scars

"I’d like to take a moment to be a little philosophical and begin by saying that we should all be thankful for those who never loved us. I know it seems strange, but it’s true. Reflect on those times when we all thought we had found “it.” We were crazy in love, couldn’t live without it, thought that it was the ‘be all’ and ‘end all’ of our love affairs as we knew it. Now that we have separated ourselves 10 times over, who do we see in those people now? Are we still looking through rose colored glasses? Had we married those people or at least stayed with them a while longer, would it have turned into the romance we see in movies? I would have to say probably not.

It’s hard sometimes when you want it so bad that you believe every opportunity is the right one. I find myself hoping that “this time will be it.” I get tired of hoping that this one will be good to me, and then finding out that I am easy to forget. Am I easy to forget? Can you look at my face and never remember the color of my eyes?

I’ve done my best to love. Isn’t it my turn to be loved?

There are nights when I lay staring at my ceiling, feeling the void next to me in my bed. There are nights when I only sleep with one pillow on my bed, so that the void isn’t so permanent. I don’t think a girl ever gets used to the night. It’s hard to ignore the silence.

Every song seems to remind me that I am forever searching. The rain always seems a little more romantic. Ironically, the sun seems a little more sad. There is a delay in the beating of my heart. And there are days when I can see my scars a little clearer. But I guess I am thankful that I’ve got scars to talk about."-H.C

I did not write this, I wish I had because I think it's beautiful. It's been saved on my computer for years and every now and again I read it. I don't know if there's a soul out there that doesn't relate to these words. For me, reading this gave peace to my once long ago broken heart. So wherever your scars are, I hope by reading this you can learn to be thankful for them.

thankyou

A million thanks would not be enough for the birthday wishes and love you all sent my way today. I received a text from one of my dearest friends last night and I quote:

…it's almost your birthday friend! I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy one, but I'll never make it to midnight. In a soul path searching time, I hope celebrating 26 years of life reminds you how rich you are in memories, and fortunate to have good friends and family that make life worth it.

That about sums it up. I celebrated in gratitude today for the people in my life that I sometimes don't deserve. People who have fallen between the cracks, but are never forgotten, and all the others who hold me together daily. Thank you to everyone that took the time to wish me a Happy Birthday, it meant the world to me. I am truly a very lucky person with an awesome web of friends. I love you all.

anxiety

I don't even know how to start this blog. So many thoughts are racing through my head and what I think I want to say comes out in desperate, teret-like nothings. I am a fish out of water. Well let me put it frankly I'm a fucking mess. The wall I've spent years building for protection has been stripped. My "comfort zone" feels more like a street curb. I sit on this street curb with my head down, hands clenching the back of my neck, elbows pins between my knees my toes gripping the inside of my shoes, this is my attempt at holding inside, what is left of me. The only thing I feel is the panic in my heart, my only thought, "is this seriously me right now?" Is this really it, I came all the way to 26 to be unimpressed by the" lack there of" what I thought would be my life?

continued

It is back and it continues to stir up my allergies and make me miserable. The roof didn't blow off and the wind didn't scoop me up and carry me to NeverNever Land, or some other mythical place I'd like to be. Ugh the wind..it just BLOWS.

This week has been what I like to call, not awesome. It drives me crazy when I cannot find the source of my bad mood (the wind?), sad heart or fragile soul. "What's my problem?" Ever ask yourself that?

I've missed Mary...but why so much this week, and why so intensely? Both my Grandmothers were named Mary. Hence the 'marymarywords'. This Mary wasn't the Mary whom I wrote about before. This Mary was my Mom's Mom.

When my Mom went back to work and I wasn't old enough for Kindergarden I spent weekdays with Mary. She made sure I felt important and was busy doing "big kid" things. (I think she knew I secretly resented being the youngest, but I knew I was special because of it.) When Mary's Alzheimer's developed to the point where she couldn't stay home alone I spent my nights at her house. Making sure she didn't put the electric coffee maker on the stove and finding excuses why she hadn't seen my Grandpa that day.

"He was home at lunch….Remember?"

Trying to explain that he had died some 20 years prior was a lost cause.

"He got called in to deliver a baby Grandma, he said not to wait up."

Most of the time she didn't, the nights she did are the reason why I do crossword puzzles, try to eat more green vegetables and pray to God I don't develop this disease.

This week, for reasons I'm not sure I have missed her more than I ever have. I wonder what she would think of me today and if she secretly sends me reminders of why I loved her so much.

A woman walks by with a purse, so similar to the wallpaper in her kitchen I have to do a double take and laugh to myself. Had you ever seen the wallpaper you'd understand. It was oversized bright yellow flowers, red poppies, and the shade of green that was retired after the 70's and even Crayloa won't make it into a crayon.

The word "piddle" or the phrase "fiddle sticks" somehow flows from my lips. She called the toilet a, "ToTo." Up until about 5 years ago I just thought that was slang, when actually "ToTo" is a really expensive brand of toilets. Who knew?

An old woman walks into my work smelling exactly the way I remember Mary to smell, so exact my eyes welled up.

I guess if you want to believe in something more, believe that no single thing happens without a force behind it. Sometimes it's not just a coincidence. There is a reason for your bad mood, sad heart or fragile soul. You are emotional for a reason (not just PMS) a reason beyond what our brains will naturally conceive.

I called my cousin tonight, told her about how I was missing Grandma, the weird "coincidences" and how I was really emotional about it and didn't know why. Her response, "Her birthday was Monday."

So yes, the wind doesn't always just blow.

and the marymary wind blows

If the roof blew off this house would the wind scoop me up, take me wherever it was headed? To be continued...

marymaryreminders

I wrote this in July of 2009 confused because at 23 I was realizing more than ever before that each day is precious. With recent tragedies happening across the world and even close to home I remember these words and remind myself to take off my watch, tell my friends and family I love them and smile because I had this day and this day was beautiful because of them.

Coming home again...

I took my watch off for this... Not because it is wrapped uncomfortably tight around my left wrist, but because it impersonates the existence of time and words. Words that represent recent and not so recent events in life. Hands striking, interrupting and proudly distinguishing moments of significant and not so significant memories. Times that evaporate into memories and moments that terminate without reason or explanation. This watch only provides a melodramatic snapshot of life.

Without this watch I write with a steady hand, one which will hopefully comfort those who search desperately for a dead end, a safe harbor or at the least, one more drink. I will never understand the ways of the world, and my efforts have proven to fail me more than once. Time after time I am left running exhaustedly towards a blank sheet of paper. I can not erase the misdemeanors of the world and they stain every page I touch down on. I fight continuously to leave a mark of justice, only to be neglected by reality. I crave to experience moments without this watch, but I am constantly reminded of how painfully it disintegrates life’s precious gifts. 

We were born from distant dreams, evolved into nightmares and eventually rest peacefully within our fantasies.

Maybe it is there we take off our watch, not because it is uncomfortable but because we have finally come home again. Thursday, July 30, 2009 at 3:25am

forgiveness

This is Ali. Someday, with her permission I'll tell her story. Until then...

She is here. Beautifully conquering her demons.

Not looking back.

Living her life like a book someone would write.

And I am so thankful she is here.