Holes: No, Not Referring to Vaginas..this time.

You’ve got some holes in your life. I know you do.

 

In your heart, in your pocket, in your home.

 

We all do. I’ve got a few. They are scary and we don’t like them at all, so we avoid them or pretend they are not there or blame them on someone else. I’m just thinking out loud here because I really don’t know shit about anything, but stick with me here..

 

Why not work on filling the holes back in? Like using earth, or dirt, or soil, or whatever stupid, metaphorical garden term you prefer, back into it instead of just putting a wood plank over it, or one of those hideous plastic orange fences around it. Slowly, over time, someone is going to walk or fall through it. You or him, or her, or the kids, or some other innocent bystander.

 

It’s your stupid hole. Stop leaving it there for everyone else to deal with. Put the work in. Build it back up. Do not go around. Do not turn and walk away. Because you will keep coming back to this same ditch, every fucking time, with new people, with new damage.

 

Just stop.

 

That’s the first step.

 

Stop and take a good look at that fucking hole. Why is it there? What tools do you need to begin fixing it? Maybe come back to it next week with a lawn chair and a six pack  (or maybe some soda if your hole is binge drinking) and sit and look at it a little longer. Where can I find the shit I need for this stupid, ugly hole? Is there someone I need to help me with it? How long will this take? Do I have time? Where do I start?

 

And honestly, I think the best thing to do is: just start.

 

That’s right, first you stop, then you start.

 

Take an educated guess or just aimlessly start poking at shit. The movement alone will stir some dirt up, loosen the walls. You can figure it out as you go. But just start.

 

Stop looking away.

 

Stop being a pussy.  Sorry to all the people against using the word pussy to describe a weak ass person, but honestly it fits and this is my blog and I have one so I can say it and use it however I damn well please! 

 

Stop making other people walk through or tip-toe around this hole, or carry your burden with you or for you. Carry it yourself and start shoveling that fucker in. Until one day you walk past it and it’s finally filled in and the grass has grown over, probably all jacked up, but whatever, and it’s just another piece of life that you don’t even really notice anymore. Something you were brave or lucky enough to walk through and take care of and smooth out – not just for others, but for you too, dummy. It’s about you. Stop living a life you don’t even like. Why are you doing that? Uh. We are so stupid, and lazy, and selfish, and terrified.

 

Stupid holes!

 

Everyone’s got em. Including me.

 

And I don’t even care what holes are in your yard, baby. 

 

I love people who have them! As long as you’re working on them. Like, really working on them. Not just talking about how much you hate them and how they are ruining your life, or what strategic steps everyone else has to take to avoid falling in them. I don’t even mind helping you fill them in, but you will reach for the shovel first and you will do most of the work, motherfucker.

 

I feel like this holes bit is running dry.

 

And, I also just keep thinking about a young Shia LeBeouf.

 

I’m sleepy. 

 

Just deal with your shit, people!

 

Happy Monday!

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June 16, 2017: Happy Re-Birthday

I don’t know if I consider myself a strong person.

I’ve always tried to do what I said I would do or what I thought I had to do. And I’ve always tried to do the right thing. And I’m pretty good at juggling a heavy plate with a lot of shit on it. I guess that means I’m kind of strong – all of that upper body strength and stuff.

I can get myself through two degrees and long days of physically rehabilitating confused, cranky, and sometimes legitimately crazy, older adults. I can handle working overtime, getting to band practice, and pulling three shows on my only weekend off, with very little sleep, on a diet that’s only one or two levels above terrible, with moderate and sometimes zero exercise, all while worrying about my parents and my brothers and my friends and with a nagging six figure student loan warrant over my head. I can do all of this. I’m good at it. Most days I show up without brushing my hair, but I’ve been good at throwing myself into all of this. I actually enjoy it. Working towards something, fixing problems, trying to physically fix people and motivate them, deeming myself mother hen to my family, crushing short term goals, reaping the benefits of putting the time and effort into things, and generally making good decisions about my life.

I like work and projects and learning and applying myself to things. Maybe even to a fault. I probably stay busy to avoid some deep, dark, hidden demon way down inside of me that I’m too scared to face or something, right? I don’t know, this is just how I’ve always been. I’m not sure if I’m hiding anything. I think I just like to chase things. I like to move. And I like to grow. And I always want to take everyone with me on my journey. Maybe that’s selfish and egotistic – to think everyone could benefit from tagging along, but when I feel good or I learn something valuable or I’m heading to an exciting or better yet, safe place – I just want to share it with all my people. I want them to feel good, and excited, and safe, too. There’s room for everyone on this bus, so just come on already!

Maybe I just don’t like to be still.

I’ve seen what too much quiet and free time can do to people I love. I agree that I need to get better at decompressing and taking time for myself and meditating and reflecting and all that shit, but there’s a very fine line for me between relaxing and sinking into a dark hole.   And I don’t look good sitting at the bottom of a deep, dark hole. I have a really ugly cry face.

I’m getting off track here.

People tell me I am strong – a hard worker, and a badass but I recently really, really don’t feel like one.

I feel stuck.

I feel small.

And I feel weak.

Because I am heartbroken.

I don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to recover. I have never been so sad in my entire life. And I don’t see the end game, the light at the end of the tunnel, the finish line, or the prize. I have no idea what kind of work to put into this to make it go away. I can’t figure this one out. Or complete this mission. Or finish this job. Or carry this plate. I can’t wrap my head around healing. It feels impossible and the heartache feels never ending. And I feel as though I am no match for it.

My friends are wonderful and they hug me and give me pep talks and tell me I’ll get through it and be fine and better in the end. I’m sure they are right. But, what about now? What about this heavy, sinking feeling? The one where sometimes when I’m driving it feels like my face is going to peel right off the front of my skull, or the one where I might physically collapse mid-stride walking into work.

Because I am exhausted.

My heart is so heavy and my head hurts and my chest feels like it’s going to cave in and my knees might buckle underneath me any second now.

I cry at work.

I cry driving.

I cry doing laundry.

I cry looking at Facebook.

I cry in the shower.

I cry in my sleep.

How do I get back?

To feeling strong?

Shit, I would take mediocre right now.

Why am I even feeling this way?

I’m where I need to be. Away from what I was in.

So, why am I still grieving this? Why does it feel like death?

Fuck you, Grief and Death Feels!

I just want to get back.

To solid, dry ground.

No more fucking tears.

Please.  No more.  Unless they are happy tears.

Tears for holding your best friend’s baby and being overwhelmed with how beautiful and perfect she is. Tears for animal rescue videos or an elderly couple dancing. Tears for all the love I feel for my family when we all sit around the dinner table at Thanksgiving, before we start drinking and arguing.

I’m okay with those. I love those tears.

But, not this shit.

Please, just leave already!

Ugh!

But, I guess this is where I am right now.

On a quest to get back. Or fuck it, not get back. Move forward.

I want to feel better. Great, even.

I want to do shit, and see shit, and love all my peoples and new peoples.

Pet some puppies.

Awkward dance.

Enjoy myself, and others.

Eat!

Breathe.

Giggle.

I just wanna giggle, y’all!

Oy.

So, if you’re reading this – congrats, you are witnessing the crumbling of a supposedly strong person and the beginning of a new chapter in her life. A chapter where she hopefully lets go, forgives, lives, and loves again.

It doesn’t mean I’m not going to have bad days, or back peddle. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m doing away with curse words, sarcasm, or dark humor. I’m not always going to be perky and preach positivity. And I’m not always going to be nice.

I just want to be myself. Find myself. Find my way.

A person – who broke my heart, and almost my spirit – treated me unfavorably for what felt like forever, and when I finally spoke up and got mad about it, he very calmly and confidently said: Take your negativity elsewhere, sweetie.

So, I’m gonna.

I’m gonna take my heart, my honesty, my generosity, my values, my worth, my fat ass, my pre-baby vagina, and my “negativity” and go elsewhere.

I’m gone, bitches!

I’m actually quite terrified.

But really fucking excited.

So this is it.

Me on my struggle bus, hopefully headed for a happier life.

This blog, if I even keep up with it, will be filled with random thoughts, questions, experiences, and ramblings. Hopefully my friends and family will make some appearances, as well.

If you don’t like it, don’t look.

This shit is for me anyways.

Kisses.

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