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.

Wow, March already!

I sometimes ask myself why I have a blog.

Why do I keep it?

My blog is not about monetizing. It’s not even about gaining readers. It’s about having an outlet. A place to be real or silly or crazy. For me.

 But then, I start to evaluate my use of it. How most of my words stay locked in my head for good. Always.

 Most of my best ideas and thoughts get censored without making it to my fingers or even my lips. Why do I censor myself if this is a place for me?

 My mind? She doesn’t want conflict. She doesn’t want hurt. She doesn’t want to cause any of these things. And she? Is the boss of me. Always has been.

 It seems sometimes that I’m mute when I most want to speak. That I’m at a loss for words when all I want to do is speak out. That I’m gagged before I can even realize what happened.

 It’s horrifying sometimes. Like I have someone inside me that is in control and pulling all the strings.

 I have no idea how, but I’ve let loose more in Twitter and Pinterest. Maybe the 140 characters are easier to sneak by without the constant “delete” and “backspace” that make up most of my blog post writing moments. Or maybe that “Re-Pin” button is too quick for my mind to grasp and stop.

 The politically correct individual that’s in charge of me is maddening. She feels like she’s torturing me most of the time. The totally different and fun and scary (sometimes, it’s the truth) REAL me gets locked away. Here’s where I become all lovey-dovey wife again. My husband? He takes her out to play. He doesn’t let the bitchy censor get her way. But how? He’s learned to plan without asking me first. And I am FOREVER grateful for that fact.

 Me? I’ve gone snorkeling, I’ve ridden a helicopter, I’ve toured on a SEGWAY, I’ve jet-skied… SO much more… and? I’ve LOVED it. EVERY single second of it. If he’d listened to the censor bitch? I would have NO fun things to speak of.

 What does this jumbled mess mean? I need to do things more. I need to stop letting the fear and the censorship rule my life. I’m 37. WOW, 37. So much to do. So little time.

 So many things to say. So useless to censor.


 Today? It’s Friday. And I’m wearing butterflies. And my toenails are painted dark gray. And I love it. Have a WONDERFUL weekend and don’t censor yourself. It’s not worth it.

Friday Fuzz.


Why is it that all I can see is the storm, when the rainbow is RIGHT THERE?

It’s so stressful. All of the ingredients for happiness are there. And yet, that one speck of darkness overshadows all of the beauty.


I want to will it away. I want to enjoy the beauty in the storm, to enjoy the rainbow and the lightning and the gorgeous scenery and the beautiful company.


The dark side still manages to win and push down all of the beauty and strength.


There is no way for me to get inspired and post.


I can enjoy. I can have nice moments. I can be happy playing with my husband. I can be ok while busy at work.


I sit to write? All the sadness overflows, the storm clouds show and I’m left with nothing but rain.


The anxiety is there every single minute. But while I’m busy? I can forget it. I sit down to do something healing and it just shows, full strength.


I am lucky. I am blessed. I love. I am IN love. I should be happy.


Why can’t I make it connect? Why can’t I will it to be true?


The weekend will be easier. I will be with my husband.


I will put up some little quickie posts and then Monday night is Breaking Dawn.


I need to get this under control and soon.


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