Whatever it was that you thought you were missing, that you thought you needed, I hope you’ve found it now. Where does the voice come from, the one that seduces you to pull the trigger, to tie the rope around your neck? It creeps into your mind and handcuffs your soul…it steals everything inside your head and paints it black with poison. Did you try to fight it, did you at least struggle? Does the voice die with you, locked away, trapped behind your unseeing eyes or is the violent ending it’s way out, thrust back into the world, searching out the next heart to stifle the beating? Some things…some things aren’t forgiven and they aren’t understood and they fester in your thoughts, making you sick, sending tremors through your heart, through your fingers as they wipe away the tears. And you’re left to obsess over the last words you spoke, incapable of comprehending the dark significance casting shadows on your memories. - November 18, 2010
a year ago I sat in the church I grew up in, stained glass casting red and purple shadows on my body, bruised and bleeding. And I sat in the pew, staring at the tiny little box sitting on the altar. And all I could think of was that every piece of you was now inside that box. Everything I knew, everything I remembered, everything I loved about you packed inside that fucking box. And I was so mad at you, blinded by uncontrollable tears, fists clenched tight to hold back the screaming, blood red half moons dug deep into my palms.
I thought in time we would be ok. I thought the family we’d created would stay intact. I thought we would be able to talk about you during our game nights and dinners and camping trips, take a drink for you, and not cry, not recede into the darkness. I thought I would stop being mad at you.
And for a year we tried. We ignored the fact that without you, we were imploding. I locked you away so I wouldn’t feel the anger from the battle we were all fighting. But you destroyed the ones who loved you. We wake up in the middle of the night with the same nightmares. We’re struggling, trying to swallow the guilt and confusion, the anger and the heartache.
I was driving by the church, thinking of you…of you inside that box, and I thought I could hold back the tears. And with unimaginable effort, and my head pressed the glass window, I did. But I opened my eyes and all around me, the road was stained with blood, and I was right back in the nightmare I’ve had since the day you died. I didn’t realize I was crying until the baby was crying with me. I couldn’t keep you locked away anymore. And as much as I miss you and want to say the things that people say in memorial, and play the part of the saint in mourning, I can’t.
today is my brother’s birthday. he’s 21. and he’s out celebrating. and there is a knot in my stomach. there’s this almost uncontrollable need to protect him, take care of him, keep the scary things away…put my hands over his eyes until the shadows pass and the sun comes out again. 5 years ago I was crumpled into the corner of a hospital bathroom, shaking, hysterical…hiding from how close I was to losing him. but he’s here. he’s here and and I feel like we’re walking on the edge of a very sharp cliff…and I’m behind him, steadying him…in front of him to hold his hand…waiting below him to catch him if he falls. But he’s 21 now and in every possible, definable way he’s an adult. And I can’t ignore it. and I can’t turn my head away. and I can’t be there anymore to hide him under my blanket when there’s a bad man with a gun, to loosen his restraints when they make his wrists bleed. I can’t be there to tell mom when he’s doing something dangerous, to defend him and fight for him and take all the punches. Because he’s an adult now. Because he’s good at being an adult and he doesn’t need me to do it for him…and I just want him to know that.
“Don’t fret precious I’m here, step away from the window
Go back to sleep
Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils,
See, they don’t give a fuck about you, like I do.
I’ll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons
I’ll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason
I’ll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son
They’re one in the same, I must isolate you…
Isolate and save you from yourself … “
I wake up in the morning in the middle of a song, a word, a clashing beating breath. And that song, the one my mind chooses to drown out the sounds of the very thing it creates in my sleep to play before my heavy eyes…it stays. The dreams, the images, the muted, muffled words will fade. But the song…it stays, plays on and on forever, tainting my perception of the world to match its mood. Day after day, humming the same song, whispering the same words…until the little beast inside my brain switches the track. A new change of pace, a new set of lyrics, a new rhythm for my heart to beat to.
A. Age: 23 B. Bed size: Queen C. Chore that you hate: washing silverware, hanging laundry D. Dogs: Stella & Corona E. Essential start to your day: a kiss from Alex, a second to myself, chocolate milk F. Favorite color: black, deep purple, teal, yellow, mint green. G. Gold or Silver: tarnished silver. H. Height: 5’4″ I. Instruments you play: i can play one song on the piano. J. Job title: house manager and soon-to-be property manager K. Kids: Brigzilla and mystery baby L. Live: Florida M. Mother’s name: Sherri N. Nicknames: James. Jame. J. Jamzilla. O. Overnight hospital stays: in first grade for a severe asthma attack and when I had B…. P. Pet Peeve: unsolicited advice, fishhawk, bratty kids, airheads, passive aggressiveness, bloggers who comment just to leave their links… Q. Quote from a movie:The Last Unicorn: “Once, I can’t remember, I was long ago, someone strange. I was innocent and wise, and full of pain. Now that I’m a woman, everything has changed. Once, when I was searching, somewhere out of reach, far away, in a place I could not find, or heart obey. Now that I’m a woman…everything is strange.” R. Right or left handed: right S. Siblings: brother…who is actually taking me to dinner at Outback soon. T. Tacos or Twizzlers? Twizzlers. Unless I’m pregnant, then it’s tacos. U. Underwear: I only get the free ones from Victoria’s Secret. V. Vegetable you hate: radishes W. What makes you run late: Usually Stella, or Brigs, or me getting lost X. X-Rays you’ve had: leg, spine, dental Y. Yummy food that you make: homemade mac n cheese Z. Zoo animal: tigers
I found out I was pregnant 6 weeks ago. and I cried, long and hard. I held B to my chest and my tears ran down his cheeks, down his arms, falling into my lap. I told alex that night after I put B to bed, sitting in the darkness of the living room, heavy heart beating through the perfect quiet. the tears came before I could get the words out, reflected in my husband’s eyes, twisted in his confusion.
“why are you crying?”
when I was pregnant with B, there was an instant, unbreakable disconnect from the world, from myself, from anyone around me. I got lost and blindly wallowed through the days as they merged into nights. I spent every single day of those nine months in fear that I wasn’t going to be enough for him, that he wouldn’t want me…that I would never find the person I used to be. That I would watch my world explode into a million little pieces and I would never be able to put them back together. That I was never meant to be a mother, that I would irreparably damage the son that I broke myself in two to bring into the world. I gave as much of my soul to my husband as I could, every piece of myself I could survive without, gave them to him without a second thought. And later I gave my son everything that was left, the pieces that hid in the shadows, the pieces I had forgotten were ever even there. With time, I thought, I would be able to do that again, maybe with another. To battle the disconnect, attempt to keep my world intact, to one more time scour the depths of my soul, my mind, my heart, and give everything I found to the child who grew inside me.
but I didn’t know that time would be now, I didn’t know if I could handle it. I didn’t know if I had anything left to give, when there are days I don’t feel like there’s enough left inside for me to survive, to keep me going. I didn’t know. And I was hit with panic, hit hard. And fear. And uncertainty and every other unholy thing that blocks out the sun.
and alex put his arms around me, let me cry the last of the tears into his shirt. and he wrote me a letter and the panic, the fear, began to subside, to ever so slowly begin to let me go. and we picked out names, began to talk like we’ve always been a family of four. and when I saw the baby’s heartbeat, I felt every intangible part of me wrap around it, pulled by a gravity no one else will ever feel.
A lot of posts like this are popping up everywhere and it’s something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. It seems to me like a lot of blogs have become really fake. There is such a fine line between sharing indie blogs and businesses as sponsors and allowing your blog to become a place for big companies and google ads and free clothes. I like the idea of small blogs and handmade/vintage/indie shops and photographers and the like and creating a network for each other to gain exposure and reach customers and readers in ways and in multitudes that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. But then the free stuff comes in and the huge companies and google ads step in and they just piss all over it.
And I notice a lot of the posts on the blogs I read are all starting to look the same and blur together. And some bloggers only write very involved, very long posts. And some are very cliquey. And it’s really….disappointing. You lose the person behind all the pomp and circumstance and they become a mannequin of sorts and you can’t seem to find their humanity and vulnerability. And it’s hard to be submerged – however far removed – from all of that and not let it disenchant you. And I hate the constant need for more followers and more comments and the shameless self promotion in disguise as a nice comment or email. Or the follow me and I’ll follow you crap. I think, at least, that the followers I do have follow because they genuinely like this blog and not because they have some ulterior motive.
This has always been a place for me to go, release the thoughts from my head, write letters to my husband. To remember. To forget. To cope. To wrap my head around my ever changing life and reach out in the dark for someone to listen, to understand. I share things in snapshots. In single words. Pieces here and there, a song, a letter. Words from my past, words for my future. And it means a lot that anyone cares to stop and read it. And so I jump at the idea to do giveaways for you, share awesome things with you…but there’s that line, that fine, glowing line. And I’ve toed that line…and the glow is alluring. But that isn’t the monster I want this to turn into. This is the inside of my mind and I’m letting you in. And I promise that won’t change.
Please go internet hug Mandy and Kaelah. They’re feeling it, too.
making our way over the boardwalk, moss above us, moss below us. a creek running rapidly beneath our feet, magnolias sinking to the bottom. sun filtered through the leaves, through the branches. warped wood turning, moaning. a field of wild orchids, flowers shaped like stars, the color of a harvest moon. a dragonfly on my shoulder, a crown of honeybees around my hair. baby sleeping soundly, footsteps falling quietly. dappled shadows on my arms, my face, my hands…taking the baby where the wild things are.
we stood outside, heat from the crumbled cement winding through our ankles. gravestones shimmered in front of us, just beyond the gas station. I wanted to go, I asked you to come with me. your eyes met mine and instead of saying no, you asked for a 12 pack. you didn’t believe I’d saunter in on sky high heels wearing nothing but lace. you didn’t believe I’d push open the dusty gas station door with the 12 pack you had asked for…but I did. your eyes went wide and you laughed, eyes bright, face to the sky. I pulled the car over and just for a second we hesitated, eyeing the broken houses beyond the broken tombstones, the dying vines that were taking over. we walked in silence, reading the names, the dates, picturing their faces. we kneeled at a grave from 1880 and your eyes locked on my face. he died on your birthday. we walked quickly, away from the date craved into stone. once, twice, three times we saw that date, each time my stomach tightened, my jaw clenched. we kept on. 1878, 1892, 1901. A husband who died in 1960, his wife 41 years later. That set heavy on your heart and you held my hand. we looked at their picture, framed between their graves, and you pulled me away. we walked further, my heels sinking into the dried grass, the black sand, eyes shielded from the sun, red hair in a blaze. I fell back, walking slower, lost in thought. you heard my footsteps behind you. “no…” you grabbed my arm and I read the dates as you pulled me onward. born and died on the same day, a baby buried just below our feet. another tiny grave. one month old, two years old, hardly a week. “no. no.” I walked away so quickly I could hardly hear what you said…but I heard the shock, the panic, creeping up into your voice. you were at my side before I ever heard your footsteps, kissing my check. we kept walking, slowly reading dates out loud. 1924, 1899, 1976. I told you I wanted my ashes divided into tiny little lockets and jars, sealed shut, and left in every place we loved each other. you warned me about walking in between the graves when I tread too close, wary should I tempt fate in such a way. we stopped at a grave marker covered in vines and slowly we pulled them away, rubbed decades of dirt from the raised letters…died in world war 1, no family buried near him, still just a boy. we passed a husband and wife buried together, died on the same day, their child buried next to them years later. graves that were purchased and forgotten, owners long dead and buried someplace else. fathers and daughters, an entire family with matching graves. angels and lambs covered in moss. we stood still, facing each other, my head on your chest, the glare of the sun mirrored in your sunglasses, my shoulders on fire.
Tori Amos, Brand New, A Perfect Circle, Radiohead
Rum…preferably spiced, Baileys
Steel Reserve
Christmas
Sandalwood, amber, black amethyst
The Princess Bride, Labyrinth, The Last Unicorn, Moulin Rouge, Romeo & Juliet
Here Kitty Kitty, The Princess Bride, Alice in Wonderland, The Deptford Trilogy
Harp, guitar, piano
Late 70′s VW beetle cabriolet – yellow , VW bus – red & white
Sunflowers, dahlias, orchids
Sycamores, pines
Peacocks
Unicorn, Manticore, Dragon
Twizzlers, Sugar Babies, Sour Patch Kids
blueberry, pumpkin
cherries
Lilith, Willow, Aurora, Jude, Guinevere, Sebastian, Eden, Brigsby, Piper, Gwendolyn
Breckenridge & Saint Maarten
Betty Boop
Fall
Mornings with Alex, bedtime with B
stained glass windows, the zodiac, incense, dried dragonflies, rennaisance festivals, beaches, long hair, gnomes, tarot, mythology, thrifting, hammocks, candles, bungalows, old records, open windows, frozen coffee, topiaries, succulents, beach cruisers, black puppies, husband’s old t-shirts.
