Fear

Fear has two definitions:

Noun an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.
Verb be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

I have posted photos, trendy quotes, and have even told myself that I have faced fear. I went skydiving to satisfy my fear of heights, which to me was the rawest form of facing fear.

But the one fear constantly staring me down is that of being truly alone.

It’s been more than three years since life as I’d known it changed. It’s been almost four birthdays; five or so vacations, a new job, various men, “new love”, failures, triumphs; more truths than I can handle. It’s been frighteningly eye opening how quickly time evades everything and anything.

In the past year, I have chosen a new way of living my “best life” – speaking exactly what is on my mind about how I feel. Good, bad, happy, sad, you name it, I’m bringing it to light. It’s proven that contrary to what almost everyone tells you as a child, honesty is not the best policy. I had someone tell me to “keep it 100” with them, and I did just that; more willingly than I ever knew possible, mainly because they asked for it. And when I did, at any opportunity to be open, honest, and real; my greatest fears rose through my body like the floods in North Carolina.

People do not want all of anyone. They want what they can handle – no less, no more. Unless they’re my therapist – I pay him to have no choice.

I realized recently, today…as I type this, that vulnerability is more of a fear of mine than heights. That bearing myself, clad, but naked of emotional barrier, is the scariest choice I have ever made. There is no chance to cover up what you’ve shown; there is no re-do once you have cried yourself into voicelessness, when you have literally gotten down on hands and knees and begged for understanding.

Emptiness felt less scary than the feelings of emotional loneliness. Maybe this predated my trauma. Maybe my trauma brought out this buried fear; trauma does that. I work in a profession where middle-aged people have arthritic issues after car accidents; issues that otherwise wouldn’t have surfaced until their latter lives.

Cautiousness is important. Listening to yourself before others is important. Knowing yourself and caring to know yourself before caring to know another is paramount.

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To Whom This May Concern:

865 days; that’s two years, four months, one week and almost five days since my entire life changed.

The thing about change is if given enough time, nothing will be the same. Most often, this fact is a marvelous notion. Other times, it is a frighteningly grim foreshadow of obstacles, demons, and shitty endeavors one might be confronted by.

It is without further ado that I bring to light why this blog post is even happening. I have been bullied as an almost 29 year old adult. And by bullied, I mean sent a multitude of hateful text messages that shook my soul to the point that I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. To the person who sent this, fuck you and the hole you came through.

It’s no secret to anyone whom I either grew up with, know, am friends with, have dated, or am related to that my past is gross. The people I associated with; the things I’ve done; the choices I made, etc. But – what people in this world seem to forget, is that MY ACTIONS, in MY LIFE, are not a concern of anyone but MY OWN, less the people who may have been directly effected. That being said, I know I have righted my wrongs, gained respect from those whom I lost it from, and became an independently successful woman. Moreover, any wrong I haven’t made right, or any respect I haven’t gained, is likely something I do not give a fuck about! And, drum roll please, that is A CHOICE I MAKE IN MY LIFE. Couldn’t have less to do with the outside world. All of that being said, reminders from people, who are not even in my same tax bracket, about a person I once was is about as unsettling as an earthquake. To be made to have to feel like you need to hold on for dear life to the “things around you” is something no person should ever have to experience.

Especially people who have dealt with traumatic loss.

Here is where I begin my banter.

How dare you; how dare you calculatingly text message me something so vague, yet direct, on a Friday morning? While I am busting ass at my job? You put a day working in my career — that I worked so hard for — on the line, because you knew your words would be provoking. Do I regret messaging you back? Definitely. A small part of me doesn’t, however, because had I not, I would have never been able to screen shot the nasty, trashy, hateful/demonic words you so effortlessly typed out. It takes a real soulless piece of shit to want to bring down someone who has already been as low as I have.

Let me guess, “you don’t give a shit”; good, you shouldn’t! But you will meet your maker. Karma will take care of this. You don’t know the “real me”. You think because you know about as much as the next person who chats with me that you can make threatening, insulting jabs at my life? What a terrible mind to have been born into this world. But the world needs people like you, in order to offset all of the good in the world. You are a bad person. Bad people are a dime a dozen, no doubt. But it takes a toxic, evil human to cozy up to another human, only to then use what they know as ammunition.

You are no better a person than the man who just shot and killed, injured and ruined the lives of hundreds of people. You are a monster.

I wouldn’t wish the pain I felt over the course of the last 865 days on my worst enemy. But you, you have just made a seat vacant in what I will refer to as the, Walk The Fuck In My Shoes And See How You Do, train. I would wish this upon you, to see how well your soul survives. My guess? It wouldn’t. But then again, you have to have a heart in order for it to be broken. I suppose your daddy issues took that from you. You have to have a soul to feel completely empty. I suppose all the years of sleeping with men twice your age in hotels took that from you.

I was advised to look at myself as being above you, better than you at every facet of life. It is much more difficult of a task to accept than I expected, because I am not a true asshole.

My assumption is that you are defending, in your mind, your friend(s). Because she can no longer do the dirty work herself. I’m sorry that she is hurt, I’m even more sorry for her that she needs to seek vengeance for honesty being tossed her way. That is not my problem; don’t make it my problem. Don’t try and sabotage something because you’re waking up feeling superior, stronger, more purposeful. If I could, I’d make death threats on your life and carry out your execution in a manner that mimics American History X.

But, I was reminded I am a respectable woman. Bummer, I could really, REALLY use a centralization for all the pain, sorrow, fear, uncertainty, disbelief, rage, guilt, and misguided emotions I have tried to file away over the last 865 days. You wouldn’t know what feelings, REAL feelings, were if they were jammed down your throat like an uncircumcised shlong. You wouldn’t know true joy, happiness, focus, success, pleasure, praise, gratitude, or love if it wrapped you up and smothered you like a caterpillar’s cocoon. Why? Because you’re Satan on Earth.

You make me believe in God. Why? Because you are demonic. And with every demon there is an angel. I’m sick and tired of trying to figure out life and death, why and why not’s. But I am not sick of leaving behind a legacy worthy of wonder. And I can tell you what, it will have nothing to do with what I did in the 9th grade, or the 10th grade, or the 11th grade. It won’t even have to do with watching someone I love, burnt to death, hooked up to tubes for his entire body to function for a mere 30+ hours. It won’t have to do with renovating my house on my own, or putting myself through more hours of school than you’ve seen of actual high school classroom time.

You know what it’ll have to do with?

Perseverance. Just in case you read this and are unsure what that word means, here is the definition: steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success.

Please, continue to let my beautiful name flow in and out of your mouth like a Newport cigarette’s smoke. Please, continue to ruin my life like a broken down car does to weekend plans. Please, continue to worry so much about what I’m doing that you flat line and become stagnate like a corpse.

Yeah, your words hurt me. But I know real pain. Fortunately for me, all I have to do is a read one of two journals to remind myself what really hurting feels like. You’re trapped in a world that is never going to take flight. And hey, who am I to judge the life you live. If you’re happy, you’re happy.

But for fuck’s sake. Pick on someone your own size. Literally.


Twenty Seventeen

Another new year, another cliche blog post.

Kidding; there isn’t a cliche bone in my body. Although, I find myself using those cliche-type phrases more often than I ever thought I would, but I guess they were created for a purpose.

I read the beginning of my last blog post and thought how funny it is that less than 3 months later, quite a bit has changed. Mainly focusing on my job. After 5 years, 60 months, 1780 days and various hours later (unsure exactly considering I’m “often late”) – I will be embarking on a new journey with my fancy Paralegal career path. Some days I am scared shitless while other days I am so excited to be unemployed and searching.

I’ve had a couple interviews, which really means 2 plus an over-the-phone interview and that is (tragically) 2.5 more than I have ever had in my life. I bounced from job to job as a kid and young adult but always got the job/knew I was going into an ‘interview’ that easily and quickly transpired into orientation. The interview process is terrifying. I have realized a few things as a result of these interviews:

  1. I talk with my hands too fucking much
  2. I still have no idea how not to blush when I’m speaking to someone I don’t know about topics I am overly qualified to speak about/confident of
  3. I am killing the “like see how profesh but super f u n I am” responses and entire demeanor-presenting thing
  4. I can actually turn water into wine and I am proving so when I compare my waitressing skills to real-life scenarios

Short of that (which coincidentally is my boyfriend’s least favorite of my catch lines), I am hopeful to have some type of offers per these jobs next week or the week to follow. Come February 3rd, 2017 I will officially be a kick ass waitress with two degrees and not a care in the world; it.feels.so.good.

I know I’m only 28 years of age but I feel, tired; a bit old; and ready to just chill for a minute. Bills going unpaid would absolutely never be a thing that would happen, but less dinner’s out and weekly drinks with friends might have to come to a halt…..for now. But, my newfound obsession with my couch seemingly fits like a puzzle piece with this work ethic I am approaching. (Or lack thereof.) I’ve accomplished a lot over the last 28 years, and even more in the last 10, and way more in the last 2. It’s insane to me that almost 2 years has gone by since Tim has passed, but I never run out of reminders that he is always with me.

I giggle to myself as I am comparing terrible tasting shots and flat soda to “unemployment life” but, one of the happiest times of my late beloved’s life was when he was let go from his day job. I for whatever reason can’t recall for the life of me whether it was early 2014 or early 2015 when he sent me a text saying “Babe! Good news! I’m getting like 2 grand back in taxes!!! and…I lost my job!” And the immediate response from me was “WHAT! ARE WE GOING TO SURVIVE? SHOULD I WORRY?” as if he would ever not take care of his, mine, or ours. That man, he is the best!

So to the few of you reading this, fingers crossed for me that I don’t start slinging drugs out of my house, or turn it into a brothel, though both ideas would be a-okay’d by just about anyone I know. Cheers to a new year with limitless possibilities, and 401K!


Exceptionally Accepting Expectations

Sitting here, with a cup of coffee, at work, typing up a blog that I can’t tell if I need to write more than people need to read, or the opposite.

It’s been 18 months since Tim passed away (something I now refer to as the change) and I would like to safely say that I am as successful as one could hope to be after losing their other half. I didn’t get fired/quit my job(s); my house hasn’t gotten foreclosed on; I’ve maintained majority of the same friends (his and mine alike) and got myself a fancy American Bar Association approved Paralegal Certificate. All in all, one could say – on the surface – I am unaffected by what’s happened.

But, pain, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Literally. Everything I see happening is a reminder that I am living, which of course is great, but when you have experienced tragic, sudden death, there are moments where living is so very difficult. Shit, I imagine some people who haven’t experienced what I have would agree that living today is no walk in the park.

As referenced in previous blog posts, I am dating again, and I feel love and have love to give again. It’s amazing because one hopes that they never lose their heart entirely, ever, and thankfully, I didn’t. But, it’s not the same as it once was. I don’t – yet anyway – have the same desires to do things that I once did. A family member reached out to me recently and asked why I don’t post photos of my boyfriend and I, subsequently being inclined to ask “are you still seeing each other?”
This is the kind of stuff that keeps me short-fused, irritable, and unable to give a flying fuck about other people; family included. Are you expecting me to be freely posting about my new love interest, simply because that’s the societal norm? Well, what isn’t a societal norm is having your social media accounts boisterously representing in photograph form, a life that you’ll never get back.

I imagine if Tim and I broke up, things would be very different. I probably would have deleted every album of the two of us, every photo. It would be like he never existed because, well, fuck him right? Ex’s are just that. A GIANT X in your life. Boy bye.

But we didn’t break up. He died. And because he died, my acceptance to the new life without him involves not deleting anything. It’s taken a long time to actually get rid of all of his clothing, shoes, items around the house that had been there for days weeks months, years. And, unfortunately, just as unable as I was to motivate (?) myself to just get RID of it ALL, adding to the new life isn’t as enticing as I suspected. Not yet, anyway.

My point in all of this is that people at first will tell those who lost someone, especially a significant other, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” “You’re so strong.” But, over time, all of that fades and it’s more a focus on, ‘when do we meet this new person’ or a constant time-constraint game. I could die today and tomorrow really wouldn’t matter, and so could any of you reading this. Thus, it’s wholly important to remember that you have to just live for today, and for yourself, and to the beat of a drum that only you can or want to dance to. No one will understand why you do the things you do, or don’t do, and unless you need to have them as a safety-net supported by reason, it doesn’t matter about the 5 W’s and the H.

Being exceptionally happy, or even content, the entire waking hours of a given day are the only “things” that matter to me. I don’t concern myself with how I look, or how I seem, or who I’m with, or who I’m not with (via photos, etc); I concern myself with how I got through today. And, if I made it to my bed each night, I (soberly) might inquire with myself how I’ll go about tomorrow.

Mark my words, you owe nobody but yourself any time-framed reasoning for anything you do after you’ve experienced the worst. And do not be afraid to tell people that, because it’s likely that what they see – the fake it til you make it side – has their minds unable to see past it and remember that you will never forget anything you’ve gone through.


Bumble.

The fact that I have an overthinking brain is both so awesome and the biggest annoyance. I guess something to the effect of a gift and a curse is a better way to represent how I feel about the way I try to bring logic, reason, rationality, sense, understanding, etc – to any given situation. The most recent example is, you guessed it, my love life.

That’s right, I referred to it as a love life. Buckle up, shit is about to get weird.

I’ve spoken of these dating apps in a past blog; nothing short of mediocre time passing in a way that is about as foreign to me as the Chinese language. As of lately, they had really taken off. I was matching with mother f*ckers left right and center. Some cute, some not entirely my type, and some as fine as properly aged wine. At one point I think I was successfully texting with 5 different ‘boyz’, reciting their name, occupation, and location aloud at home, just so no confusion would transpire should a meet ever occur.

It was pretty funny, to me anyway, just rambling off “billy from mendon, sells construction equipment” all while looking at the heavens like ‘I’m really enjoying this T, no worries.’

Psyche.

I’m not built for this, and I know so because the ONE attempt I have at something worth bragging about (I won’t label what they’re called for the sake of my grandmother reading this), it backfires and I likely, hopefully, find the person I could spend forever with.

Per my usual inability to commit to finishing something I started in a timely manner, it’s been almost 2 weeks since I started this blog, and, it’s safe to say the last sentence is coming true. I am in love again, and I want to shout it from the mountaintops, while crying in fear.

I knew from the get-go that T would send someone my way; it took him a year, but, he did exactly as I suspected. Or maybe he didn’t? I don’t really know, but I like to believe it’s him and not the universe just doing universal things. I like to believe that he sent someone to me because he knows damn well I don’t do alone, and, I am a much happier person in a relationship versus gallivanting around trying to pretend I do ‘single’ well. I believe this [new] handsome man of mine could essentially feel the same as I do, that we were “matched” for and by reasons outside of our own control. The chemistry is crazier than anything I’ve ever experienced; the commonalities are too perfect; and we just, get along so well. I am happy – for the 1st time ever – that I am dating someone my own age, too, because I feel like we are on the same wavelength; taking life on at the same pace, to certain degrees.

I could cry in fear though, for one obvious reason. I am so afraid of loss. Not even death-loss, but just, losing someone I love overall. Positive thoughts yield positive results, so, I am going to just plug away at life and love and not worry about anything I cannot control.

 

Cheers to new beginnings ❤


f*ckboyz.

i know i should not use as much vulgarity as i do on this blog but sometimes you just have to drop f-bombs to really, really make your point.

girls, women, ladies, etc have likely been bitching, blogging, ranting, texting, writing, screaming, dreaming about how confusing guys are since the dawn of time. fortunately for me, i have not had to deal with the trials and tribulations of ‘dating’ – as i’ve previously mentioned – like, EVER. i was in a relationship from 17 years old until 19 years old, and then bam! met the love of my life at 19.77 years old and dated him until Jesus welcomed him with open arms at my tender age of 26. now that i am “officially” back and ready to find true love  i can see why so many broads are:

  1. Lesbians;
  2. Man-haters;
  3. In therapy more than 2 times per week;
  4. Alcoholics;
  5. Remaining single.

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listen, i’m not for one second saying i’m doing this ‘right’ or anything but these dating apps are pretty fun. they pacify my time in a harmless way, its hilarious to see how many terribly unattractive dudes are floating around this world, and it’s less harmful (in my opinion) than meeting someone at a bar. needless to say i did meet a guy, and we went on a date or two, and i thought he was super hot, and he thought i was super hot, and he learned about my life, asked more questions about my life, seemed super interested, like super DUPER interested, and…wait for it!…then straight up stopped replying to texts.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL F*CK?

i thought to myself OK multiple valid occurrences that could have taken place, like…lost his phone, really busy, a combination of both, etc etc. then when i saw a snap chat posted i impulsively removed him as a ‘friend’ and said #bayou. i have zero tolerance for this and with time and practice, this will get easier and easier (should shit like this continue). but why? why is my question? if you’re not interested or you’re more interested in something else, don’t be a pussy. speak up. if you don’t feel you owe it to someone to speak up, fine, but know that your mother would be ashamed, and likely her mother too. and if you just don’t want to text [after you’ve shown that you’re capable of and into texting throughout the day, day after day] that’s okay too but, call me! like you have in the past. or just go ghost, that’s totally cool too, no worries.

Keep in mind all of my friends and I are talking about you.

 

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regardless of all this nonsense, i know i’ll find someone again, it’s just a matter of “time”. i’ve been saying since Tim passed away that i trust him to send someone my way who is

  • worthy
  • patient
  • tolerable of the type of abrasive, ‘needy’, powerhouse of a chick that i am
  • attractive

because he truly knows me best. and i guess so be it, if i’m single forever, there are worse things that can happen. but you can bet your bottom dollar that these blogs will continue, and if anyone wants to hire me for ghost-writing, i am available and affordable. otherwise, husband of mine, come out come out wherever you are!

 

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This Could Be Us But You Playin’


Strike One

& just like that, 4 months to the date, I am single and alone again.

I’ve experienced so many emotions, right down to their definitions, in this unfolding my of new “life”. I know what grief is, I know what love is, I know what trust is, and now, I know what misery is. All of those cliche ass phrases are so on point it’s ridiculous and really makes me feel like I live in the Truman Show.

“Misery loves company” is how I feel, right now. As I type, all of my friends are in-the-know about this, breakup. I was dumped. I guess. Who I am is not what he wanted, and while that’s OK and has happened to people every day for the last billion years, it really breaks my heart more. I know that I cannot let what others say about me effect me, but it’s so much easier said than done. I also know that there are plenty of fish in the sea but, I am not a fisherman! U G H.

I know what I have to do, but it’s taking all I’ve got to get myself there. I need to get back into self-routines. Working and being home are managed. School is good, and thankfully, when my final session is here, I will be a few weeks passed this breakup bullshit, which means I can focus and concentrate and just finish! I have been eagerly awaiting June 5th, 2016 and now I really cannot wait for it.

The good news, for me – not really for her – is that one of my friends from college is recently single, bad breakup, and is in the final stretch of moving into my house! I know we will have a great time, some sad times, some angry times… but at least we’re in it together.

The last time I had a breakup was in 2008 and I’d be lying if I said my 27 year old self is stronger than the 19 year old who had no idea how big her heart actually is.

That being said, and not to quote Jay Z directly… on to the next one.

———–
UPDATE
———–

I’m a bad bitch. LOL

No  but for real. I’ve had time to digest this first/next phase of my new life and I am not as sad as I was a few days ago. Most importantly, not as sad as I was a week ago, which was the saddest and most lost I’ve felt since I lost Tim. And, in hindsight, I’m appalled that I even got that sad over someone who:

A. I probably shouldn’t have spent a second of my time with;
B. Is a commitment phobe;
C. Has absolutely no regard or concern for other people’s emotions.

There is so much on a psychological level that I want to dissect about this fleeting “relationship” in that I have so many unanswered questions. He called me demanding and overbearing; but like, duh the fuck I am! I get shit done, however I want it, all of the time, for the past 27 years.
(newsflash, he’s the same)
He also suggested I have blinders on to what I do. Also likely not false, because I can’t see the haters. My ‘blinders’ in life enable me to see only what I want and frankly, it hasn’t failed me yet!

It irked me because he was accurate in his finger pointing, but at the end of the day, the traits he told me were comprising of his “ideal woman” and the other characteristics he cannot stand, make me who I am and I am loved by so many people.

Most importantly though, by my damn self.

Everyone’s like oh he’ll miss you; he’ll regret this yada yada, but honestly, I hope he does not. I hope he does not miss me because that means that we did have something worth fighting for, flaws (on either side!) and all, and, he threw in the towel way too soon.
Told me he was done wasting his time. One of my favorite quotes ever is “time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time” and it is the truest! So, if you don’t want to waste time anymore…which, it seemed via all five senses that this was enjoyed-time…then voila! You aren’t.

good luck in lyfe, bruh #TeamStillCelibate