Joyful Motherhood

I don’t know how to tell my mother I love her. For that, I guess I should be grateful. How can I say such things when I really do not understand the meaning, the feeling, of these simple words. If it were up to me I would shout them from the heavens. I would tell her all the ways I appreciate her and the things she has done. How proud of her with how far she has come. I guess that is love and yet I am confused. These words, so overly spoken, only have meaning because I give them such. So what if she hears my shouted words and hears something other then love? Does that make what I said false?

Should I give up?

See, the word love has always confused me. It is a subjective response to something. What I may confuse as love others may believe it to be anything but…but would that be my fault?

Maybe because I do not understand this I can not accurately predict the way which is best to express it. What if my mother needs gifts, simple actions, wishes of more? Of course, for a friend it would be different, for my daughter even more so.

How can I unpack the various ways to show love and accurately pinpoint which ones works best with which person without going through the motions of stress.

I guess this is a lot to think about because, honestly, none of it really matters in the grand scheme of things. See life is unpredictable, at least it is to me. Something so simple as love and expression, trust and affection, will not look the same for everyone I meet. But intention! Yes, see intention, is sometimes all that matters.

I do not know a lot about love but I wish for my mother to know how much I care. I want her to know that I appreciate the courage it has taken her to bring her children to this point. I have a daughter, my own precious little one, and my mother has given me all of her skills, the good and the bad in raising her. I may not know how to properly show this love but I feel my intent, with every attempt, is enough.

Another soul made of rainbows

My mother loved another soul

But soon she had to let it go

Now I can hear my mothers tears

Whispered wishes that she dares not feel

A little one who held her close

A little one who loved her most

My mother loved another soul

So much so she let it go

Dispite the tears that she cries

And the whispers she tries to hide

She did what she felt was best

But it was I who was laid to rest

See my mother loved another soul

So much so she watched them grow

And when she could remember me

In her soul she did weep

But I am watching over her

And that soul she held so close

Healing vibes.

Share a story that has hurt you.

Something that ripped you to tiny piece and made it as though you didn’t not think you would survive.

Share that story, leave out no details, because I have a feeling this will help you heal.

Realize how much you have conqured.

The painful memories you can’t bear to hold.

Just let them go.

Share me a story if your deepest fear. Tell it all and leave out no details.

We need to see we are not alone.

K – Kindess

I guess I have overcome a lot in my life. At times this is not really easy to see. I surrounded myself with self defeating imagery in the hopes that it will help me see reason. But it never works.

I know that others have it worse.

I know that I am in a better place.

I know it.

I see it

But that doesn’t always help.

I am so used to it and do not know how to change it. If I am being honest here, I think I need it. I have spent so many years of my life hating myself and others around me that it is pretty much the only way I can tell that I alive.

I think I made a comment about how I am not good with “positive” stories. I do not do love. Or happiness. Or joy. Not unless someone is suffering in someway. I fully admit that this makes me an edge queen and quiet possibly makes me seem a bit immature.

But…this is my therapy. This is how I heal.

I may surround myself with negativity but it is the only way I can used to things.

Send it below or Fucking use it

I remember the day I told my friend that I would use this very qoute from her book. I was maybe 16 and have since lived by it.

My past defines me because it gives me the ability to create this things. I use it. So with my pain, and lonliness, and heartache, and stress, what am I?

So yea…I do not think I would have a purpose without it. I may never ever really get better and I am ok with that.

It is a kindess to believe otherwise and I just do not have the space for that.

Still I respect it all the same.

D – Destroying a Friendship with Love

Today I told my therapist that I did not know what real friends looked like. All I learned about relationships was through a book or TV screen. Real life friends are vastly different from the reality I would sneak away to as a child. The one filled with dragons, and princesses, and ghost, and those with way more freedom then I.

Normal people scare me, though I guess this is not all that hard to see. I tend to struggle to be myself often letting my written word take precedence over my spoken one. See, I am believe in always telling the truth if I can help it. Written words can tell no lies. So the real me can be found in the things I do not say but in the things I write.

But I guess this is not the most ideal way to communicate with others. Maybe that is why I do not really know what it means to have “adult” friends. I have never had it modeled to me. Still, I can not say that I do not have friends.

I have one very precious to me and, though she may drive me crazy sometimes, I hold her very near and dear to my heart. I can remember what she told me when I explained to her what made her different from the rest. See, her and I share things that I do not share with others. I do not tell my others friends how I feel through everything that I go to. I do not go into details if asked how I am doing. I honestly, do not think many of them would care. Still, I call them friend because they are kind to me. I value their time even if they do not understand the true me, the real unfiltered me. Not like this friend does anyways. With her I do not always feel shame. Maybe this is because we were both stuck in our fictional worlds for such a long time. She knows what I mean when I say that I feel nothing while smiling. She knows what I mean when I say that when everything as I am trying to force myself to sleep. She just gets it.

And yet, I question this friendship because it reminds me of the reality I had as a child. There are times when I think she is a figment of my imagination. I will just wake up to discover that her, her little girl, and my own are not real. I feel it coming and I am afraid. And she understands that even if she does not share the same pain.

I think this is love of which friendships are suppose to be based on. I say this because there are times when I do not understand it and she is often made to explain this emotions. Love is silent. It creeps up on people when they least expected and is not always that easy to see. There are times when we do not know that it is there. Anger, sadness, rage, depression can disguise it in ways you don’t even know. But that does not mean it has gone away.

With this friend, I am not always happy with her. There are times when she makes me feel so terrible. There have been times when I wanted to never speak to her again. But love is a fickle thing and also catches me off guard. Like those times when I am angry with her but she comes up and tells me that she appreciates me. There was a day when I decided I would tell her that I never wanted to speak to her again but she messaged me asking me if I was OK. She told me that I was an amazing person and that she was so happy to have me as her friend. At that moment I realized that my anger was unnecessary and we talked through things.

We talk.

Even when one of us is being an ass.

We talk.

I do not think this is something that a lot of people would comprehend as good thing.

See, I created a reality to escape the pain. It taught me to see monsters in everyone. I do not trust easily and can speak a lie like the best of them leaving only my written word to be truth. I did this because I was afraid to be alone but to afraid to reach out and make connections. While in her own reality my friend flourished under the same turmoil. So is it any surprise that we get along so well?

I was not lying when I told my therapist I knew nothing of friendship. I am too flawed, to jaded by life, to be able to really be a decent one to anybody. But with her by my side I am OK with this. Neither of us wanted to be perfect anyways.

~

This blog idea came to me thank to The Dream Girl Writes from her A to Z challenge post titled Annoying Friends. I wanted to show my friend how much she meant to me in the best way possible and seeing The Dream Girl Writes post made me think that creating this post would be a good way to show it.

To my best friend Jen, You are absolutely one of the most amazing person to ever play a part in my life. We may not always make the right choices in our friendship but it is one of the purest there is. You mean so much to me and I am so happy to know that our children share the same bond. May we break the cycle of those who came before and raise them to be amazing little humans as well. My bestie westie for all ways Jen.

And thank you Dream Girl for that wonderful first start to the A to Z challenge! I wish you all the luck.

~ I am proud to say that my best friend also has a blog (peer pressure at its finest lol) you can read some of her work here. I may be a bit biased but she is a really talented writer.

Edit: I just found out last night that my friend and I had the same idea for a post. So make sure to read her post for C – Catharsis

My head

I feel empty.

Not that isn’t right. I feel something but not the normal kind. As though my spirit is breaking, shattering, quaking in my body to the sounds of a dying heart.

I can feel it leaving.

Every breath I make wheezing and squeezing in my chest. My lungs crushed between broken bones and a dark place.

I can’t take it

Yet I am here faking, smiling, lying to the people I love. Waving from the side lines using pride to hide what I feel inside. Bursting from the seams I am coming undone

But here I am.

I don’t want to be but I am and I don’t know how to stop, let go, be free. I do not know how to me. The normal me. The real me. The thing that I can help but dream.

And it is to late

I want to give up but here I am. Decaying flesh and hopeless despair. Melting toa darken state. Smiling with out a care to hide my mistake.

A Sudden Disinterest

I contemplated praying the other day when I saw my mother crying. An irresistible urge to comfort her in the only way she knows how. But I digested the feeling and found it lacking…something.

A certain flavor to give rise to my struggles. Not things I share with those flawed like me but something I quickly lust about to those others who believe. Others who are so far from me but still people I love.

I saw my mother crying and wanted to give comfort in the only way she knew how. Copy the posture beaten into me and speak past a jaw wired shut. But there was something wrong with this image. This debatable fiction layed out before me.

I tried to bring up the images of those I despise with such a passionate love that it can only be fate. Oh how I tried to push them away but when I needed them most they stood by. Watching my mother with regretful tears in her eyes. Me on my knees easing my hands on high!

But I distress with this taste in my mouth most foul and tamed. Struggling past the restraint to say amen.