This specific special song brings me to a life changing moment in my life; The way the words hit deep into my membrane ; echoing the feelings and amplifying the intensity of knowing nothing would be the same ever again. I am nervously writing this in hopes someone reads and has a connection with this story.
This morning as I was sipping on my first cup of coffee, I started thinking about all of my writing sisters who have posted a ton, and I mean a ton of stories about men’s attitudes toward the female population.
I’m a Starbucks Mom. I’ve been the crying towel, listening to my son, daughter and their respective crews in Virginia and Colorado for months. Now I’m here to address the issue of the legion of Karens, Sharons, Beckys, and Chads (KSBC) who make the lives of employees miserable.
There is so much that has happened since I left for college that I feel it’s time for you to know about, know who I am. I’ve had so many beautiful and painful experiences in the last few years that have helped shape me into becoming the person who I am today, that I have grown into. The person who I have learned to love and embrace. Who has been through more than you know. Knocked down but always finding a way to thrive. Always finding a way to navigate through any darkness I am faced with. Internally fighting so much between my past and present. Between what is really a part of who I want to be and what I thought was because of my exposure. I have spent a tremendous amount of time getting to know myself all the parts that make me who I am, good and bad and have learned how to learn those parts. The parts that were confused. The parts that have needed direction. The parts that were in pain. The parts that had questions that were never answered. The parts that were silenced that just wanted to be heard. The parts of me that for so long I never acknowledge or even knew were inside of me that have slowly emerged that I’ve come to know.
Every year around this time there’s candy themed objects of hearts & color scheme of red & pink covering the land. Always dividing people into categories that may or may not matter. Couples & singles for love or not. Valentines Day these days become about celebrating the love between people & bringing business to compares who promote this holiday.
The sound of old jazz music echoed through the thin walls of the building. The screams of an arguing couple were heard through the wall of the next apartment. The sound of shattering and a big object tossed against the wall caused the single hung picture frame to tremble. One more shattered vase. Tomorrow the apartment next door would be silent until the man would return how with a bouquet of flowers. With false promises of trying better, of begin a better man. The flowers would be received being placed inside the new vase. By the time the flowers would dry the vase would once again shatter and the promise would fly out the window.
I'm sorry I've not written in a while. I hope you all had a great Valentine's Day. I spent mine with Peeves as my fiancé was (and still is) away on a training course for work. I did get to celebrate on what society calls Galentine's Day. We celebrated with Top Gear specials and prosecco. It's not a typical Valentine's, however it was perfect to us.
I’m pretty flamboyant in social situations, especially in groups – a classic extrovert. However, I actually need a lot of time on my own to recharge so that I can be that energised when I am around people, otherwise I start to feel sluggish. After a whole lot of trial and error I have finally started to build up a tool kit for maintaining good mental and physical health. It’s always a work in progress so, at 22 years old, here is a list of 22 things which I deem to be unwaveringly important to my health:
Numbness. That’s how she could describe it. A constant, evaporation of numbness. All sense of joy or that some may call ‘happiness’ ceased to exist in her mentality. Everything was an exhaustive process that she could not shake away. It was like being trapped in her own personal cage of disgust and fear that never seemed to let in any form of bliss, only hatred for one’s self. The numbness she seemed to feel may have been a way for her physical body to process this specific form of hell.
Growing up I always had this ideal image in my head of what a family is, and isn't, the woman I thought I needed to be, as a wife, and a mom. I knew without a doubt what I did not want to become. I knew what kind of mother I would never be. I was adopted, and between the stories I have heard and the legal papers I have read, I have to take peace in that everything happens for a reason. As a teenager, my (adoptive) sister and I saw our mom struggle with life. Not in the sense of bad around every single corner, but literally life. Repeatedly, my sister and I would have to go to the store for bandages and gauze from another failed attempt of suicide. 17 attempts until the day I moved in with my grandparents because I refused to keep living in the nightmare. That was the first day of my senior year in high school.