There are no words

Just none.

I wish I could fill this page with the good. The finding myself. The enjoying how my husband gets me and grows with me and challenges me and takes care of me and keeps me alive somewhat sane. Those are facts, I feel growth and change and it’s exciting and good. But the whole truth is, no matter how much I try to will my brain and heart to fixate on the positive and move towards the even better, it’s a battle I lose a lot of the time. A counselor (that I never connected with and who didn’t get me and I could go on and on) once told me that I put too much pressure on my husband. She told me this when I said that I was happy when I was with him. Even though I didn’t much care for her style or most of what she said, that resonated with me, because in an odd way, it added to my already overflowing sense of guilt. I guess that’s why I kept that information. However, as much as I try, I can’t really help it. I don’t have to tell him how I’m feeling, I don’t have to speak out. He knows and he helps without ever having to say something clichéd or a picture perfect answer. He does his part in the little things and those grow to be big things and that’s that. I’m with him, I smile. Even when the darkness is lingering.

The stress is overwhelming and choking otherwise. The darkness and despair taking over. It multiplies faster than I can eradicate and replace it with good. I feel inadequate and tired and ugly and a burden and a bad everything. I’m in pain most of the time now. Mostly the knot in my stomach, the pressure in my chest, the signs of stress added onto stress. There’s also physical pain. Muscles tensed, tension headaches, sore throats from keeping my neck muscles tense. It’s a never-ending circle of evil.

I want to be grateful and kind and loving. I want to show so much love for the people I care about. Yet I’m trapped. Unaware. Unsure. In pain. Scared. Panicked.  

I shouldn’t be writing this. I should keep up my spirits and keep it all bottled up and just stop. I should work on me and just shout from the rooftops how lucky and blessed I am. Yet, for some reason, I can’t stop myself either. Because I can’t even talk. I can’t even TELL you or anyone, no matter how wonderful or awesome they are to me, the messed up tangle of pain and anger and horror and sadness that is my brain. NO one I love deserves to see or be in there.

The problem is. It’s just… disabling. I can’t get it out. But it also takes a lot of effort to stay normal (if it can even be called that). So I write this. If only to get it out. If only to make myself think about it. Hard days are coming and I need to gather strength from deep within. Strength I don’t even know if I can hold on to. Strength I don’t even know if I still have. But I’ll try and I’ll go on. I just hope this thing moves on soon. I hope I can come out stronger. Soon.



It’s a New Year and, although right now I feel more like crying than rejoicing, I know it’ll pass. I’m a lucky girl.

My life is not what I imagined it would be. But, that’s not a bad thing. Just a readjustment of all my goals and a need to teach my heart and mind to appreciate that which I do have. I have a lot. I’m more than lucky.

Life is so fleeting. Wasting time acknowledging and giving way to the hate and pain are no good.

So, for 2013?

My only goal is to learn to enjoy the good and spend little time on suffering the bad. Wasting time when you’re 2 years from 40? Bad idea!

Plus? I need to start planning my 40th birthday bash! Two years is not enough time for that!

My Canvas is covered in black splotches…

When we’re younger, we think we know everything. We’re ready to take on the world and have no idea how unfair or ugly it is. We see the future as a blank canvas and fill it carefully with the watercolors of our dreams and expectations. Tracing with deliberate strokes the path that we will take, the people we will meet, the person we hope to become.

Reality, though, has a huge painter’s brush with black permanent paint. Waiting to just cover up those beautiful colors with darkness and dread. Clumsy, huge strokes that take all those beautiful colors away. Never to return.

As we grow older, we learn how naïve we once were. Some of us, take the chance to learn to be stronger. We grab our paintbrushes, wait for the black paint to dry and start right on over it. Sometimes, reality just keeps painting over our renewed landscapes. Over and over and over again.

It takes practice. It takes age. It takes perseverance and strength to keep going. Some of us falter. Some of us have canvases full of black with very few of the original watercolors and even fewer new colorful paintings above the black.

Others? Make black their thing. They make beautiful scenes, using the black to make their pictures shine brighter than ever.

Others? Never give up. Their black being painted over constantly. Filling the darkness with light constantly. Never faltering, never giving up, never resting.

All of these options, though? They all mean a lifetime of pain or fighting or hardships or darkness.

Some people seem to have SO MUCH of their original watercolors still shining through. Some days, those of us with black canvases can get very disappointed. We can start to find it easier to just let the black take over and give up. Who wants to correct a ruined painting over and over and over again? Especially when there are some that seem to have SO little black showing that it even seems to make the painting prettier. Not smaller, not ugly, not darker. Prettier.

Meanwhile, our canvas seems to be covered in black. With very little white shining through. Who can enjoy the pretty watercolors remaining in the white, when there is SO much black paint to make over? It’s exhausting. It’s deflating. It’s heartbreaking. It’s just unfair.


Life is insane.

 It lifts you up.

 It drops you from an airplane without a parachute, letting you land breathless and left for dead.

 It picks you up and nurses you back to health.

 Only to drop you in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by sharks, without rations and bleeding.

 It then takes your mangled body, dresses it up in a pink princess dress and drops you in a land filled with unicorns and flowers and butterflies.

 And then it drops you into the fiery pit of an active volcano.

 It’s crazy. When you think you have it all figured out. You’re happy. You’re growing. You’re doing positive things for yourself… That’s when it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

 The what if’s…

 The But I don’t have’s…

 The longing stare at someone else’s green green grass…

 The realization that it just will never be…

 And that’s when it gets interesting.

 HOW do you do it?

 How do you grow from it?

 How do you find balance and strength?

 How can you concentrate on being grateful for what you DO have?

 I have no answers.

 Just thoughts and questions.

 Just dreams and realities.

 That clash. That sing. That grow.

 Some exchanges are WELL worth it.

 But how do you get used to it?

 How do you silence that little voice that says: “But I want it. Why can’t I have it?”

Deep Thoughts – A less words Wednesday…

Thinking a lot today.

My skin feels almost mine. It hasn’t in a while. Most of the time, it feels like an uncomfortable suit that itches and weighs me down. Today? It’s more comfortable and it doesn’t feel as foreign.  

My heart is beating with expectation and wonder. I hope it’s a good sign. I need it to be.

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