like the all day trash burning. (Seriously, my lungs can’t handle it! and WHY would they put the windows so they open facing the fire pit, instead of against it? All that does is trap the smoke inside my house. So you get the idea that the only way to get around it, is to close up every window, and sweat (because it IS summer), only to realize that all that does is make the house stink even more, because the stench inevitably still finds a way in).
• You become hyper-aware of everything that is coming due…and try your damndest to figure out how to stave off the collectors, or pleading with the companies to keep your lights on.
• You begin to daydream about what you COULD be, if you had the money and the time to go to school. (A writer or journalist. A photographer. A party planner. An architect. Someone who works for places that makes a HUGE difference in the world around them).
• You start to think that maybe, juuuust maybe, you’re asking too much of a salary (even though you know damn good and well that the salary you had, is just enough to get by)
• You start thinking of creative ways to earn money until you find that career (Uber driver, donating plasma, newspaper boy, even selling off your possessions).
• You find creative ways to save money; for instance: taking only 2 or 3 reusable grocery sacks to the market, and only buying the necessary things that will fill it. (milk. bread. that all-important migraine medicine…)
• Your self-esteem takes a downward spiral because with each passing day you don’t receive a call-back or an interview, you think you’re just not worthy, smart enough, or maybe too old to be considered a great addition to a new team.
• You do your best to smile in front of others and avoid questions like, “how’s work going?” (Because you know that if you mention you’re without a job, they are looking at you with such pity, that it makes you feel so embarrassed and ashamed).
• When people ask, “hey how are you?” You’re first response is, “well, that’s a loaded question”.
• Praying (at least for me anyway), becomes a much more regular occurrence, even more than before. I find myself constantly thanking God for my life, and everything in it. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I ask for guidance. I ask for support. I ask for the constant migraine to go away long enough to be able to think with a clear head.

Yes, being unemployed sucks. No matter how you look at it. I look at others, especially now, with such envy. Look at how much they’ve accomplished. Look at those lavish vacations they are taking. You got a new car? That’s great! You’re buying a house? Man, are YOU lucky!

It all goes right back to, how the hell did I manage to live a life that is just mediocre? Oh, that’s right. I decided to have kids. I got accepted to go to college on three separate occasions. I gave that up to be a “mostly” present parent. With that, comes giving up a better future, career wise. It means, I only have my experience to rely on and the recommendation of others.  It means, I have to work harder NOW to succeed, if I’m ever going to. Sure I could go now, but that means I have to work a menial job and find more hours in the day that I just physically don’t have to do so. Sure it’s a temporary thing, like 4 years at most, but the payoff is better, right? Call me lazy, call me stubborn. I call it severe exhaustion.  The mind is willing, the body is not.

But, At least I have my kids to show for my life, right? That’s something positive? They really ARE great kids, even WITH their flaws. They are beautiful and wonderful, even if that doesn’t pay the bills, at least I know I raised ’em right, on matter how much grief I got from others on my methods.

The question I get a lot is, “If you had the opportunity to live your life differently, would you? What would you change?” While I can’t change the family I was raised up in, I probably would have taken up the option to move in with my father, instead of staying with my mother. She tried, hard, God love her, she tried. But she was very distracted. I didn’t feel protected. I didn’t always feel loved. But, I had great friends. I grew up in a great church. High School sucked, and I never fit in. I was looked down upon as a statistic because no one knew my story. I probably would have never had the opportunity to visit my grandmother in VA every summer until I was 16.

I probably wouldn’t have gotten molested as a child, or raped at 16, or be a teen mom to a mother of 2, by the time I was 19.  I wouldn’t have been blamed for the break up of my mother’s 2nd marriage. I never would have met my first (abusive) husband, or lost a baby. I never would have travelled up and down the east coast. But…I would have had a stable family growing up. I may have been closer to my siblings, than I am now. I would have gone to college. I would have driven at a younger age. I wouldn’t have turned tricks and I certainly wouldn’t have been homeless, or forced to live in the middle of nowhere (literally, the closest town was 15-20 miles, and it was a one-stoplight town with no grocer or eatery, just a post office and a few buildings).  I would certainly be a lot better off than I am right now.

I realize that, while things would be way different if I had done things differently, my life would not have affected those around me either.  I wouldn’t have been there for my brother when he needed me to be. I wouldn’t have been there for Cat, as she experienced some of her trauma. I wouldn’t have had the kids I have now. I wouldn’t have made great friends.

My life feels like a total train wreck so often, I need to remind myself, that my life really has touched others, in ways I’ll never know.  I often forget that there IS a purpose for me, I just haven’t figured out what that purpose is….yet.  I can’t see the whole picture, but I feel like there just has to be something good coming…eventually.

So, I ask, as I always seem to do, please keep me in your prayers and send good thoughts and positive vibes my way.  I’m spending wayyy too much time in my head, and really need to be able to focus on getting my life straight.

Until next time, readers….

~Mama

 

Forced to Reflect

It seems like every so often, I get a bee in my bonnet (as the saying goes), and I’m compelled to write.  For me, writing is a cathartic act, and one of futility. It seems that most of my inspiration comes spewing forth in the midst of crisis, as is the case with this particular blog post.  Today I write this, in the hopes that it gives me some relief, and a moment of clarity; just enough so that I can move forward and make positive changes.  Consider this as my moment of purging my mental sickness, and the writing is my prescription to emotional well-being.

Backstory: I swore in 2017 that 2018 was going to be my year. Let me say that again: MY. YEAR. And as it happens, it started out, incredibly. I had a beautiful man, a real and true gentleman.  I had accepted a position at an up and coming deconstruction firm. I finally bought myself a well-deserved, economical and updated vehicle. I even started the long-awaited divorce proceedings.  Yes, 2018 was really shaping up to be the best year I’ve had in a long time.

Things were coming along nicely; we celebrated my youngest grandchild’s first birthday, and my Marine came home for a visit. I was able to go on a trip to Utah, to celebrate my bestie’s 40th birthday. My guy whisked me away for a lovely weekend in the islands. We  had gone to several plays and shows. I was able to “afford” living, meaning I was able to pay my bills on time, and even had a little money left over to save.  I was finally feeling like I was able to breathe. After 40-something years of being stressed out, things felt…right.

Then, one by one, things started falling apart. That great guy? He left me. No real reason to it, he just decided he wasn’t interested anymore. That great job? They let me go. (It was one of those, “last one in, first one out” situations. They couldn’t afford to pay me what I was worth, so they gave me the boot).

My old boss begged me to come back to work for him. When we spoke about it, he refused to pay me what I was asking, even though he just lost an employee. (Really, all I was asking for was a slight increase, to make what he would have been paying her, for that position. He refused and said I could make it up in commission, but that’s not a guaranteed income, and I couldn’t rely on that).

I found temporary employment for a large conglomerate who shall remain nameless, but as I quickly found out, they refused to pay me a better wage, took away my weekends, informed me that there would be no reprieve for the holiday AND OT was mandatory. This is not the type of schedule I can work, due to family obligations, and my health situation.

Let me not forget to mention that while I’m over here struggling to find employment, my son/daughter, has to have surgery for an illness that was on-going, but didn’t rear it’s head until now. Combine that with his baby mama/life partner, being in and out of the hospital for another cyclical vomiting episode that leaves her weak and dehydrated, they have no one to care for my granddaughters.  At least I can help them with that…for now. Since they are without a vehicle, I am able to get them back and forth to the doctor, and take the girls a little more while they recover.

During all of this, about the only thing that went right was my divorce, even with a slight hiccup in the courtroom (their computer system crashed), I was finally granted freedom from the “spawn of satan”.

So, here we are today.  Jobless. I’ve applied for countless positions. But, I’ve been made to feel bad by someone very close to me, who seems to lack a filter when it comes to speaking their mind. Granted, this person was extremely apologetic, and understood the error of her ways, but her words resonated with me for a long time. I feel very ashamed that I’m back here, with no way to support my family. I feel like I’ve let them all down.

I hear the voices of the past in my ears, judging me as they have before.  It physically hurts to think about it as I uncontrollably replay it, over and over. PTSD is a total bitch. Her sisters, anxiety and depression are even worse.  The hole I’m in doesn’t feel good at all, no matter how many times people tell me, “don’t worry, it’ll be okay”.  The last people to tell me that, screwed me over so bad, that it pushed me to the edge of darkness, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, and hope to never see again.

So, I fight. I push. I cry. But, I don’t give up. I have to find employment, somewhere, and soon. I really want to go to school, but I don’t have four years to spend on it. I don’t have the energy to work and go to school. I can only rely on the experience I have, and hope that’s enough for employers to really give me an opportunity to flourish. If I could go to school, I would study languages, theology, art history, and ASL.

I think back to when I was accepted to not one, but three different colleges for their art program. I think about the circumstances that prevented me from accepting those offers, from my mother being sick and in the hospital for three months or so, and no one to care for my siblings, to being a single mom and not able to attend college because I had four small children to care for (working full time, having a large family, AND going to school just was too big a task to take on alone).

I have worked most of my life.  I have managed to make ends meet, one way or another. Even when we were homeless for six months, I didn’t give up. I couldn’t. Everything I ever did, I did it for my children. And here I am, once more, doing things for my family. I still have one minor child at home, (for at least 6 months). I am struggling. Again. This brings me to my question…

Why do some people seemingly have better luck, than others?

Are they more or better prepared? Are they afforded certain luxuries and perhaps, more privy to better info than say those who were never told or shown?

What makes it so some people fight their whole lives to get on top, only to barely make a dent in the ceiling, while others are able to glide right up there and see above the crowds?

Am I not fighting hard enough? Am I not worthy of great things? Or…did I just draw the short straw?

I hate to use the word envy and luck, because it sounds so sinful and prideful. But, in some cases, I am envious of others “luck”.  Case in point, I know several felons who spent 20 or more years in prison. Recently (and some not so recent), their term came to an end. Once they were out, they were given opportunities to succeed. And those men? They aren’t just surviving, they are thriving. One owns a local business, and is close to the Mayor of our town. The other is getting ready to buy his own home and recently started his own business. Sure, they have to follow a little more rules, and check in with PO’s and jump through some additional hoops. I’m sure it’s not easy, but it’s got to be easier than what I’m dealing with. They even have women that stand by them!

Hell, even my own sister, who basically caused my mother to lose her house that she worked so hard to get, who gave up 3 of her 5 kids, who is married, and has a great life (at least, she perceives it this way), is seemingly way more successful than I am. She’s been forgiven, by the family. Yet, They won’t forgive me, because I won’t apologize for my life, or my “wrong-doings” that had zero effect on their lives. The prodigal daughter returned, and because I made a choice to protect MY child, I’ve been shunned, despite all my efforts to try to win their approvals. This seriously boggles my mind.

I begin to question it all; what makes that felon or my sister, any more deserving than I? Why do they get handed a golden ticket? Why do they get an opportunity to prove themselves, but someone on the outside, who’s spent more years struggling than succeeding, any more undeserving of those same opportunities?  Do I have to commit a major crime or ruin a family, just to get them too?

They say, “Keep your head down, work hard. Have faith, take risks. Learn all you can and you’ll have great rewards in the end”. So, I do that. I keep my faith. I work hard. Damn hard.  What do I have to show for it? A big family. No money, and I’m on the verge of possibly losing it all (for a second time), but I have a big family. I have my kids. My grandkids. I have a decent circle of friends. But those friends all have the material things needed to survive. A home. A car. Savings. No real worries about losing any of it.

So…what am I doing wrong??  I know I’m not alone in this struggle, there are probably thousands, if not millions of people like me, who struggle daily, if not more than me. There is no fairness in life, and it’s total bullshit that things can’t be easier, for everyone.

Fact is, I am a twice-divorced, single mother of 4, who’s been raising babies since I was 16 years of age. I have been working for a long time, and I’m falling down the rabbit hole again. I’ve no continuing education, no long term relationship, and for what it’s worth, I’m feeling just…ordinary. I don’t have any stand-out qualities. I feel like a total failure. I’ve done right enough by my kids, but in all other aspects, what have I done, to make a mark on this earth? Not a damn thing.

In closing, I’m going to keep doing me. Keep pushing forward. I’ll keep the faith and hope and continue to pray fervently, that something amazing is going to happen in my life, something is going to give, and things will come to a head, and will make it so I won’t have to struggle so much. In the meantime, I’ll keep loving on my babies, and their babies too. I’ll do my best to be a positive light for them. It’s all I got.

Until next time….

~Mama

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Help me out here…

I have a question for you fella’s out there. Please explain to me if all, and by all, I mean ALL, men, really find it necessary to talk about sex within the first few conversations after meeting a woman?

All the men I’ve come across, all start out with the same thing: Hi, my name is _______, I am _____ years old. I have / don’t have kids, I have / don’t have a steady job, I live with roommates / parents / alone, etc. You’re a beautiful woman, I want to bang your brains out. I want to touch you ___(Insert body part)__, I want to have you in my bed, I want to kiss you _(insert body part)_, and put my ______ ,into your _________ and wake up next to you, and cuddle and hug and pet and kiss and play, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Like seriously? Are there no men out there who prefer to get to know a woman, get inside her head, get to know her BEFORE getting familiar with her body parts?

I have met several men over the last few weeks, purely by chance, not because I’m on any dating site, not because I reach out to them first. They approach me. Anyway,  my frustration is in that they begin the conversation, pretty normally, but then insist on getting into the nitty gritty of the between the sheets talk. All I can say is why why why why why???

This young fella I recently met, wants to pick me up at my house, see where I live, take me out, then take me home. I’m like…uhhhh….no? How about I meet you, during daylight hours, at a public place. I’ll drive myself there, hell I’ll even split the check with you, but I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to put myself in a vulnerable place.

One day, I’ll be able to go to Morocco and meet the man I really want to meet. He’s been almost completely a perfect gentleman, but even he has mentioned my “line” (cleavage).

I really want to know: are there any men out there, who do things the right way, meaning, focus on what’s in front of you, instead of what you think you’re going to get later on?

How do you meet these men? Do they even exist? Help!

I’m just sad, not crazy.

Over the last couple of days, I caused my amygdala to short-circuit, and I fell off the wagon. No, I don’t drink, or do drugs, hell I don’t even like taking prescription drugs if I don’t have to.  I fell off the “healthy me” wagon and reverted back to old habits of cutting. But please know, I didn’t do this to kill myself, I did it to make myself feel better.

I argued with myself, incessantly, over the whole thing. A full on war, raging right inside my head, between the forces of good and evil. The good, pushing me to drop the object, the evil telling me that if I did it, just one more time, I’ll feel a whole lot better. To silence the battle, I picked up an object, pressed it against my flesh, and pulled. Did it hurt? You bet your ass. Do I feel better? Yes, but not entirely. I now have an ugly ass wound on my arm, as a reminder of my weak mind. I know that if people see it, they will think i’m crazy. They may even want to have me evaluated, or even worse, admitted. 

Let me say this once more: I AM NOT CRAZY. I AM JUST SAD.

I never realized just how sad I was until now. I mean, I thought I was making real progress, but now I feel like I may have been just suppressing everything I have been feeling. But another part of me thinks that I wasn’t suppressing anything, but rather I failed to learn the skills to cope with loss and grief.

I haven’t had many healthy relationships when it comes to partners. When I met this person, I thought for sure he was going to be a good catch; good job, big heart, compassionate and willing to help others at the drop of a hat. Loves kids, God-fearing, praying, and has a great sense of humour. Very kind. But then out of the blue, bam! Just like that. He needs space. (who needs space after a month’s time? I mean, we saw each other maybe twice a week?)  Whatever. I didn’t question it, I just went with it. But as I said yesterday, I am left holding my bag of emotions and I have no clue what to do with them. My amygdala took over, and I over-thought every scenario, every possible what-if. I keep forgetting about eating, (I’m still struggling with this one, as this is yet another bad habit I had to break myself of), I’m not sleeping. Every person I’ve come across can see there is something wrong with me, it’s written on my face. But how do I tell them, that a man I have only been seeing for just barely a month, broke my heart? How do I tell them that I didn’t know how to cope and that I damaged my body?

Mental illness is a funny thing. When people realize you have some form of it, they approach you with kid gloves, or even worse, treat you like you have the plague.  They think you are just that: crazy. When they ask you how you are, it’s more like….heyyyy how are you doing? Are you okayyy? In a very condescending tone, that’s not very helpful at all.  Some people think that when a cutter cuts, they are doing it for attention. That’s not always the case, and certainly not the case with me. I didn’t do it for anyone but me. I did it to feel something other than the internal struggle between good and bad. In a sense, it is almost orgasmic. That release of adrenaline, and the momentary relief from pain. Do I need drugs to “cure” me, or maintain? No. Could I use some counseling? Maybe. But at this point, I think a class on how to be in a healthy relationship, and how to handle a breakup responsibly, or even how to just deal with life in general, would be in order.

People think that, just because you got your heart broken that it isn’t enough to self harm. There are far worse things to be upset over, like wars, civil unrest, hunger, politics, the environment, and so on. But I didn’t choose to feel this way. I just do. My brain is wired differently. I know those things are horrible, but my life doesn’t necessarily include all those things. I pray constantly for the end of all things bad. All I can control though, is what happens in my own house, my own mind, my own life. And sometimes, those things get out of control.

Do I condone cutting or other forms of self-harm? Absolutely NOT. I may as well walk around with a great big “A” on my chest. It’s a very dangerous practice that could end your life. I just don’t know what to do to prepare myself when something extreme happens. I thought I did, but it turns out, I don’t. That’s why the old habits came back into play, full force.

This morning, as I stood in the shower, praying to God to take this pain from me, to forgive me for doing something so stupid (again), I envisioned angels around me, comforting me, tending to my wounds. I didn’t want to lose that vision. I felt like my inner child was really being loved. I felt warm, secure, safe.

I definitely don’t want people to see what I’ve done, and since most people I know in person, don’t even know I have this blog, I can feel free to write about it, without total ridicule.  (Of course, I know a lot of people don’t necessarily read what I write about anyway, so it’s really a win-win situation. I get to express myself, and altho’ public, no one really cares about the words flowing from a 41-year old, single mother, abuse survivor (ugh), who has momentary lapses of stupidity. I don’t know any folks my age that do this kind of thing either).

One of my dear friends is a family therapist. I know that if she sees what I’ve done, her therapy side will come out. I don’t want that. Not now. What I need is a friend to put their arm around me, and say I’m here for you. Let’s deal with this, together. I don’t want someone to look at me like I’ve gone ’round the bend, or that I need to be handled “carefully”. I just had a moment of poor judgement. Everyone does. Maybe not to the extreme I have, or maybe they have them worse. My point is, I’m no different than any other person. I just had a minor set-back. I’ll get better. I’ll be more aware. And I’ll definitely be more careful when I decide to give my all to someone.

My bestie invited me down to her place for some time to defrag this weekend. While I probably should, I’ve made the choice not to go. I can’t look her in the face, because I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. Not that she would ever judge me for what I’ve done, but still. I need to fix this. I need to reset myself and do some serious meditation and self-love.

Lesson learned: I realize after the fact, that I should have just grabbed the sharpie instead of the blade.  At least it’s washable. I have now have to reset the clock, Here I am, 12 hours into being cutter free.  Let’s see if I can beat the old record; 5 years free. Also, if you see someone with slices on their arms, please don’t judge them. You don’t know what demons are raging war inside them. And if you’re a cutter who struggles like me, please know, that I love you.

Be good to yourself darlings. Until next time…

~Mama

Old habits die hard.

Recently I wrote about finding my Boaz. I was pretty excited at the possibility of a happily ever after. That has since fallen apart. I am devastated. I mean, I shouldn’t be, right? It’s only been a month. But, a person can really find love in a short amount of time. I didn’t realize that until I met this person. I told myself from the beginning I wasn’t going to fall hard for this person, or any for that matter. I love my single-hood status. Let me say it again: I LOVE BEING SINGLE. I enjoy my space, the comforts of having the whole bed to myself, not having to share my fries, having total control over the remote, not holding in bodily sounds, not having to shave my legs if I don’t want to, and being able to sit in my panties and eat oreos for dinner if I wanted, all without having to explain myself.

But I met this man. Instantly, I felt an attraction to him, like I haven’t felt in a very long time. About a 2 weeks ago, I made the decision to just go with it. No holds barred, just love someone without any restriction. This backfired, as of Saturday. There was a situation, I commented on it, he took offense to it, and he’s been pretty much MIA since, with the exception of a phone call he placed to me to tell me that he was upset with the comment I had made on Saturday and that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be with someone who “questioned” his motives.

Okay, I get that. But how are you supposed to get to know people if you don’t ask questions? It’s not my fault that he took offense to it, but he didn’t tell me for 2 days that he was mad at me either. Maybe I should have used a little more care when I asked the questions. Maybe I should have just let it go and saved it for later. But I didn’t, and here we are. I’m left holding my bag of feelings, and have no idea what to do with them.

My heart hurts. A lot. I have been trying to figure out why. Then it hit me.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been rejected by someone I really care about. I’ve gotten really good at learning how to let go of these things, making peace with it, and moving on. But with him, I can’t. I can’t just shut off what I’m feeling, it’s not a switch. Pandora’s box has been opened, and it’s damn near impossible to try to stuff everything back into it and seal it back up for the next potential Boaz.

The last conversation I had with him was Monday. Here we are at Wednesday. He asked me for space to process everything. Give him a couple of days, and he’ll be back to his old self. My dear friend tells me I should give him his space. Let him make up his mind on what he wants to do. So meanwhile, I get to sit here and feel like I’m being punished for something I am not really even sure was a bad thing. I just feel like, if he professed to want an LTR with someone, and he made that choice to have it with me, (even before we decided to sleep together), and then all of a sudden he shuts it all off like it is nothing, did his words even hold any weight?

Maybe he really does need time to process things. Maybe not. I have been following his posts on facebook, but nothing is giving me any indication that it’ll get better between us, or things will change and this little hiccup was just that, a hiccup. Then I saw he went dancing last night, and of course some girl flirty commented on it, and that sent me over the edge.

As I write this, I do so with that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that I gave a very special, tender, fragile part of myself to someone who yet again, threw it all away over something stupid. I can’t help but wonder if he was just looking for an out? I mean at 40-something years old, you would think men (and women for that matter), would be past all of that; no more playing games, just straight, no-frills honesty.

I could handle a “I don’t think this is going to work between us so let’s part ways” conversation, versus a “let me see how I feel and i’ll call you in a couple of days” conversation.

I end up living in my brain. I cause physical damage to my body, because I can’t eat from the stress of a broken heart, and feeling like I was used. Again. Smiling doesn’t come easy. Laughter doesn’t bubble up from my gut. All I want to do is sleep, and do self-harm (unfortunately a draw-back of being an ex-cutter), because seeing the physical wounds on my body, are much easier to explain to myself, than instead of trying to rationalize internal pain.

The only good thing about these situations is the amount of weight loss that happens, and the amount of creativity that comes out of me, in writing, in painting, in drawing.

I have been really fighting the demons as of late, because of this situation. I have to hide any sharp object. I have to remind myself how stupid it is to internalize something to the point of self-harm. I have to force myself to focus on things other than rejection, heart-ache and suffering. My inner child feels so naked, alone and afraid. She always feels like there is no one to hold her and tell her it’s okay to be sad, because the broken adult that she resides in, can’t even maintain a positive spin on a shitty situation.

Now, clearly I’m not the only one who has ever dealt with breakups, or heartache. Everyone does at some point in their life. I thank God for these experiences, so that I can grow and become a better person. But…the eyes of those prying demons, lurking in shadows, calling me out, conveniently reminding where I hid those sharp objects, telling me that one little cut will make it feel better…that’s where the issue lies. The warmth of the bosom of sadness surrounds me, inviting me in to the dark place. That’s where I live. I don’t want to be there.

Things are going so well for me and mine. We have everything we could possibly want. Everything. A home. A loving family, a steady job, a fridge full of food, a few good friends. I don’t need a man, but I crave companionship. And I had it. Even if it was for a brief moment, it was mine. And it was peaceful.

I need to continue to fight this. I have banned myself from most social aspects of facebook, only checking to update the status of my business pages, and the status of my brother who is currently dealing with some pretty heavy health issues. I have decided not to reach out to him any longer, and if  he decides to reach out to me, things will definitely be different. But I have a feeling he won’t. (trust your gut, right?)

I am doing  all of these things because, I need to be well. I can’t be well if I’m stuck on stupid with someone who may or may not have what I need. But I will tell you this, I won’t be sleeping with anyone anytime soon.

Yes, Mama is sad. But Mama will get over it. Please pray for me, or send comforting, healing vibes of love. Please tell me that I’ll be okay and that someone out there will see my worth some day, and want to be with me, really with me, and not just give me lip service.

And if you’re in the same boat as me, I send you virtual hugs and healing love and light, whatever I can muster for you. Together, we can get through this.

Until next time, darlings, you are loved.

~Mama

The B.I.G. Party

On June 19th, 2010, I married the spawn of satan, literally. I married a man whom I thought would take care of me and my children, forever and ever, amen. I walked, lovingly down the aisle, with my father by my side, to meet him at the alter under the blue tarp. Yes, we had a real, red-neck, backyard wedding.  In the mud. Guests sat on stumps of freshly cut trees, the flowers all came from Pike Place Market in Seattle. We made all the food, and of course, ran out. We had plenty of booze tho, as per his request.

We were happy, for about a minute. Then, as it turns out, I was wrong about my happily ever after. He had been cheating on me the whole time, had no interest in playing a parental role to the children, nor did he have any desire to get a job to help support us. (I was freshly let go from my 2 year stint at a corporate office for an assisted living company, which shall remain nameless). We ended up evicted from my apartment, which I loved and lived in for over 8 years, and moved way up to the top of a mountain, in the middle of nowhere.

On December 2nd, 2010 the end came, while expected, it was quite sudden.  He had not been home for two days, and he left me and the children stranded.  When he finally arrived that fateful Thursday morning, my daughter ended up being late for school because it was well after 10am before he arrived.

When we opened the van, it was littered with empty condom wrappers, cigarette butts, empty bottles of booze and the stench of pot lingered heavily in the air. I was livid, to say the least. I kicked out as much as I could, and drove the 10 miles into town to deliver my child to her designated place of education.

On the way home, I called his best friend and told him to come get him. He needed to have some time to sort out whether or not he actually wanted to be married in general, let alone to me. When I got home and told him that he needed some time away, he became quite belligerent & violent. This went on for a good hour or so, before his friend finally arrived to take him away. I was left heartbroken, confused and bruised.  My neighbor helped me get a restraining order and I filed a police report against him.  I have not seen him since, with the few short exceptions in passing at random places.

So here we are, 6.5 years later. I’ve lamented over this situation for a really long time. I just knew he wouldn’t make things easy for me, because that’s just the kind of person he is: vindictive. Selfish. Likes to play stupid games to show he’s tougher. He swore up and down that he would never divorce me, because A – he didn’t want a divorce hanging over his head, and B – Because I wanted the divorce, he didn’t want to give it to me, just to make things difficult for me. I’ve been dealing with a ton of PSTD from his abuse, but once I’ve found out about his willingness to cooperate, [ptsd] has gone quiet. Not to say that I don’t have moments of freak-out, but it’s not as bad right now.

I recently found out husband met a woman, with whom he’s been with for over a year now. They are moving to the east coast. I planned on waiting until after I was able to confirm his move, to begin the process, (to make it easier on me, but difficult for him to fight me on it, because of the massive distance between us). Somehow, his sister got wind of the situation, and managed to talk him into signing off on the divorce paperwork before he moved. He agreed as long as I figured out a way to get them to him before the end of January.

My dear friend is helping me with all of this. She printed the forms and sent them to me. I filled them in and sent them back so that she could give the forms to his sister, who will deliver them to husband to sign. Once signed, we will take them to the judge, and if all goes well, I will be finally be able to end this horrible chapter of my life.

This brings me to the title of this blog post: the B.I.G. party. (BIG = bastard is gone).  Once the divorce is finalized, I have decided to commemorate this momentous occasion by having a grand party. I plan on doing a trash the dress photo session,  then burning that bitch in effigy. I’m going to invite a whole bunch of my beautiful friends to join me, and they can even pin the names of their evil exes to the dress so they can get some pleasure of watching their names go up in flames too.

This will be quite the celebration, and it will be a time to really open up and be free from all the bullshit I’ve had to endure over the last few years. All the painful memories, all the wounds, physical and emotional.  I want to let the universe know that I am READY for all the good things that are waiting for me, once the past has been locked away.

Now, I’ve heard some people say this isn’t something that should be celebrated. I tend to disagree with that, because when a person has gone through so much turmoil, so much anguish, commemorating the event with a party to say good bye is probably one of the most healthiest things you could possibly do, providing it’s not a drug / alcohol-fueled rager.

Have any of you been to one of these types of events?  What is your take on the idea?

As the time gets closer, I will share details of this party, photos, ideas, thoughts, etc. I want my readers to know that it’s okay to celebrate the opening of new opportunities is something wonderful and deserves to be recognized.

Blessings and love to you, my darlings!

~Mama

 

Finding my Boaz…

Are you familiar with the story of Ruth and Boaz? If you’ve never read the story, let me give you a brief synopsis. Basically, Naomi is married, and has two sons. Ruth marries one, and Orpah marries the other. (Yes, her name really was Orpah, and yes Oprah Winfrey was named after her, but chose to spell it differently after it was mistakenly mispelled, it just stuck).  After a great famine, all the men-folk die and left the women widowed. Naomi decides to go to Bethlehem and tells the DILs to stay behind. Ruth convinces Naomi to take her her with her to Bethlehem, but Orpah is convinced that she should not go and heads back to Moab.

So, Naomi and Ruth are without money and Ruth ends up doing some work in the grain fields.  While there, she sees this really well to do guy named Boaz who just happens to be passing by  as she’s “gleaning” the grain fields. (not to be confused with gleaming the cube. haha) There’s a part in there about where Boaz says to leave some grain for Ruth, and be nice to her too.

So, Naomi gets wind of it, and really wants Ruth to marry this guy, manages to convince Ruth to sneak into where he was and lay at his feet while he slept. Ruth, who pledged to do whatever her MIL says to do, goes in and lays at his feet.

Boaz, was really surprised by this, and wants to marry her, but long story short, there’s another person who has first dibs, but this other fella wanted some sort of land that Naomi had, and had little interest in taking Ruth. So, this dude gives up his “claim” on Ruth, and this left Boaz free to marry her. As the story goes, they lived happily ever after, and had a son, who was the grandfather of King David.

Okay, so shoot me if I don’t have all the little details all correct, but that’s basically the jist of the story. Why have  I chosen to write about this story? Because I am currently in a situation where I may have found my potential Boaz.

When I read the story of Ruth and Boaz, I see a lot of compassion, empathy, and hope. Love is the bi-product of these, because in the end, they get married and the rest is history. If it weren’t for Boaz, she may not have been able to get the extra grain, and being a single gal, working the fields, she may have been poorly mistreated. He offered her empathy (God’s divine intervention, perhaps??), even if she wasn’t aware of it just yet.

He ended up being her “kinsman-redeemer”, because early on, when she went to work in the fields, he noticed her. She was hard-working, took care of her MIL when no one else could. Ruth, showed compassion towards her MIL. She didn’t choose to go back to her own mother and father, she stayed with her MIL and supported her. God saw favour in that, and it was said that she would be rewarded.

Basically, what I’m gathering from this story is that, if you are patient, and do the right thing, God will reward you. Her first husband died. She made a promise to take care of her MIL, she worked hard, and stayed faithful to her promise. But with a little divine intervention (as I mentioned earlier), her MIL AND Boaz both ended up helping her with those blessings & rewards of happily ever after.

As I sit here and write this, I think to myself about the events over the past two years. I’ve remained true and faithful to God, I haven’t really dated, and I’ve put my faith first. I’ve grown spiritually, as well as mentally. I am, for all intents and purposes, in a very good place in life, and I’ve become very comfortable in my own skin. (If you know me IRL, you must know that this is a huge victory).

One day last week, purely by chance, my “potential Boaz” appears in the dark of night, to help me with a situation. Since then, I have managed to attract his eye a little more and have, as of yesterday, gotten to know “PB” on a slightly deeper level.

Like Ruth, I am still, at the mercy of another, and it could be an easy or difficult fix. Time will tell. In the end, I believe that 2017 will be the year of great discovery; with the closing of one story, and beginning of writing a new one. I believe that because I took time to reset my life, and refocus on my faith, my family, and what I truly want in life (what has been prepared for me!), is going to be the big payout in the end for me and mine.

At this point in my life, my faith won’t falter, and my prayers will still be said. The good Lord above will continually be the guiding force in my life.

This morning in fact, as I stood in the shower, it all came flowing out of me.  I asked for guidance and wisdom in all things, especially with my “PB”.  I couldn’t even tell you where the words came from, but they sure did come fast and furious, and provided me with a sense of preparedness and calm.

How about you? Have you found your Boaz, or your Ruth? What lessons have you learned from your experience?

Here’s to finding Boaz, and here’s to keeping the faith.

Until next time, darlings….

~Mama

Too poor to be rich, too rich to be poor…

I make a decent living, and a decent wage. However, with the cost of living continually rising, I can barely afford a decent life for myself and my kids. I don’t qualify for any sort of benefits anymore, because I’m (in their eyes), way above the poverty level. Yes, I’m one of the poor shlubs who make just enough money to eek out an existence, but I make too much to be considered poor. I’m considered pretty wealthy by government standards.

According to the federal poverty guidelines, for a family of now 2, I make twice as much as what the federal guidelines allow. Now, this may seem like a really good thing! BUT! When you consider the rising costs of food, housing, utilities, and essentials, like gas and toilet paper, not to mention, the exorbitant amount of money it takes to be insured, all of that so-called extra money, disappears quickly. I am not entirely sure how this makes me “richer” than most, other than being able to pay all my bills. However, there is no money left over for things like, food for example.

When I go to the various free food giveaways, I feel a little guilty about being there. Sure, there are others who are in a much more desperate situation than we are, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be able to eat, either. I get out my bags, take what is offered, and move on. At least there is some means of eating…

I keep trying to dig myself out of the money pit of life, by cutting out extravagant expenses, like eating out, or the occasional cup of coffee from the latte’ stand. Hell, we don’t even have wi-fi (shocking, I know), or cable. I just can’t afford the extra expense. Now, at the end of the month, I have about $400 left to use for those expenses like food, car repairs, gas, medications, (can’t go without that all-important tylenol!), not to mention, all the things it takes to raise a teenage girl in this day and age, and all that money is spent.

I am constantly told, that I need to “cut back on expenses”, but when you’re already at the bare minimum, what else is there left to cut out? But yet, I am being forcefully told that I absolutely must have health insurance; but by getting on Obamacare, that $400.00 a month goes directly to insurance and nothing else. That means, no gas, no food, no tylenol. (and that $400.00 won’t cover the office visits, deductibles, and prescriptions, either). And the real kicker is, that if I don’t get on health insurance, I’ll be forced to pay a hefty fine for it. (Ain’t that something? Charge me for having it, charge me for not having it. Either way, the government gets their piece, and I get butt-raped by the government with no lube).

As a single parent, I’ve been forced to struggle my whole entire life, with very little help. I can remember a few years ago, I crossed over the threshold of not being eligible for food stamps. That was scary and empowering all in one shot. I suppose it would be the same if I made more money, well the same in that, the more money one has, the more problems one may end up with. But that’s just what I’ve heard.

All in all, I would say, that compared to a few years ago, we are a helluva lot better off than we were, and all of my kids are doing pretty well. We aren’t in a huge hole, and we aren’t struggling as much as we were before. But, I can only hope that they do much better than I ever did, and won’t have as many issues as I did. Two of them are military servicemen, so they are doing okay, one is a family man, with a baby on the way. Sure, that one has some issues, but I think that goes along with the territory of raising babies. He’s got the one thing I never had: A partner to go thru it with him. And that makes me SO proud.

Happy holidays, darlings!

~Mama

Opened Eyes

 

Show of hands. How many of you have friends in different countries? Including my family I have approximately 18. From England, France, Goma, Morocco, Germany, PR, & Spain.  Of those folks, I have met 5 of them in person. The rest I know from social media.  While I may not be an intricate part of their daily lives, I am always intrigued with their culture, and I really hope to meet them all one day, in real life.

As the world gets seemingly more violent, my curiosity of these people grows, especially about my Muslim friends. I worry for all their safety. I pray for them, every day, that they are safe and secure. You can say, that I worry about all of them really, but things just seem to get worse, with each passing moment.

We were asked in church recently, what we would do, if our country was in upheaval. Would we succumb to what the government forces us to do, or would we stand up and fight.  Me, forever worrying about my children, blurted out, “I would be more worried about what my military boys would do, would they be conflicted and hesitate, or carry thru with the orders they were given, because they are military men. A lady sitting next to me, gently reminded me by saying, “That is their path. What would YOU choose to do?” I was dumbfounded. I looked across at the man sitting in front of me, who happens to be from a very tumultuous part of Africa, with a typical American look on my face of, “I don’t know”. I almost felt like, he wanted to hear a better answer from me. (Not that I was trying to impress this man with my answers, by any means).  So, here is this man, who had been wrongly jailed for his beliefs and works of good deeds. He’s seen things I couldn’t even imagine, all because of the corruptness that is his “world”. And here is me, a girl who’s lived, a very sheltered life, considering, with no real thought given to what could potentially happen if things went a totally different way with our own government. I sheepishly looked down, as I was really embarrased that I had no real answer to this question. That was 2 weeks ago.

I know “preparers”.  Do you? They take the time to build up their stock-pile of emergency goods, weapons, bug-out bags, and more. As someone who doesn’t make a lot of money, I know that if any major disaster hit, I would be pretty much screwed. Why? Because I don’t have the financial resources to prepare for an emergency. I live essentially, paycheck to paycheck. As Americans, I believe the mindset is different for emergency situations, than say someone in the Middle East. Over there, their whole life is overturned by bombings, war, hardships, and more. They don’t have the means to be prepared, but yet, they somehow manage to survive. I often wonder how. Americans see these things that are happening everywhere else, and what do they do? Either they take the time to prepare, or live in a huge state of denial. A mass majority of us who don’t have the means to prepare, but are well aware of a potentially desparate situation, are freaking out.

My answer to the question in church? What can I do? I don’t even know where to begin. What are my options? Do they have to be violent? Honestly, I cower in the face of danger, hell I am still traumatized by some of the tough situations I’ve had to endure, which by comparison to what the rest of the world goes thru, is a cake walk.

I can’t help but picture a situation like in the 80’s cult classic movie, Red Dawn. I’d either be shot, or put in a camp. I would become a big ball of jelly in the face of danger. Or…would I? Fight or flight, right? Would I go into protective mode, for the sake of my children, or would I loot a store, grab everything I could get my hands on, and run, screaming into the hills? A person could go crazy just thinking about all of the “what-ifs”.

While I’m thankful I live in a country where war doesn’t happen on our soil very often, or government upheaval isn’t the norm, I can’t help but wonder, how do these people that do live in those types of environments manage to find the strength and courage to fight? What can I do to show my support for the innocent? This question has weighed heavy on me as of late, because I feel like I should be doing something to help. I feel like I need to get my passport, get my shots, travel abroad and make a difference. Or hell….just travel a few states over and help the water warriors protect the land. But what stops me is that, oh yeah. I still have a minor living at home. I have grand children to tend to. But…is that enough? Is that what my purpose is in life? To raise kids and be a safe haven for them, or is it to put on my boots and travel to someplace that I can make a real difference in the world?

The more I talk to my friends abroad, the more my eyes are opened to what really goes on in the world, and I have to say, some of it is quite frightening. I really have led a sheltered life. I don’t want to live this way any more. I want to do something to help others find peace.

I’ll be 42 in March. Why is this significant? Because I feel like I should be further along than what I am. I feel like I should be making more of a difference in the world, but honestly, I don’t feel like I am doing much. To really push this point across, I am constantly reminded of this by an inscription on my bathroom mirror, to ask myself this question, “Am I living a life fulfilled and with meaning? What am I DOING to make a positive difference in the world?”  This question drives me insane, every day. What AM I doing to make a difference? Some days, (okay, a lot of days), I feel like I’m not doing anything at all. But then, I look in the face of my sweet little granddaughter, and see how her eyes light up when she comes in the door, or when I read her a book, or hug her tight, I am making a difference to that one person. I am showing love, and my hope is, that love will be an example for her to show love to others, despite skin colour, religion, sexual preference, etc.

You think I would be content in that, but still…I am feeling a tug, like there’s something more I should be doing. I will continue to pray for those across the globe and in my own backyard, that evil deeds will come to an end, and we can all live in peace and harmony. I will show compassion to those who are different than me. I will let God lead me in my journey on this earth, and pray that in the end, I really did live a life fulfilled and with meaning, and that my journey, was at the very least, an inspiration to one person, if not more.

~Mama