The Journey

You have to go alone.

No one will be with you through all of the trials.

No one can fight your battles and win your victories.

No one could ever complete it the way that you will.

Many will pass by like glimpses through your peripheral.

Many will accompany and guide you along the way pointing you in directions.

Some will start a fire within you that takes you on turns that you never expected.

Some will try to extinguish your light so that theirs may shine brighter.

Some will come along and attempt to rekindle your lost flame.

Some will succeed.

Some will fail.

All will impact you, one way or another, for better or worse.

But no one will stay through it all.

They can’t.

They have their own road to take.

So be brave and be bold.

Do not fear.

Do not try to control it.

Embrace what you have been given and make the most of it.

It is all any of us can do,

on this journey.

 

 

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What is the big GOD-DAMNED deal?

I am so tired of being chastised for that word.

Goddamn. Goddamned. Goddamns. Goddamnit.

I am not damning God.  I love God. Or the universe or whatever that essence is.

I use it out of frustration…  as in, “God, if there is a hellsend this __________ there.”

I am asking for his help with smiting. I am not angry AT him. I am angry WITH him.

Why is that so hard to understand? Especially if I were praying to the Christian God… isn’t that his jam? Paying back those who won’t accept him?

sigh.

It is 1:00 in the morning and I am only on my 5th Orange Henry’s Hard Soda. My buzz is barely stable, if you can even call it a “buzz”.

I’m not pissing and moaning about Ty so that is a good start but is religion any better?

 

I did get invited to a party tonight, so that was fun…

Cassidi & I showed up at like 10:30- which is when the “par-tay” usually gets “krunk” (or do they not use that one anymore?😬) Anyways, once we arrived we quickly realized that we were nearly a decade older than everyone there… which means that more than likely there was some underage drinking…

…so we boot-scoot and boogied our way out of there and back to my madre’s hizzy to kick it with her and chillax for the night. (Don’t I sound cool?)

 

Bedtime. 🌙 1:52 AM

 

It has been three weeks.

Three weeks ago today, I walked out of your front door with two bags of clothes, my dog, and what tiny bit of dignity I had left.

I wish I could say that it was easy. I wish I could say that I am sure that this is what I want. I wish I could say that I will replace you. But I can’t say any of that just yet. So I won’t.

I can say that I am happier now. I don’t feel as mentally weighed now. I want to love myself now. I didn’t care to before.

Since we have parted ways, I have went to see my primary doctor and my therapist (which I haven’t seen either in three years prior), I have set up a full schedule of six classes (most taken yet) for the Fall semester (while maintaining my current 4.0), and I have gotten a part-time job.  I haven’t found an apartment yet. I haven’t saved enough to make a move. But I am hopeful and trying.

I wonder how you are and how you have been. I want to talk to you so much that it makes the lump in my throat ache and the knot in my stomach swell. How do you feel being surrounded by me? All of my stuff is still strewn about your house.  We haven’t spoken since two days after, when you said you were happier this way. We haven’t spoken of my things or when or where I will move them. I just don’t know yet. So we won’t talk until I do.

I am currently living with my mother for the first time since I was seventeen. I am sharing a room with my little sister. We are all getting along better than I ever expected. I am grateful. I am humbled. I am loved.

But I am also impatient. I want progress. I want to move forward. I want to be past this part, past this chapter where I am hurting. Growing pains, we will call them. I am ready to start loving myself.  Where to begin?

 

 

“More Fucked Up Than a Soup Sandwich”

So I saw my therapist yesterday.

It has been nearly 3 years since I have sat on that couch. And she said so many things. So may brilliant and scary things. Words like General Anxiety Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, ADHD,  and Codependent are still floating through my mind.

Just a ball of nerves or General Anxiety? Just bad dreams or PTSD? Just spinning wheels or ADHD? Just helpful or Codependent?

Yeah right.

There is no fucking getting out of that last one.  It took very little research to know that she was right. When she said the word “Codependent”, I was like, “Shit. you got me. Finally one that I can’t talk myself out of.”

The following is from Mental Health America.Net

(original post here: http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/co-dependency)

“Co-dependents have low self-esteem and look for anything outside of themselves to make them feel better…They have good intentions. They try to take care of a person who is experiencing difficulty, but the caretaking becomes compulsive and defeating. Co-dependents often take on a martyr’s role and become “benefactors” to an individual in need.

The problem is that these repeated rescue attempts allow the needy individual to continue on a destructive course and to become even more dependent on the unhealthy caretaking of the “benefactor.” As this reliance increases, the co-dependent develops a sense of reward and satisfaction from “being needed.” When the caretaking becomes compulsive, the co-dependent feels choiceless and helpless in the relationship, but is unable to break away from the cycle of behavior that causes it.”

This basically just described the relationship that I was just in that just ended. He started as  a drug addict.  I was his martyr. I “saved” him. And it just didn’t work. It didn’t work for either of us.

And here I am, still acting like a little bitch when I know that it wasn’t a healthy relationship…

Get over it, Amber!

My therapist thinks I shouldn’t date until I get these dependency issues worked out. She said I was allowed a “fuck buddy” but I know that I can’t separate love and sex so that just doesn’t jive with me. Time to invest in some batteries…

I am not going to miss you tonight.

I told myself I wouldn’t. I know that I shouldn’t. I am where I am supposed to be. I have been more productive in the last three weeks than I have been in the last three months. I finally feel free to be happy again. I finally don’t feel like a nagging bitch all the time. I feel useful and creative again.

So why do I miss you so much?

Why do I wish you would just call and say you were wrong.

Could you be wrong?

That isn’t possible, is it? For you to be wrong about being in love with someone?

You know when you can’t live without someone.

And you are.

Living.

Without me.

And you are happy, I suppose.

I should be, too.

So why am I not?

Brain, please don’t dream of him tonight.  Eyes, please don’t search for him tonight. Arms, please don’t reach for him tonight. Heart, please don’t hurt for him tonight.

💔

 

On Writing

A dear friend told me that I don’t have to create amazing prose each time that I sit here to write you.  It’s difficult, you see, because I don’t really know what this is. It is a hobby, for sure. It is a form of self-expression that I tend to use when I am feeling blue or have a funny story. But I don’t feel like I can stop by and write unless I have something worth reading.

Someone recently said to me, “I was reading your diary online and…”

My diary? Oh shit… Is that what this is? I mean, I don’t keep a diary. I wish I did. But I guess I really don’t hold back when I am writing you. So this could be a diary. I feel like you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to know.  And I wouldn’t be sharing if I didn’t want you to know.

I want to make this more frequent. I will try and write at least once a week from now on, not leave you hanging on for so long. Not that you are hanging on in anyway, but, here you are… still reading my nonsensical bullshit. haha.

Peace & Love

💘

-Am

After A While & Dear Woman

These are not my poems. But they have resonated with me lately. I hope they speak to you and touch your soul like they have mine.

 

After a While by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.

 

Dear Woman by Michael E. Reid

Dear Woman,

Sometimes,

You’ll just be too much woman,
Too smart,Too strong.
Too much of something
That makes a man feel like less of a man,
Which will start making you feel like you have to be less of a woman.
The biggest mistake you can make
Is removing jewels from your crown
To make it easier for a man to carry.
When this happens, I need you to understand,
You do not need a smaller crown –
You need a man with bigger hands.