Here it is...

My heart is still so sad. I tend to be a very sensitive person. I take things that happen very much to heart even if they don't happen to me directly. I hurt when other people hurt and cry when other people cry. The latest events in our somewhat tragic-ridden recent history in the US has left me bewildered.

I work with kids. I work with teachers and I am a school psychologist. To actually be able to put myself in the shoes of the people who were murdered this past Friday has been very disturbing to me. I try not to think about the possibilities, the risks I suppose, of working in a helping position. There have been school shootings in the past and those events have always made me have that dark little worry in the back of my mind. But since Friday it's been at the forefront. I find myself constantly looking around me, jumping at loud noises, keeping a watchful eye on those I am not familiar with, hugging kids a little tighter, and making sure I tell them just how wonderful and special they are. I do love them. I go home and worry about them, I cry if they are sad, and I try to make them smile. I love my students, each and every one of them even if I don't know them well. They are each an individual wonderful human being and I just adore their existence.

 I can't even comprehend what darkness a person must find themselves in to create such a devastation in so many lives like the young man who murdered those innocent people on Dec. 14th. But in a way I am also very sad for him. He must have been so troubled and in such a dark place to have found himself in a mindset to commit such an atrocity. He maybe could have been helped...this could have possibly been prevented. Mental health illnesses are very serious and despite what many people might think, a person cannot just get over it. It consumes you. It becomes you.

The whole thing is just overwhelmingly sad. Sad is not even an appropriate term...but as I find myself once again wrapped in the emotion of it all I am without words.

Today was better than yesterday and still better than the day before...in time we will all get on and I hope with all my heart that something will change in this country for the better. It's just a terrible thing that change had to happen this way.

It Gets Better, Be the Warrior

There was a time in my life where I was in a very dark place. I don't remember exactly how old I was, around 14 to 16. I don't remember even what specific event exactly brought me to this moment. It was a culmination of many events...bringing me to this edge. So much pain...for far too long...helplessness overwhelming. I didn't feel loved by my step-dad or my bio-dad. My step-dad tore me down all the time. Nothing I did was ever right. I had to be perfect and even when I thought I was being perfect he was still able to point out flaws. He told me I was fat, laughed at me for it, made fun of ...well he made fun of me for just about everything. There were few moments where he made me feel like he was proud of me. Even fewer moments where he expressed love or said the words. I cherish those. I remember them like they just happened.

I had a pretty hard childhood. Parts of it were good, but the hard part left scars. I go back and read the first page of my first diary and it reads:
 "Dear Diary,
I have said my dad hates me a lot. I am giving him two xmas gifts. I wish he would say, I love you." (December 23, 1991, age 9)

I haven't really thought about this moment of my life until recently. And there are very few people that know about it. It's not something I even told my parents about. I'm not even sure I have told anyone except my husband. But I've been thinking because someone who has happened to cross my path recently has forced me to look back. They have forced me to remember that edge, that darkness, and the yearning to feel any kind of pain other than the pain I felt or just to feel absolutely nothing at all. This person has reminded me of the scars I bear inside and even some on the surface. The ones I have worked endlessly to heal. But it's okay. Because I am in a better place now. I can look back and feel that little tingle of sadness and at the same time be thankful that I'm not there anymore. But I don't want to forget either. It's important that I remember how dark things can become....why? Well in the beautiful words of Carl Jung,

"Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of 

other people." 

Perhaps he did not mean it the way I interpret it, but I like to believe that there is a reason for things. There is a reason I chose not to do what I was seriously thinking of doing. And a reason why I have met this person and am able to understand what they are going through....to an extent anyhow.

Here is a piece of my story____________________________________________________________________________

There I sit. In my loft bedroom. The ceiling only a foot or so above my head. It was late. Everyone in bed already. Silence surrounded me. It had been a bad night at home. I was desperately depressed. Crying....crying....trying my best not to cry too loud. I have no door on my bedroom. Dad can hear me if I cry too loud. When he hears me crying he yells at me. Tells me I'm a baby...cry baby...whiney little brat. What a fuckin baby.

So I hold it in...cry as softly as I can when I'm sobbing...my body shaking with tremors. So many tears...my face is soaked and chapped. My eyes puffy and my nose stuffy and runny at the same time. Defeated....I just can't stop the pain. I can't stop crying...when will it stop hurting?

The house so quiet.

I went to the bathroom. Peed. Stood there in the dim nightlight looking at my reflection in the mirror. Witnessing the devastation and pain on my face. I began to cry again. Ugh I hate you! Look at you! You're pathetic. Why is he so mean? Why doesn't he love me? Why can't I have a father that loves me? Why does he want to hurt me all the time? Why is my life so out of my control? How can I just not hurt anymore? I can't stand this...

I reached for the medicine cabinet. Found a bottle full of Tylenol PM and went back to my bedroom. 

I sat again in the middle of my bed. Staring at that little white bottle with a blue label. Crying....crying.... how does one person have so many tears? Sobbing...I twist and twist the top of the bottle. It opens. I pour a handful of pills into my hand. 

I sat there holding them...crying...thinking. Thinking about what I was thinking about doing just then. Thinking about ending it all. I would just go to sleep. No one would even notice I was gone until it was too late. No one would even care. I would show them...I would show them how much they hurt me! But I might die....that scares me. And if I die...what happens to my mom? What happens to my brothers? They will have no one here to protect them from him. That drunk. That asshole. They will be left behind....I can't bear the thought.

So I didn't do it...obviously. I didn't even swallow a single pill. I put them back in the bottle, then I cried myself to sleep.


________________________________________________________________________________

At the time and for a long time after that I considered myself a coward. I was on the edge and didn't have the courage to jump. I hated myself for that. But later I realized that I wasn't a coward at all. It was the cowards way out to just kill myself. It is the coward who runs away instead of standing and fighting. It is the coward who does not stand up, brush themselves off, wipe the blood from their face, and walk on tall, continuing to fight. 

I'll be honest...there were many times after that where I thought about ending it all. But over and over I could not bear the thought of leaving the people I love behind. And I refused to let him win. Perhaps being stubborn, for once, worked in my favor. I refused to let him have that much control. It drove me to be something...to be someone. When people told me I couldn't do something I simply thought, oh yeah you wanna bet!? I'll show you. You tell me I'm worthless, but I won't let you defeat me. I won't.

It took a long time to overcome the pain of those many years of my life. I have scars that I continue to try to heal. But in the end...at least now...I am sort of thankful for all the suffering. Sure it was fucked up and super hard. It hurt like hell almost every day. I hated myself for a long time. But now....now I don't. Now I am thankful because those scars are proof that I survived. That life was hell once and I made it through....like a warrior I fought and fought for my right to be someone...to be loved...to be worthy. 

So why am I blogging about this you might ask? Well, for a long while I was ashamed of this experience I had. This experience on the brink...in the deepest darkness one can experience. Thinking of ending my own life. Being in so much pain that the only thing I could think of to make it stop hurting was to just end it. I would feel no more pain. I would feel nothing. But there were reasons for me to stay. To continue on in battle and suffer the life that I had been given. I chose to believe that each stab of pain would pass...that from it all I would become stronger. And because of this...maybe....just maybe...I could help someone else standing at that same edge...feeling that same pain and darkness surrounding them like being submerged in a black sea. Something in my heart pleaded with me...and gave me the willingness to go on.

I am so thankful to have listened. If I were to have ended it then I would not have been able to take part in the joys my life has today. I would not have been able to hold my first nephew in my arms, touch his soft head, kiss his soft cheeks, and smell his new smell. I would not have met my husband who has stuck beside me through much of the leftover darkness I had to get through to be where I am right now in my heart. I would not have been able to see my wonderful brothers grow up to be amazing young men. I would not have been able to become what I am. 

I am also very thankful...because, hopefully, my story will help someone else going through a shit storm like that too. Maybe it will help them see that life doesn't stay hard forever. It does change. It's not fast, no, but it does. You just have to keep on fighting. It gets better. Be the warrior. 

My Mind is Pandemonium

My mind is constantly swimming with thoughts.

Work is working me to the bone. Kicking my ass every day. I feel as exhausted as a mother of 8! Okay well I don't really know what that feels like but I imagine it's pretty tiring. I have no free minutes in the day and even take work home at night just to keep up. I even thought I should work this weekend but my husband thinks I will lose my mind if I don't take some time for myself. He's right...

I've also been thinking about family. I'm going to get to see my brother, his wife, and my new nephew as well as my bro & sis-in-law this next month. I am super excited for that. It also makes me think about how wonderful it will be to live in Nebraska again. Family has become so important to me. It always has been, but now I feel an ache in my heart when I think about them. Because I love them all so very much and I know that life is short. I want to spend as much of my breathing moments with them...laughing, crying, playing, etc. Because that's life. That's what makes me feel like it's worth being around here on this planet surrounded by morons. My family makes my soul glow.

At the same time...there is a lot I love about Kansas. There are a lot of great people here who have embraced me as if I were family. It's so endearing. Also I have Lawrence and Kansas City, MO which are both super awesome places to go. I love them and will miss them dearly when I leave.

I've also been thinking about my dad. (my actual dad, not bio-dad for those who get confused....okay everyone gets confused) He's moved to colorado and has been absent from my life for a while now. It's sad. In a way I miss him...but the real bummer is that I don't. I mean I seriously don't. Then I feel like I should feel guilty for not missing him, but I can't even muster up fake guilt. There were so many years of sadness. I wanted them to end so badly. And now my mom is in a better place. I can be her daughter again and have a relationship with her. We can have family gatherings without worrying about what atrocities my father will commit and what mess we'll have to clean up. I do love my dad. He has a lot of good qualities. But he drowns them in booze...and that's the part I don't miss. I feel disconnected from him both emotionally and physically. I will always love him and there will forever be a place in my heart for him. But I don't miss the tears, the hurtful words, the messes, the drama, and everything else that comes with having an alcoholic father.

Love I've Only Just Begun to Feel

So a little over two months ago this little man came into my life. I will never forget the day he arrived. I was getting text updates at every step. The moment I got the final text I cried. My heart flooded with love and joy. To this day I am convinced that he decided to come because he knew I was in town. I think about him a lot. He is so special to me. I felt so blessed to have been asked to do his latest photo shoot. And boy did he LOVE the camera. My little nephew has invaded my heart. :)

Dirty Thirty

As of this very moment, 138 Days, 2 hours, 42 minutes until what might be one of the worst birthdays ever. I really want to be good humored about turning 30. I try really hard to laugh at the jokes people make about me getting old and all that. But not far from the surface is my shudder of terror. The "Oh my freaking god I am going to be 30!" feeling. Where I recall all the things I wanted to do in my life before this time and almost none of them have been completed. I have no children, I didn't travel more and see Europe, and really all I've got to show for this 30 years of living is college loan debt and a job that doesn't pay near enough.

Okay that's not entirely true. I do have more to show for it. Just ten years ago I was a very different person. I was 100% insecure about EVERYTHING. I was mean, angry, bitter, and really unhappy. I carried a lot of baggage, most of which I have successfully let go of. I'm still somewhat insecure, especially about my physical appearance, but I am no where near the "crying in front of the mirror every day" girl that I once was. And heck, I can run a mile now and sometimes more! That's something to me.

So why am I so unhappy about this number? Society tells us that 30 is basically the end of your life. After this you are considered old. But I don't feel old, I don't look old (contrary to what some rude people might say to me), and heck 30 isn't even half my life (hopefully). So why am I so upset?

Perhaps it has more to do with feeling like I have failed at some of the things I wished for by now. Mostly the whole baby thing. For years I have watched people around me having babies and creating little families. I have longed for that for years. I feel kind of like Monica from Friends...you know, the one who is already a mom, but without a baby (okay for some of you that might be from another generation). I feel a little emptiness inside me. I feel like I should have this by now. And I have to wonder if it will ever happen for me. People keep telling me to be patient, it'll happen, blah blah. But they don't know. They can't predict the future. All they're doing is saying positive things that, for me, don't really encourage me in the least bit. Because again, they don't know! What if there is something wrong and we can't have kids. There are lots of people in this world who can't have children. What if we are one of those couples? It's not as easy to procreate as everyone has led us to believe. Not to mention it's very expensive. And I planned to have gone to college so I could get a good job and be able to provide for a family in ways that my parents never did. But financially I feel like I am still in college. The more money I make the more expensive everything becomes so I only break even, never coming out on top. It's so frustrating.

On a positive thought again, I can say that getting to this age has helped me discover the value of family and friends. It has enabled me to mature to a point where I find having good relationships is one of the most important things in life and that being close to family is vital. If I ever do have those little babies (or baby) I dream of, I want them to know a large family. I want them to know their aunts and uncles, grandparents, and cousins. I want family to be family, not strangers.

Vivid dreams can be haunting

I went to bed last night with much fear and sadness in my heart. I can only blame myself as I was obsessively keeping up on the news about what happened in an Aurora, Colorado movie theater earlier yesterday morning. I find myself both disgusted and fascinated by events like this. Disgusted, well need I explain why really? Fascinated because the psychologist in me wants to understand the thinking behind such actions.

So I thought I was okay, but apparently my subconscious was deeply disturbed. Without having been there (and thankfully so) I am left to my imagination of what transpired. I will tell you that my imagination is a vivid and horrid thing sometimes. My dreams then express those things and I am awaken with a heart full of terror. Last night I was ripped from my slumber. I ripped myself awake. In my dream I knew it had to be a dream because it was just too horrific to be real. I dreamed that I was at the movies. I was me and with me. The other me was pregnant and I had gone to the bathroom before the movie started. I stood in the bathroom looking in the mirror when suddenly I heard this "pop, pop, pop". My heart sank and I ran out of the bathroom to see what was going on. As I exited the bathroom I ran into my pregnant self. My pregnant self was in a panic and holding her belly. She appeared to be in pain but there were no signs of injury. I asked what happened and pregnant me said that someone just started shooting a gun in the theater so she ran out, but then started feeling like she was going into labor. It was far too early in the pregnancy to be going into labor so I hurried her to the car to rush her to the hospital. Upon starting to drive I realized that I didn't know where the hospital was, so I tried using my gps to get us there. It was dark and the air was thick so the windshield kept fogging up. I kept having to spray windshield washer fluid on it to clear it. Then it became extremely windy and rainy. I realized we had just went outside in a terrible storm. So, my gps would not work. It was like a hurricane sort of. The wind was so strong it was just ripping giant trees out of the ground. People were not prepared for the storm so they were driving frantically to get to a safe place, but the trees kept blowing all over, smashing into cars and crashing across the roads. I ended up having to turn around in the middle of the road because I reached an area littered with trees. There were police cars and an ambulance there too so I said to myself "I don't think we should go this way." So I turned around only to come up behind a van that had been hit by a flying tree. Standing in the middle of the road staring at the car was a little boy. His face had no expression. He just stared at the van. Behind him an older woman, likely his mother, was screaming and crying, pleading for him to get out of the road. She kept trying to get him to move, but he was frozen there staring at the van. The van he stared at had been smashed on one side. The passenger door in the front was flung open, flapping in the strong gusts of wind. Embedded in the side of the door, was the head of a little girl. Her body dangled limp in the air, her face clung to the car door. It was a horrific sight. So I woke myself up. I lay there in a panic, my heart pounding, jumping inside at every little bump in the night. I was so tired, but terrified to go back to sleep. I didn't want to go back to that dream. I hate it when I have dreams like that. I can't get the images out of my head.

*sigh...Anyway...I'm sure I will never really understand what moves people to commit such atrocities as what happened in Colorado. (And in hundreds of other places all over the world basically every single day) I can't even kill an animal let alone a human being. And I was already fairly afraid of the world. Now maybe more so. I work in a school and every day I have this thought in the back of my mind about being a victim of a school shooting. And this kind of thing could really happen anywhere. At the same time I don't want to be so afraid that I never live my life. It is short enough as it is.

I suppose that's why it's called a Cliché

I find myself living many cliches in life. This post will illustrate yet another I have discovered.

My elders always seemed to tell me that I should appreciate family. That I should want to be near to them. For much of my life I fought this notion. I wanted to be far away. Perhaps maybe I mostly wanted to be far away from the sadness that was our small little immediate family. But things have changed now. We've all grown up..well most of us. Mom and Dad are now divorced and living in different states. And as much as I love my Dad there is something very obvious in his absence and that is...no drama. My dad is one of those kind of people who sit in a room and you can feel it: the simmer, the sense of some unpredictable force that might, at any moment, break loose, and do something terrible. We don't have to worry about that anymore. I feel a tingle of awful inside me saying this, but I am thankful. We all deserve better. He does too, but he won't do it for himself. 


Anyway...as I have grown older I have found a love for family that I never thought I would have. An unconditional love. In the past I used to want this picture perfect family, but knew deep down it would never be real. It's still not...but that's okay. My family is beautiful the way it is. My brother's are wonderful people who I adore with every sliver of my soul. I love them more than words can say or gestures can express. And then I got married and with that came more love. More people to learn to love. haha But in the end here I am almost 30 and thinking to myself...I can't get enough of them. I want to be with them as much as possible. Being 5 hours away from them is far too far. I don't like it one little bit. I used to want to me a million miles away. Now I want to be right there. 


I could give quite a bit of credit to the birth of my first nephew. Ever since I heard about his existence I have been in love with him. Perhaps a lot of that has to do with the fact that I have a strong desire to have babies of my own but haven't yet been lucky enough to have happy accident or anything of that nature. So I live vicariously through my brother and his wife, a little bit. But mostly I just love like that. I feel like my heart is always bursting with more and more love to give. I can never give enough. There's always more behind it. 


Overall, I have learned that my need to be close to family is extremely strong. So if I were the sort to pray I would pray that I get a job soon somewhere close to my family. I am tired of being so far away from people who light up my life. I hope with all my soul that things work out. My heart aches every day. I want it to stop.