New Year, No Gurus

I am finding that I am getting through the day because, well, it is a day that has 24 hours to it (on this planet) and I am alive in it. That’s it. There is no magic spell. There is no Dream It and Make It Happen Genie that grants you anything. I am doing my best. I am spending time alone, I am spending time with friends old and new; these are very genuine and loving relationships. I had a wonderful trip with my son to the beach over Christmas and it was rewarding and beautiful and relaxing and fun.  He is one of the best people I know. I almost didn’t go on the trip because of money and it was so wonderful, I am glad we did it. Good things are happening and I am being in ‘life’ like I am supposed to but I still want to give up every single day.

When Savannah died in April, I wanted to die. People told me not to die. I did not die. I searched for the meaning in life, in my life, in how one stays on the planet after tragedy. I listened to audio meditations, ‘healing’ meditations, I  held fundraisers, I promoted a non profit that fights addiction and raised over $4000, I scoured the internet for grief counseling, wrote in journals, read Savannah’s journals, did my tarot, painted, wrote, went to a bereaved parents group, reached out with all of the reach I had and spent hours and hours researching every single thing I could find on grief and death. I watched tragic, awful stories on Netflix about murder, torture, escape and death to see if there are worse things. (There are plenty.) I had my headphones on most of the time at work or during my time alone listening to self help gurus, meditation music, guided meditations; which for years has gotten me through stuff, until finally I had a breakdown. I ripped my apartment apart; ripped everything from the walls and smashed a lot of stuff. (It was very satisfying and Marie Kondo ain’t got nothing on me.) I scared my family. No one knew what to do with me. This is suicidal depression.

Positive affirmations are so evasive on social media; you can’t get away from memes telling you to BE HAPPY, or BE SAD. Or BE ANXIOUS. Apparently every single emotion and feeling is perfectly fine and absolutely normal and you need to just go about your day. Its mostly the being happy ones, the striving for success ones, the pick yourself up and dust yourself off Memes- I can’t take them anymore. The world in general, wants to swallow these sayings like some big pill, so that they can ‘be positive’ in hopes that some ‘positive magic’ will come in and take over for them. (Like God, but for ‘spiritual not religious’ people. Its a positive affirmation instead of a prayer.) And it does, ‘come in’ for a bit. Reading them and believing in them and using them to motivate me got me this far, but when something horrible actually happened in my life, I quit believing in this ‘positive’ over meme’d magic.

There is no magic. There is no pill. These are lies we tell ourselves so we will get out of bed and keep everything in a friendly, even keeled fog. Even if you get out of bed, there is still the floor you have to walk on. There are clothes you have to wear, bills you have to pay, food you have to ingest. This positive affirmation shit is no longer cutting it for me. I have to pay rent. I have to quit missing work. I could ‘dream big’ and ‘believe’ all I wanted; I was going to get evicted DREAMING about success and money and happiness.

I got to the point where I could no longer ignore the fact that all of these self help coaches and gurus I’ve been listening to, all happen to be multimillionaires. Do you really want to know a good way to be successful and rich? Sell your ‘happy’ ideas to a very vulnerable and semi bourgeois, very WHITE, audience who have a big disposable income and who are suffering from First World miseries who will buy your books and tapes and pay several hundreds of dollars to hear you tell them to ignore reality, get into the ‘vortex’, think and dream big and IT will happen. Meanwhile, doing these things does not pay your bills. If I had listened to this shit for reals, I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t just dream of money, I had to go make some so I wouldn’t be homeless.

I moved up to Boulder and Savannah died the very next day. I moved here because I was going to do my Reiki and start my business as a healer again but when I got the news, it all seemed a sham. The great healer…couldn’t do a fucking thing about her own daughter. I didn’t get any ‘feelings’ from her the night she died, I had no ‘energy force’ reach me, I couldn’t zap into her body and prevent her from dying from a drug overdose with my Reiki vibes. It’s all part of that magic people want to believe in so desperately that they’ll give you money for it. I don’t believe anymore.

I was faced with making the decision of going back to my apartment in Denver to live with my boyfriend and his three small kids (every weekend) or go for it in the city I had wanted to live in for years and try and make it on my own with every dream dashed and start all over from below zero. I didn’t even have a job. The plan was to work with my friend in her biz and build mine and work somewhere and build build build this ‘healing’ practice. It all dissipated. The help, the friend, the healing idea overall. And I couldn’t go BACK. To anything. My life was forever changed.

I did not have the mental capacity to deal with small kids or present any kind of ‘normal’ to anyone so I could not go back to living with boyfriend.  I did not want to take care of any living souls at all whatsoever in any kind of way, nor was I capable. I don’t have to raise three very young kids who are not mine and I have the piece of mind to know this despite society/ego/self cramming it down women’s throats that we are nurturers. Motherhood is a load of shit and the hardest work you will ever do that there are no rewards for no matter what everyone tells you or what you tell yourself. Children aren’t like puppies, they are human beings that you had sex with someone to make. They come out of you and you raise them and feed them and have fun, memory lasting, good times with them. They become themselves and their own beings and sometimes even after all of that; they die. I simply can’t take on three kids who have a mother and a father already. It’s their job.

Ask any woman in her 50’s (and over), if in her next life, she would have kids. Go ahead. Ask one. A very close friend will tell you NO. No WAY. Your life is on hold as soon as that baby pops out. No matter how cool you think you are; running 5k’s, being in cross fit or starting businesses…oh yes, We may strive, as mothers, we may thrive, but mostly we survive it. We make due. We wait. Look at any famous successful women, I mean REALLY SUCCESSFUL. They either don’t have kids or had the kids and still chose the career and had someone raise the kids and they are forever judged for it. There is no way out of this thing unscathed. Or maybe she chose a job that ‘works around the kids’. Doesn’t count. She had to put off what she wanted. The man just continues on with his day, his job, his life. #metoo will never happen to moms. It will never be EQUAL. Stay at home dads are treated like Gods. Even if a woman has a 6 figure income and she’s an amazing, amazon woman…SHE LEFT HER CHILDREN to be successful. Yeah, next life…no way. This life however, I will continue to fight having to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to pay rent.

Children have minds of their own and you as a parent are not the light of their life past the age of 11. I am lucky enough to have had the pleasure to actually like and enjoy my children immensely. They were and are some of the best, most interesting, and loving, kindest people in the world. My parents did not like me, (you do not HAVE TO like your kids.) I just happen to think very highly of mine and was/still am very proud of them. Savannah put me through the ringer, but she was one of the coolest people I will ever know. I will never be as talented, as good of a writer, as raw and real as her, nor have any minuscule of the fashion sense she had or be as good of a friend as she was. My son is an adult and living his life and we are very close and comfortable together and have fun and laugh and laugh together and we are honest with each other and I couldn’t ask for a more loving soul to call my son.

I am justifying here that I can have these unconventional thoughts on motherhood in general AND still be an empathetic, lighthearted, adventurous, soul who is also a mother, but who can no longer listen to the bullshit of the push for mandatory happiness. Good attitude? I got it. Sure! Laugh more? I definitely work on that by trying to watch less tragedies. I’m too much of a realist to get over this immense pain of losing a daughter by way of meme’s and the law of attraction.

Every time I listened to Abraham Hicks (whom I have been listening to for at least six years now…) I began to wonder if any of the advice she gives would help, say…a mother who’s child has been taken by ICE. If this mother could afford a $250 ticket to a Phoenix speaking engagement perhaps or a possible $14,000 ticket in a high end room on a cruise ship seminar, would this woman, who’s child was locked in a cage in America, who is sad and grieving and worried; would these seminars and Laws of Attraction help her? If she could just ‘imagine’ her child not locked up, not in danger, maybe she could get through this.

Nope. I’m not buying it.

Abraham/Esther speaks about all of her homes and cars and trips non stop. I get it. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our cool stuff and her talking about it helped everyone accept wealth into their ‘vortex’.  A real, ‘If she can do it, gosh darn it, so can I!’ attitude. And more power to her entrepreneurial self for working hard and making all of her money. She had her husband pass away so I was very interested in her teachings getting me through my grief. All I heard now in my new life, that I am forced to lead, was people whining about money and that death wasn’t real because we are all eternal souls. Which is great for the dead person. The living mother that I am now, left behind in this non blissful, painful realm of the human life we lead here on earth, was not BUYING IT. None of this was hitting home anywhere for me and my grief let alone in my job search.

Being in the midst of a real life altering, tragic death, lifted the veil for me. Are people who are starving in the world going to get anything out of these seminars? No. Trump probably listens to them too. He sure believes in himself and thinks everything he wants is possible. He dreams big doesn’t he? He has lots of money. He thinks he’s right about his thoughts and feelings and that he’s just misunderstood. Read ANY MEME now and imagine Trump reading it. It will kill it for you.

Anyway, starving people can’t afford to attend these seminars and doing so won’t feed their families. Why don’t they give this advice for free if they believe in it so much? Why not go to the poorest of poor villages on earth and give free self help seminars? Or just HELP.

Abraham/Esther promotes ignoring reality. Which in theory is beautiful! Don’t get me wrong, I am so annoyed by reality and its relentless ability to set fire to all of my grandiose dreams and desires, believe me, I have created my own little world here in my apartment nest. Especially after I ripped it apart and nailed blackout curtains to the wall. I found this ‘wishful thinking’ and ‘build it and they will come’ type of advice and belief system to be total bullshit. They’ve got this covered too though, by leading you to believe its not working because you don’t believe in it enough. So the six year old with leukemia just doesn’t trust the future enough? Or believe it to be true enough, so they die?

Positive Thinking gives us all a false sense of REWARD. As if we are all entitled to feel better than others because of our amazing attitude that the Debbie Downers just can’t achieve. And along the same lines of this, people who are ‘negative’, are also justly punished under the same veil of falsely accusing themselves of not being ‘strong willed’ enough. So I guess all those sick and dying babies in the world are just not good enough to stay on the planet because they don’t believe.

Again…I am all for having a good attitude. I am a friendly, congenial, compassionate person. I’m just not swallowing the pill of HAPPINESS OR DIE.

So I tried to find gurus who maybe do speak to the poorest of poor. Sadhguru. Again with all the wealth and fame and cars and houses. Dandapani…nope. Took the name of an ancient king, but has a degree in electrical engineering, became a monk, got married, and has cashed IN!! (I’m sure their love is real. Who am I?) Eckhart Tolle! Who wouldn’t love that guy? He has the more nihilistic approach by far, which I like in a guru, but I cannot afford to ever go see him. Even if I could, is he going to make sure I don’t miss any more work because I can’t function or will he pitch in when rent is due? Or do I just close my eyes and stay present? No. No one is going to do that but me. Plenty of people are helping me, have helped me and continue to help me but I have to do the work. It is sucky, awful work and the worst reason imaginable to do the work; my daughter died and I have to carry on because I have a son and CONFESSION: because I kinda want to see what happens.

One day when I was driving I had a ‘Final Destination’ moment. The one where I’m on the highway and a giant truck appears in front of me that is carrying very dangerous metal things on the back of it. I went into my typical fantasy mode which I usually do when I am behind a truck with very dangerous metal things on the back of it; imagining being killed. The best part about this fantasy is that I die but not by way of suicide; something just kills me. I have concluded that it would be so much easier this way and also not my fault. Then I had a revelation.

I had spent so many years doing this, this not wanting to not be alive anymore, that this game was natural and a natural fantasy for me to really ‘feel’ what it would be like to not be here anymore. I could imagine all the ‘feelings’ of disappearing. Imagine people finding me, coming to the hospital, or apartment, or highway roadside. The fantasy usually ended up with imagining my kids getting the news of my death and then being devastated and making those feelings real would usually pull me out of it. Now, I was the devastated one, so there was no stopping me. I imagined being killed in my car by these giant steel tubes and then I imagined seeing Savannah and running up to her and it ‘felt’ great. Then she turned around was was all: ‘What are YOU doing here?’ She was pissed! ‘I missed you!’ I said. ‘I wanted to be with you! I hate this!’ I said. ‘No! No, you can’t be here!’ She told me. I thought she was sad I was dead but it was something totally different. She conveyed to me that she had immense things to learn and that she was busy and didn’t have time to help me with this whole death thing. She was very annoyed. She was in her own experience and it had nothing to do with me. That was a game changer. My death fantasy even got fucked. Nothing works anymore.

A few weeks later I tried the fantasy again and imagined a speeding car hitting me and killing me instantly, this time when I ‘died’ my first ‘feeling’ was ‘NO! WAIT! I HAVE STUFF TO DO!’ This shocked me. The fantasy no longer worked. I wanted to hang out here a bit longer and I was hesitant in the fantasy to ‘die’. I do want to see what’s going to happen. Everything changed.

I was struggling with money and working and not making enough to pay rent and this was only three months after Savannah died. I cried all the time and found it very difficult to work. I went to quit my job, was ready to pack and had two helpers who would move me back to Denver/Boyfriend’s apartment that afternoon. My aunt encouraged me to go into my job and quit in person and not do my regular disappearing act and to just tell them what was going on. She runs a restaurant and she is always willing to help people with work struggles. I took her advice and went in person to quit and got offered my current position and a pay raise. That boggled my mind. I told them everything that was happening. They helped me. So I called off the moving crew. All my typical rugs had been pulled out from under me.

Most recently, I realized I was not getting the hours I needed to make enough to pay my bills. I thought I was doing so good just keeping the job. Still crying…A LOT but I was showing up. So my first thought of a solution was to ‘Dream Big’ and ‘Believe’ that I would have all the money I needed. I love to travel and I thought I’d rent a room, pay less rent this way, live smaller, work my job and try and save money so I could travel more. New idea: DONE. (Still on the Believe It And It Will Come track.)

Then I had my third revelation: The easiest straight line to my money solution would just be: work more. I could simply ask for more hours, put my time in and make it a point to keep my apartment and build my own financial stability from the ground up. Wow. Just work more. Odd concept. No dreamers need apply.

That sounded realistically easier than what I was preparing to do in my new scheme which would have involved ten times more suffering regarding: A) trying to get out of my lease contract B) owing money for breaking my lease C) moving in with people I don’t know D) borrowing money to move in with people I don’t know E) giving up my privacy and alone time F) not having an independent lifestyle and living under someone’s house rules G) never digging in and making my life mine by always relying on someone else to provide the place/roof under which I live. It was so simple when I took dreaming out of the equation. If I just asked for more hours, I could keep my independence which means more to me than almost anything I suppose. Again my boyfriend offered to let me move in with him and not work til I figured this out; DREAM COME TRUE!!!! NOT WORK???? HELL YEAH!!! Honestly. I would be almost 90 steps back if I did that and I don’t want to handle his kids and when would I ever just settle into a life I wanted? Always running, always chasing the Law of Attraction DREAMSCAPE. If you want it it will come to you…

NO. I can’t live like this.

This is the essence of what living big means to me. LIVING. Listening to people. Communicating. Being with real people. Not memes. Hugging strangers and being kind and opening up and making someone else’s world better. Not selling people bullshit. Stepping IN to your LIFE. Saying hi. Shutting off that needy brain. There is no vortex. There’s just YOU.

I asked for more hours.

I got them.

I went on a beach Christmas vacation.

I put my apartment back together.

I have to leave now to go clock in.

I let my landlord know I am catching up and rent will be late. She was wonderful.

I am cutting hair on The Hill for all the college kids I know.

I am planning more trips.

My boyfriend and family and I had the best New Year’s Eve party ever.

I didn’t give anyone any money to figure this out.

fishing

I Can Be This Broke Anywhere

If I’m gonna be broke, I want to be broke all over the world.

And the best way to follow your dreams is start living them in the present moment. I will be a visitor and traveler everywhere I go. I no longer wait for adventures I create them. I have everything to gain. I might just be down the street sometimes but Boulder is a huge destination place and people from all the world come here; and I live here. If I’m going to work and save my money, I’m gonna save it so I can travel around the world.

I did it in my 20s and I have missed it immensely ever since. Back then someone paid my way and now I’m going to do it myself. Especially since a lot of the bloggers and ‘influencers’ (new word) now are very young; when I go out by myself all over town I see women doing the same thing that are my age or older, we want to travel alone too. I want to influence that! An old broad abroad.

Especially now; in this year (months) of grieving so heavily and feeling like I don’t have any fears because the worst thing to happen already took place. Anthony will travel with me sometimes! He’s a great adventurer and will pretty much do anything. And traveling alone is awesome too. I was on a little roll last year and had previously promised myself I would go somewhere every three months and I did it and I miss it and I want it back.

I have a job now that allows me time off when school is out and I would like to work my way into a place to live where I don’t have to pay so much rent and be out of town whenever school is out.

Ideally, Airbnb was awesome but the landlord crashed down pretty hard on that and it got kaboshed. So I will just hang out here until my lease runs out in May then I will figure out what I’m doing (for the rest of my life it seems) and in the meantime, I’ll run around town writing up places I go in Boulder. In December I’ll be in San Diego in March I’m planning a trip, in June I’m planning a trip, in September I’m planning a trip and I’m just gonna stay on this roll in this little bubble of mine where everything I want already exists.❤️😇💛

No More ‘At Leasts’

Please read this article by Peg Streep. You Had a Toxic Parent But Your Siblings Say They Didn’t 

It feels so good to know I am not alone. That this is a ‘thing’, a real form of dysfunction and it has been completely crystallized during the most trying time in my life. My mother called me the day Savannah died – did nothing but talk about my siblings and told me ‘everyone is calling (my sister) because they’re so worried about her because she’s pregnant’-(like 4 weeks pregnant btw) (also on this day she decided to tell me this info.) This IS ON THE DAY MY DAUGHTER DIED. (Truly baffling) Not one member of that family called me, ever, and then said only four words to me at the funeral: sorry for your loss. Like strangers; actually strangers have been kinder. But she still wanted to let me know the other sister was getting called and warranted all the concern. I haven’t heard from them since. —-I know I walked away, my children had relationships with these family members, I never cut that off, I did my own thing trying to survive; I just thought the death of my child would open up a little gap of something else to take place in for a little while.

I was wrong.

I am out of shock now, and see this clearly. Most recently my mom informed me she can no longer come to any events regarding Savannah as they are too sad and she has a new grandbaby on the way. -Sick- (This was at the Casa Bonita party which was so fun, but she and stepdad and my ex and his wife sat in a completely different area away from the entire group that was celebrating.)(And yes, my mother has a relationship with my ex husband of 20 years but not with me.)(COOCOO pants anyone???)

Here’s where I get stuck, and where I think I keep falling into this trap.

I can hear that voice of the devil’s advocate, or ego, or that ever strong voice that was programmed into me that made me believe the core root of myself is bad, the one that says: ‘at least they came’ (to the funeral/event/thingy) somehow insinuating that I should be grateful and they did nothing.

WHY DO WE DO THAT TO OURSELVES? That ‘at least’ voice? Why does that part even enter in? It’s from being ingrained into me by narcissistic, toxic parents and spouses, that I inherently know I am bad and because of that I am allowed ZERO feelings. It’s the ego chiming in to make sure I don’t get too far from shame. ‘How dare you speak out against these people!’ The ego says in their defense. ‘AT LEAST THEY CAME/called/bla bla bla’. Savannah’s father SHOOK MY HAND at the event. His wife said nothing and didn’t even look at me or interact with any of Savannah’s group of friends, their parents, ANYONE there…despite the fact that she isn’t quiet and didn’t mind having it announced at the funeral show that I was the ‘biological mother’ and named herself as the parent. (Of four years btw) She’s a real go getter. Real upstanding catholic citizen. But ‘at least’ I should be happy for their appearance?

A8A822AC-593D-4561-A62C-C87A49169EBF

The mistake I made, the lesson learned that day was not that I am a victim, let me just make that very clear, it is that I am always on the lookout for what I can learn. Always. Every situation. What did I learn here? That I was feeling like I should invite them so they could participate in this happy thing, so they could share in some good stuff at this awful time, be around young people. To be real honest and dig real deep though, I guess I was probably hoping they would see me as a person. Lesson learned. The act of me inviting them was about getting permission and hoping to be validated by the people who have undermined me my entire life. My entire youth. Say WOW THANKS JUDY THIS WAS NICE.

I was 22 when I got married. —-Savannah’s age. Wow.

How dare these people fuck me over during my most best youth. I refuse to let them keep that. I am a strong, independent person. And I have them to thank for that actually. The lesson here is that I don’t need permission. They can have their own events. I don’t need to invite them into my space during very special and meaningful times.

I conceived of this Casa Bonita party to gather up friends for something other than a funeral. In Savannah’s most favorite place ever. That kid. She loved Casa Bonita. I shouldn’t have made it a Shatterproof event either. I thought I needed something to stand on to get people to come. I also have an overwhelming feeling of Doing Something Good. I want to help other families, somehow, in some way. Shatterproof does that. I don’t know. I’m still navigating this.

I am learning a lot here. Regardless, we ran around that night at Casa Bonita, watched videos, went in Black Bart’s Cave, and I got to share some time with some of Savannah’s closest friends. It was amazing. Nothing will take that away. But the eye opening I had, even after 20 some years, was profound and cemented the deal to myself to be true to my heart. It was my heart’s idea to have this party. I like it when I listen to my heart.

Five years ago there was an ‘at least’ when my mom offered to help with Savannah while she was going to the Eating Disorder Program at Children’s Hospital. I had stepped away from them yet again because of their toxic bullshit. However — on the one morning she drove Savannah to the hospital, my mother asked Savannah how much she weighed. On the way to her OUTPATIENT EATING DISORDER PROGRAM.

I’m done with the justifications. I will burn this shit down. I am going to continue to move on. I’m a little angry that not only do I have to go through the grieving process, I have to recover myself from this toxic family shit. At a time in my life where I have to be stronger than ever and I have to dig really deep to find the strength and I keep coming up with handfuls of this toxic family muck. But watch me. I get to live my full life now. Finally. Its such a mind fuck that this powerful movement of becoming is rising up at a time where I lost my daughter, my soul mate. She was always an advocate for the underdog, as was I. I will not stop that crusade. I will not live without her driving me to strive for the life I want. She always did.

It’s crazy too that right now, at my lowest of lows, I can see so clearly. It’s okay to honor yourself and not let this crap in. Stand by your own guns. I made my move, so to speak, as it is stated in this article, and I made it years ago. This time in my life is just a big shining light on the fact that I am on the correct path regarding fleeing these relationships. I spoke out against someone over 20 years ago as well and paid dearly for that too. I am not a quiet soul.

Savannah’s death has made me more fearless than ever. Meaning: LESS FEARS. Life is fleeting, we have to grab it ALL. I fear less and want more. We have to live big. Nothing shows the true colors of the people around you like a complete tragedy will. My son is being an amazing human being. He is inspiring to me. He hates when I post shit like this, but we let each other lead our unconditional and individual lives. I taught him that. It might bite me in the ass one day but I want him to be happy. He is a rock even though I know he doesn’t feel like one.

I opened up wide and offered gratitude and love to everyone during a time in my life where I was at a loss for anything else. A friend of 20 years has also turned away from me recently. Grief is a crazy, crazy thing. It eats you up and you eat it up and you live and you walk around and you don’t and you do and you don’t and you do. This family dynamic is a crazy fucked up thing and it made me feel like I was crazy and bad and not worthy then I married crazy — and then my family carried on a relationship with my ex-husband but not me. It’s truly baffling and completely understandable why I went into stand up comedy.  Jeeze.

BBEE80AA-88F9-40AE-AD46-02C0F6A62BBD

It has taken me 52 years to realize this is not MY crazy it’s THEIRS. I don’t have to participate in it but I did want to let anyone know who’s going through anything similar to this, that it is real and your feelings are valid and that you matter. At a time in my life where I have been stripped of all protections, all veils, all walls, all anything, and have been left standing to weather the storm completely naked with only myself; was I able to see the reality of this.

Please don’t give up on yourself. You are real. You matter.
And thank you to those who stepped in so I wouldn’t be standing alone. I love you.
img
This article is truly the most valid thing I have ever seen.
“Physical distance and deliberate low-contact can keep sibling relationships on a simmer or low-boil for years until one unloved adult child makes a move to redefine her relationship to her mother either by direct accusation, challenge, and establishment of rules or boundaries or by going no contact. (I’ve done all of these, in that order.)  In those families where the mother has orchestrated sibling relationships, this perceived threat to her power and control will usually involve retaliation on the adult who is challenging the status quo and, often, the other adult children in the family are required to pledge their loyalty and fealty to one side and one side only. Most usually allegiance is to Team Mom at her insistence..”

#livebig #staygold #youwillbefound #standupandbecounted #healing #grief #soarabove #beyourownhero #breathe #rebel #takecharge #letitgo #breathe #alwayschallengethestatusquo

Live or Die: Part Two

This is how I got through the last 24 hours. This is scattered and un organized. I will write my novel another day. This what strong looks like:

I cried whenever no one was around. I had all these grand schemes to Go Do Something when I got off work and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I tried to go to a movie and I didn’t have my debit card so I tried to use a gift certificate and it all fell apart. Wrong theater…bla bla bla. I’m so sick of crying in public. I mean, no one really cares…some people smile, some don’t notice, but I’M sick of it. I just didn’t have the wherewithal so I came home. Sometimes to have the sadness full on, full frontal, rip roaring, bawling my eyes out, losing it, attack is all I can do. I cried so hard I made sounds that didn’t sound like me.

I watched a couple of episodes of Sherlock.

I wondered if people who have kids die any other way than from a drug overdose get more support? This is a weird thing to grapple with. It’s messy and ugly and scary to everyone and somehow makes this all ‘nasty. And fuck that. That’s why I worked so hard with Shatterproof. This is gonna be a long road.

I talked to a friend, boyfriend and my aunt on the phone.

I think I did dishes.

I read Savannah’s Instagram from beginning to end. I like to see her be alive. I like to laugh with her, I like to see her moving and talking and being funny and she was so funny. It keeps everything about her not being here anymore NOT ALL ABOUT DRUGS. She was so much more than that and in her videos I can see that. She was so talented. So much stuff on her Instagram I am astounded. And her Twitter and her Vine. All of her creativity is so alive on there. I can see she was at the peak of it when she got to New York for the first time. All of her poetry, her photography, her videos, her writing, so creative and soulful and FUCKING FUNNY and so much love and pain and hope and finding herself. She was 18-20 and really creating so much during that time.

I cried all day today wishing I could have paid for her to be in The American Academy of the Dramatic Arts for four years. She went for a summer program at the school and stayed in NY for three years. She simply loved it there and became herself in that school and with her friends that she made while attending. Surrounded by adult ‘theater kids.’ She was in New York 4 months and got cast in the play ‘Playground’ that ran in NY, London then LA. She found it. She had it. All the ‘it’ a girl needs, she had. She attended Studio 4 after that and always wanted to get back to that.

RVD_7659_WEB

I don’t know when the heroin started exactly. Somewhere in there. Maybe before she went to New York. God, I don’t know. I can see when she is clean and I can see when she is not. I’m sure I could pinpoint it if I CSI’d every journal and piece of info that I have here. A lot happened in New York. Good and bad. It was everything that made her happy and everything that ruined her.

She had just left Children’s Hospital Eating Disorder Program..(here’s a blog entry from that time.)graduated high school…and then attended the summer program at AADA then stayed in NY. The eating disorder would never leave her. The damage it does to your psyche never lets up. I’m wondering if this play pushed her over the edge. So much. She loved it, but maybe it was too much. She would go back to eating disorder rehab at The Eating Recovery Center one more time here in Denver, then on to Utah for drug rehab about a year or so later.

Her insight was amazing. What I am reading now in all of her social media, especially Instagram, were things that were helping her recover, and those words are helping me recover right now. Some of the posts brought me to my knees. I was already crumbled up in bed losing my shit but the hits were hard. It’s funny to me how private she was, yet so creative on social media. Her private life tho, was very private.

thumbnail

I can see now why people choose to not speak of someone after they die. To let it go. Let it pass. Leave it alone. I used to think ‘how could someone do that?’ Now I know. It’s so they can move through the day without wanting to die all the time. It hurts.

I’m trying not to ruminate. I hate that I know that word. I hate that Savannah had so much pain and yet I love that she still offered so much healing to the world. I hate that so many people took advantage of that pain. I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) read into these posts and words and tweets and memes like I can now. I am heartbroken I could not provide more. I am heart broken my son lives so far away. I feel like I shouldn’t waste a minute of my life in sorrow but that is impossible really. I should move closer to him. I don’t know what to do in life. Forever a mom. I spent my young life raising kids trying to have a life and now all I want is that time back.

I hate money. It made me have a hard life with the lack of it. I never really got to be the parent I wanted to be. I was always living just above poverty level in shithole apartments; that I dressed up for us as much as I could. Like in the movies, or in real life perhaps if you’ve ever seen one; how there would be a really old apartment and with old furniture but it is immaculate and everything is shiny and in its place. We didn’t have the best stuff but I kept what we DID have in the best shape. Except that one red couch I bought that felt like the first, living alone, grown up thing I purchased. I drug that around everywhere until I had to move out of an apartment to get away from an abuser and I left it by the dumpster. God I made my life hard. Did it ruin my kids? Can I take all my choices back? This thinking will drive you insane.

I asked my mom then if I could move back home and she said ‘You can sleep in your car before you can come back here.’

I always thought she treated me like a drug addict; or how we are taught to treat drug addicts who steal and lie and scare you. I never did anything to them. I always paid rent when I went home. I cleaned, cooked, helped with the horses, worked, paid back money when they bought tires. I don’t know what I ever did wrong but I finally don’t care. Fuck them for raising a daughter who hates herself.

Then look what I did. Despite everything I did to fight that. All the art, theater, song, and creativity I brought into our home for me and my two kids so we could all have our personalities and lives and no judgments. The three of us were MY FAMILY. I let them have freedom but I kept our computer in the living room out in the open. We had bedtime and rules and homework and stuff like that. We did so many things outside and biked, played roller hockey, hiked, camped, painted, sang, made videos, danced. I was so shut down as a kid when it came to having my own ideas and personality. I vowed to never shut my kids down.

This is so fucked.

So that’s what I did that last 24 hours. My mind went from past to present to my past to Savannah’s past to Anthony’s past. I dredged my brain for the sewage of answers that come up when you try and figure out why your kid died of a heroin overdose in rehab after seven months of living there. It’s a stinky, horrible maze of tunnels and places you don’t want to go.

I’m starting to think rehab in and of itself is a lie. Why would you take a group of people who want nothing more but to belong in a community and who want to be loved and separate them from their family and friends, give them no contact, have them sit and talk every single day about all of the worst things that ever happened to them in their lives over and over and over again, have to present themselves to the group for forgiveness every time they fuck up and then want them to find a life worth living? It’s like if you had to go to work and sit and tell everyone all of your shit, EVERY DAY, then when you fuck up, have to call them all together and announce the fuck up so you can get your constricted privileges back again. How are you supposed to assimilate after that? Just go find your tribe, you have a community, you BELONG, get a good therapist to go to in private, dance more, you are ok. YOU ARE OK. YOU ARE.

Intervention doesn’t work.

Just have them be a part of a community that helps each other and rises together and sings and dances and maybe has medication monitored and SHOW THEM HOW TO LIVE. Show them how to be a community. Show them how to accept, not demean, pick apart, and devour one another.

It’s insanity.

So I spent hours on this topic in my head and crying my guts out. They will still do what they do I suppose. It’s a very hopeless feeling. Figuring out humans.

Then I got up this morning and went to work.  I listened to meditations for four hours while I made breakfast and lunch for the guys. If I unclenched my brain for one minute I cried. I cleaned up. Good zen work. Ate a little food. Cleaned out my car. Now I’m home on my sofa writing this.

Crying.

Wanting so much.

It’s beautiful out.

I need to stay gold.

My son is having his life. I can’t figure this out. I don’t know how he is having it. It’s such a weird blanket grief lays on a family. I have asked him but he has no words to explain.

I’d like to just shut my brain up for one fucking day.

I have champagne in my fridge! I will make a raspberry Bellini.

That is how I am strong.

I go and go and go like a godamned Energizer Crazy Ass Robot Killer Bunny, then I take a break. Sometimes the break is a hike, painting, or watching tv, but today it is champagne.

grieve-clipart-sad-mother-2

 

 

Live or Die: Part One

So, people often tell me that I’m being very strong. And I appreciate that, I do not want to take that away from anybody. But the only reason I seem strong is because I keep living. I figure I have two choices: live or die. And with each one of those choices comes the question: well…how? You want to die? Ok, How? You want to live? How? And every time I think I just want to die, I can’t figure out how. I can’t leave my son, that would be the shittiest thing in the world to do to somebody especially right now. I think about just laying in bed and eventually dying but that would take so long and I can’t stand it. Everything else is just too painful i.e. walking into traffic, driving off a cliff. So then I decide to live. And again the question of how comes up.

If I curl up in bed for days; that’s not living. Lately I’ve been coming home from work in the afternoon and going to bed. Again, not living. I keep thinking of Savannah and what she would probably give to still be here and that doing something as simple as walking in the sunshine would be amazing to her. Getting ice cream, being able to call a friend. Sometimes I do those things. But I am still stuck with figuring out how am I supposed to find reasons to live and reasons to find life wonderful at this worst time in my life. I don’t get it. Then there are the thoughts that drive the idea that somehow she has released me more than ever to be able to do just that. How can that be? That sounds terrible. By having the worst thing in the world happen to me I am now left with the least of my fears and worries and cares. When before I was afraid to be kind and gentle and vulnerable, I now walk into it like it’s nothing. I’m not trying to prove myself to anyone when I feel like I spent a lot of time doing that in the past. Why don’t I write a novel? Lead a women’s retreat weekend? Ride my bike for no reason around town listening to music? It’s like everything is possible right now and it doesn’t make sense.

It’s almost like the best thing I can do right now is to not make sense of anything; trying to make sense of this makes things worse. And even in my brain, when I go back in time, looking for when I want to bring Savannah back and when would I do that? I can’t find the time to bring her back into because she would have to be a different person because if I had her come back I would want her to come back without pain; she was in so much pain. I would want her to have different parents and different situations and all the glory she deserved and to be friends with Andrew Rannells. ❤️

I wanted all of that for her in this lifetime.

It wasn’t going to be.

So here I am.

Being strong.

How?

How do I make my life?

How do I make a life worth living? Oh my god that is the fucking question that that drove her in rehab. Make a life worth living. It was their  motto. Ironically.

And now here I am asking myself THAT question.

I’ll tell you how I did it today.

1. I got up early and meditated and cleared my mind.

2. I got dressed I grabbed my books and paints so I can do something after work without going home – so I don’t go to bed.

3. I came to work. I cried.

4. I set up breakfast for the boys. (I cook for a frat house.)  I cried.

5. I made myself a smoothie.

6. I’m writing in this blog. Crying.

7. The boys are coming down and saying ‘Good morning!’. And ‘Thank you’. And ‘Have a good day’. And ‘I’ll see you later Judy’. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

And so I am still here.

I clear my mind and clear my mind and clear my mind. I stay focused on what is right in front of me. I need to plan lunch and organize the kitchen for that. I plan a little bit ahead so I can stay focused on the positive. And as weird as it sounds, Savannah did give this to me. By her living her whole life the way she did, she showed me how to be brave and strong and fight for my dreams. And it’s crazy and it doesn’t make sense and I can’t explain it and I’m mad at her for leaving me here and I’m mad she didn’t accomplish her dreams because she could have.

I’m at the point now where the story could end with: ‘Judy was never the same after her daughter died. I could drink my way into oblivion and just die a lonely, isolated death. I could just keep my head down and work. I could shut off and disappear. It would be very simple. In a way, I WILL NEVER BE THE SAME and that is the crazy gift. I’m just changing who I turn into instead of letting it turn me into something. I was already bitter and angry and drinking and fighting with the world. Now I’m making my world. It blew up in my face and I get to make it whatever the fuck I want right now.

I can’t shake the fact that there’s possibly something bigger at work here. I’m too goddamn stubborn to let it go. Whatever it is. I’m just trying to get out of my own way. This ‘something bigger’ DOES know, so I’ll just ride my bike and hang out.

So, I’m strong, because I’m stubborn.

It’s frustrating. And freeing and insanity.

This is as Doris Day as I’m Gonna Get

For those of you who don’t know who Doris Day is…here. She was a singer and actress from the 50’s & 60’s eras. Fresh faced, blonde, ‘All American Girl Next Door’ type. I was raised watching all of these old movies from the 50’s and Doris Day was the peppiest of peppy. (Besides Debbie Reynolds. This subject might just be another blog…) Just watch this. Que Sera Sera. You’ll see. Now that I hear that song…it does actually work. ‘Whatever will be will be” indeed. Just keep moving along. (That or its just about people who won’t commit to anything.) As a kid, she was always the example to me of putting on a happy face, looking up, moving on.

800px-Doris_Day,_Aquarium,_gottlieb.01841
Look at baby Doris Day! Awe. Boy, life really spits you out doesn’t it? What a cutie.

“To write is to create something that will have its own life, Audre Lorde thought. A writer needs to hold her nerve, conquer her fears and speak out. Her great mantra – and the title of this Lorde reader, which collects for the first time in a single volume a selection of her poetry and essays – was: “Your silence will not protect you.” (Article found here.)

‘Silence will not protect you’. Hmmmm. True. I made my last post private anyway. As much as I am so angry and so hurt…I don’t want to hurt other people. (I do want the horrible, vindictive person who made sure the priest called me the ‘biological mother’ at my daughter’s funeral that she orchestrated to go to hell tho.)(God I wish I would have stood up and just quietly left.)(Stop ruminating Judy.)

On the other hand, I also get very tired of being vague, and taking the high road. I never learned ‘tact’ in my life. I pretty much just stomp through everything verbally after ruminating over it in my head and KILLING it there. Or I just blurt shit out.

Part of me would like to believe that my writing helps other people. Other people who are angry and sad and hurt and in pain. And that seeing my story, my words, or anyone’s, on the subject, lets them know they are ok. That we all have a right to be fed up. We are not being ‘rude’ or uncaring or mean. Just being female disallows us so many feelings. I know men feel that too. A man can go write a blog about that if he’d like, I’m writing this one.

So I felt like my son would be uncomfortable if he read the blog. How do we write about ourselves? Here is where the battle lies I suppose. My self involves others. My grief and pain involves others. Savannah kept me silent for years from talking about her or my experience I was having as a mother via her. I am lost on this. The more I get out of my head the more I write. So maybe I’ll just keep doing that. Getting out of my head that is.

Today was a good day. I played 80’s jams at work. The day I wrote the last blog I was very, very down, and the grief train seems to be getting worse btw. I am coming out from under the shock and seeing the horror of everything that has taken place in a much clearer light unfortunately. My Aunt called me later that day and invited me over or to go do something fun with her. In my state of mind at the time I could not even make a decision about driving, parking, being in front of any people, the word fun…so she called my boyfriend to come and get me. That man drove over 120 miles to take me out and bring me back home. When I arrived at my Aunt’s, she had birthday cupcakes, a little present, and she made dinner. It was wonderful. I am learning how to be a supportive, amazing person who does little touches like that for other people…cupcakes and champagne? How perfect and easy to give to someone!! I am taking what I learn from the people around me right now who are being so selfless and trying to pass that on. I do have family and I am loved. Welcome to the ride of life that so many of us disallow.

Focus on the positives. They do exist. I tend to blast them all out of my life and brain with a sand blaster…but I do come around. Que Sera Sera y’alls.

The only thing that keeps us from reaching out, going beyond, doing something for others, is FEAR. Fear that we aren’t enough. I know I can say I am afraid I will be embarrassed or that I will put myself out there for someone who will take advantage of me or hurt me in some way.  I was taught this. To not trust. I learned it by being vulnerable and getting my heart and ass handed to me on the reg. So I am going to unlearn it.

This is MY LIFE.

I get to choose.

I can choose to be in my cave or I can choose to come out. I can choose my words. I can release all of my emotions all over the place and smear my heart like jelly all over the world. I can walk with my head up, or I can cry in the car with Ugly Distorted Face, so much so, that if people see me driving like this they are worried that I am behind the wheel.

“How can she even see?”

I can do this how I need to do it.

It’s only been 5 months.

It’s only been 53 years.

It’s only today.

Mad-Max-Fury-Road-final-trailer-e1432866252394
This is how I would like to do this. For a good cause. (And three feet taller and 50 pounds thinner.) (But I digress.)

 

Death… might be coming quickly,
now, without regard for whether
I had ever spoken what needed to
be said, or had only betrayed myself
into small silences…  I was going to die,
if not sooner then later, whether or not
I had ever spoken myself. My silences
had not protected me. Your silence
will not protect you.

– Audre Lorde

It’s Happening

Everyone with experience in grief has told me about this time. The time where the funeral is over and everyone gets back to their lives. It is isolating and devastating to not only deal with this grief, but to also be isolated. Everyone is ‘afraid’ of you. You are the representation of everyone’s worst nightmare. You are terrifying to everyone. So everyone ignores you. They see you and say, ‘Hey! How are you?’ And I answer, ‘I’m good, how are you?’ Like a liar. Like they asked and took no thought.

Even if they know, they don’t mention ANYTHING.

Strangers whom I tell my story to are kinder than some of the people who know me.

A man at work who can barely speak english said it best: “I’m so sorry. I don’t feel that. I don’t want to feel that.” I was trying to make work the place where I am not THAT lady. The Sad Lady Who’s Daughter Died. I’m just the lady who works in the kitchen with all the 20 year olds. I told two people there. People I thought have actual life experience. I was just looking for a picture of my bike and my daughter popped up. I wasn’t going to tell him. Then I began crying. His whole faced changed. There is no language barrier for compassion.

One of the other people I told is a guy who just got out of prison. He’d been in for six years. All of his youth. He is forthright about his life right now and I can’t handle chit chat. And I was on the verge of tears all day and unfocused. It was just me and him in the kitchen and I blurted it out. He immediately hugged me. And when we stopped he was crying.

He is actually probably a very unlikely person for me to open up to and have a bond with. He was a drug dealer. But he is very young and trying very hard to start his life over and live a different life. Just like me. He said, “I’m so sorry. You will get through this.” Then I bawled. No one came around the corner, no one walked in, we had this moment. Every once in a while he will walk by and just pat my back. Savannah always championed the people who were harshly judged. I am the same. We are the bungled and the botched.

We’ve had many conversations as oddly enough, we are on the same path. The path of What Do I Do Now? Trying to find a life. Learning. Being adults among children at this job that is possibly saving OUR lives while the others are those who have everything handed to them and paid for by their parents. Complaining that they don’t make enough to wipe down a window.

He is worried about his sister. People tell him they have inspired them to change their lives. Yet he knows he is one phone call away from going right back into his old life. I see my daughter in him, I see my struggling in life in him, I see a person just in the world trying to do good. He is covered in tattoos and has a baby face. He is trying to take care of his loved ones. He’s had a hard, beat up, life against him life. I am on his side. I am rooting for him and he is rooting for me. I like it when I walk in and see him. We see each other.

I am not invisible.

There are some people whom I want to be invisible to and some people I can’t believe that they have cloaked me. I am walking around dragging boulders of grief and pain but I am walking around and they see me and when they don’t say one goddamned thing, I instantly know they do not live in my world. They are not my people, and they drop off the face of the earth.

The people who have showed up in my world, carry me, lift me, check on me, call me, have me over for lunch. Again, strangers have been kinder. I’m like the kid in the cafeteria no one wants to sit by. The people I am gathering around me now, are like all of my Androcules. I am the lion. The thorn in my paw is being mended by compassion and care from the most unexpected people.

The true colors of other people have left me abandoned and shocked. But Ce La Vie. I have to move on. To stay in that is to die.

I am producing art. I am painting, drawing, working, crying, cleaning, bathing, sleeping, drinking, eating and walking around inside of this pain. Yet Savannah is right here. I can only see that if I do NOT do this task of life, and make it amazing, her life was for not. Naught? Either way, I am trying to THRIVE. I’ve spent the last 20 years in survival mode. I am done with that. That’s what prompted me to move to Boulder and start over. Then she died. So how do I start from there? It’s rock bottom. I have to MAKE myself bathe, brushing my teeth is on an accomplishment list. I am grateful for clean hair and that my legs work and that the sun rises. Other days I hate the sun.

I am making my life mine. I don’t think I have ever done that. I say I have been doing it, but standing where I stand now, completely lost of everything familiar, my soul mate, my son far away, in a new town, with so much change; I am now just starting.

IMG_20180808_120615

Some Days

Today I got up, and I went on a hike. It was beautiful. I smiled. I listened to Joe Dispenza talk about changing your brain. Grief and this heavy pain is like being sick. I want to change my brain and my body. Like when sick people ‘recover’. I want this to go into remission.

Savannah was so talented and amazing and just finding herself. She had such a hard time loving herself. Now she has given me this. This THING where I am the loneliest in my heart that I have ever been in my lifetime and I have to walk through it to love myself and find a life.

I’m not trying to hurry through this by any means. I’m just trying to survive it.

There is no rehab that teaches you that you matter and to regard yourself as unique and amazing and fearless. You are punished for relapsing and have to apologize to the community. In real life we can just move on. We don’t have to go to work and apologize to everyone. Or beg for our home back. We just need to change our brains. There is no punishment in trying to be a better person each day. There is no punishment in moving on and forgiving yourself, if you don’t DIE that is.  It’s okay to love yourself.

I was taught to NOT love myself.

I do not have to learn this anymore.

It is not MY lesson. It was my mother’s lesson. AND my father’s and they gave it to me.

I am giving it back to them

I am changing my brain.

I believe it is a miracle that we breathe and walk and that our hearts pump and that we like puppies and that wanting love and life and MORE is okay.

I believe I have the strength of someone I didn’t even know existed inside of me.

I went on a beautiful hike today. I cleaned up my apartment, I smiled. My heart is so, so lonely for Savannah. It is undying in its love for her and for what life she never got to have that she was on the verge of. At 20 she was just finding her creativity and voice. Drugs took her life away. Eating disorder brain took her whole self away. She never climbed out of that.

She was amazing and beautiful and loving and kind and wicked fucking funny don’t get me wrong.

But I can’t give up thinking she was on the precipice of this whole, giant life and she couldn’t get over that peak. She was up there. She made it. She was in a play that went around the world, she made friends in minutes, she was an elf at Macy’s, she was in acting school, she was making New York work. And even in rehab just recently she was building up to go back in to acting and was working at a theater that was getting ready to show Hamilton. She had her apartment set up for when she got out and I have all of her notes. I have her map of the world she was making. She had places to be in her calendar. Fun places, places that were her goals.

She wanted it ALL. ALL of it. She had it. The ‘it’ people talk about. She had it. It was all around her.

Drugs killed so much of that ambition and belief and she worked so hard to build it back. I have journals filled with her hard work. Her knowing the steps to loving herself and studying it and writing it down and caring and wanting it so fucking bad.

I’m so angry and disparaged.

I’m other worldly and not included. I’m also big and so loved and loving and want to give love because its so easy to do. Smile at someone, help someone. Its easy. I can’t live inside my anger that I had. That was not my anger. That is my mother and fathers’ and familys’ anger.

I can see my heart and it has opened up to so much compassion and such a new world that I never want to go back. But riding inside that love and peeking out the back window is a loneliness that has a permanent seat. And I will walk, and hike and work and paint and write and have a life with my son and I will give and love, but I will be lonely for Savannah forever.

I talk to her and she is with me, yes, but when people say ‘she will live in your heart’ she will, yes, but what holds my heart now is loneliness. I can see other lonely hearts. I can feel other lonely pain from people. Its okay, because I am a healer. I am just not going to deny this with ‘she’s in a better place’ bullshit. If it’s better, why aren’t we all there???

Because we chose to have hearts and minds and have this human experience. Where Savannah is right now is not a human experience. She can’t touch anything or feel a fluffy kitty or have a song fill her heart. We miss this experience and we want it so we come back here.

I have my beliefs about why and how Savannah was here. If you want to sit and chat I would love that. But spilling my guts out on this blog gets me overwhelmed at times so I’m gonna not do that particular one in here.

I come in here to express myself and share this with others because I know people need it it and relate and find it good. It is a good thing.

So I will prepare today for tomorrow. Literally. I have a guest checking in to my apartment so I can pay July’s rent. I have the 5k to go to in Savannah’s honor and to help Shatterproof and all the work they do. I am staying on the go all weekend. I am visiting with my Aunt so we can play with some recipes. I had an interview with a kitchen in one of the best fucking restaurants in Boulder that I’m waiting to hear back from. I am staying with Michael one night, going to a Shakespeare play and an airbnb with my friend another night and I am making my life move on. I am making a choice. I am controlling my mind to have the life I want, not the life I was taught to settle for. I am doing this like a fucking Badass Warrior Queen Angel Monster.

But today, my heart is lonely.

28378175_10215455010025671_3122653924897227194_n

The Dead Daughters Club

Well, I could see where I stopped talking about what was really going on in my life in this blog. Because right now I have no choice but to see it splattered all over the walls of my life. My daughter died April 17th 2018…so just a few weeks ago.

I can read through this blog and see how I dove very deeply into what was happening in my life and with my daughter. Then I can see where I stopped. I can see where there was a cliff that I shoved everything off of. Now I’m sitting at the bottom of that cliff with everything.

I have so many blogs and facebooks.

I so want to express myself.

I’m so sick of following rules.

I’m so sick of happiness meme’s.

I’m going to have my life how I want to have it.

I can’t sleep.

I don’t have a real job. I am doing odds and ends jobs like a person who just got out of prison who’s friends are giving them a break.

I’m not being nice anymore.

I want to get in my car and go somewhere.

This is not a time to ‘build a business’

No one wants to talk to Sad Mom so I have to be congenial so people will talk to me. I have to take care of THEM.

I don’t even know why I’m in here again writing is this blog, but I read it the other day and what I saw was my heart and soul displayed in here and I had a following and I saw that I cared.

So I wanted to come back.

There is no going back though. Not in real life.

This is where the whole story lies though, so I want to come back to the story.

Nothing in my life will ever be the same. I have a ghost edge to me now. Like a cut, like I’m offset from everyone now. I see glimpses of others out there who are also offset, marked down, full of compassion, the velveteen rabbits of the world.

How do I get a job? How do I care? It’s very difficult.

I’m being passed by and passed over and passed through.

Its too hard and scary to look at me. Its too hard and scary to talk to me. I’m bereaved and ripped apart and can’t get anything to ‘fit’ me anymore. I’m awkward and sometimes too friendly because I’m so alone.

I’m loved and have friends, but they are in their lives, my daily life is lived alone and I eat alone and do every fucking fuck life movement alone. I come home to no one, I leave no one. Essentially. I’m feeling it now.

Everyone has been telling me to follow my dreams.

I just need to pay rent. It’s like they are all counting on me to BE SOMEONE. At least be someone who holds it together. I can’t do that for them anymore.

I think I will let myself unravel.

babysav
I miss you so much Savannah.