Bad Choices

Why do we knowingly make self-defeating decisions?

Is it the comfort in the disappointment?

That old familiar friend, self-hate

waiting within our ear to whisper,

“Why not? You know you want to. You might as well. You are already thinking it.

So you do.

Acting as though you are more clever than poor choices,

while you make them.

And then afterwards

that same voice hisses,

“You fool. You knew better. Aren’t you smarter than that?”

On Speaking Terms

We spoke today for the first time since we parted ways.

Your voice sounded smooth- rich and velvety as it always has- but it sounded younger today.

Your deep, southern drawl and slow pace of speech made the words bend and last forever.

Oh, how I’ve missed your voice.

I miss the comfort within each drawn out syllable.

I missed the way it danced on the drums of my ears sending my heart into a frantic rhythmic beat.

I miss the kindness behind each well thought out sentence.

“Friends?”

We agreed. We lingered.

And I let you go.

As I will have to do each morning when I wake thinking of your smile and each night when I go to sleep dreaming of your kiss.

Friends until the end.

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.

 

 

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.

Change

I will be honest about my thoughts and feelings on this piece and let you know now that my mind will have changed and may be different in two months or less.

Right now, I am licking wounds and looking for solid ground to stand on. My heart is hurting (even if deep down at the bottom of it, I kinda believe that it is for the best). Let’s get to it… 💔

I have been hot and cold for my boyfriend of four years for about the last six months or so. Being who I am, I never held back my feelings towards him. Ty was fully aware that his lack of goals or ambition was driving me insane. Looking back, I know that he was miserable. He hated the company he works for (still does). His sjogren’s and arthritis were hurting him, probably still are. He felt sad all of the time. He wouldn’t go visit with his family. He wouldn’t go see a doctor. He woke for work at 4:30 AM and made it home around 5:30 PM. Then he would crack a beer, sometimes just one, and sit on the couch waiting for dinner to be served. He never cared what we ate. After dinner, he would fall asleep on the couch until I’d ask him to go to bed- and he would argue most of the time. This routine wasn’t surrounded with much loving conversation. We had sex twice a week maximum, when I asked for it- and sometimes he was just “too tired”.  Looking back now, he had grown tired of me. I was impatient and a nag. He was content with what he had. He didn’t want goals like a planning wedding or a having child or a building a house.

As horrible and painful as it is to admit, I am now aware that his love for me was learned and took effort. My love for him was chemical. It was animalistic and automatic. It was never hard for me to love him, not even through the worst of times. As long as he came back and was sorry, I would love him forever. I had accepted that we were in a rough patch and wanted to press on. It just wasn’t the same for him. Probably never was…

When we first started dating and unbeknownst to me, he was a drug addict. Apparently had been for about six years prior. For the first two years, we did this awful tug of war between addiction and sobriety.

When I finally left the first time, he went to rehab. As of May 28th, 2016, he had been sober for two years from opiates. He still is as of today as far as I know. He knew from the very start that I would be good for him. He knew that I loved him and that I would be strong and wouldn’t allow him falter as much as anyone could. I could read the drugs in his eyes and would call him on his bullshit quickly all the while reminding him how handsome and cable and intelligent he was. He wouldn’t risk losing me for the next two years and two months.

About a year ago, when we moved back to his hometown from Savannah, Ga, he promised that we wouldn’t live in that house forever. That trailer that his father bought for his first marriage. This little old 80’s model single wide that sat less that 100 yards from his parent’s house- the one where he got high so many times. But honestly, it is the only place he wants to be- “no bills!- why not?”. He is perfectly content there and I am not. I was not. I will never be again.

His family hated me and it made him feel like he had to choose between us. I never asked him to and begged him to visit them, but it didn’t matter. The rift between them and me deepened the one between he and I.

The day we actually broke up was a disaster. I had been awake for over 22 hours helping my best friend pack and move her apartment and storage unit in a U-haul from Nashville, TN. I came home, slept for like 5 hours and then he came home from work. He didn’t act like he missed me at all. I had been gone for 5 days. He had a side job to go to right then and had volunteered to pick up some extra hours the following day.

I was hurt. I said “You don’t love me like I love you, do you?” And when he would usually protest, this time he said, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you in my life.” I backed away slowly, got in my car, rolled down the window and said, “This is so over.” And I left.

I came back two hours later to apologize and he didn’t care. He didn’t want to make up…

I do not know if this is just a stage of a break-up or maybe of grief, but I feel so guilty. This has shown me that I am such a hard person. I already knew that I speak too harshly. I don’t hold back, often when I should.

Sometimes I feel like I emasculated him. I was bossy and bitchy and neither of us were happy because of it. Looking back on it now, I handled everything wrong. I should have been encouraging. I should have made my happiness my own responsibility. I should have let him find his own way without trying to force him in directions. They say hindsight is 20/20. I fucking hate clichés.

I remember hanging out with my single friends who were dating and thinking, “God, I am so fortunate. I have a fantastic boyfriend who I love so much.” And I didn’t show it- not nearly enough.

Would it have mattered? I mean, that still wouldn’t have made him love me, would it? I mean, I have been loved before. My high school sweetheart was toxic, but he was in love with me. Ty loved me but “not the way your are supposed to when you say ‘I do'”- those are his actual words on that final night. He also made a splash with “there is absolutely no spark anymore” and “I really tried but it’s just not there, I’m sorry”.

I showed him seventy-seven shades of crazy in about 7 minutes.

You used me?! So you never loved me? You tried?! What the fuck does that mean?! Fuck you! Why would you do this to me? I loved you. I took care of you. I went through hell with you. You promised that it would be worth it! You promised that we would do this together forever. You fucking liar! I HOPE YOU END UP STRUNG OUT ON PILLS LIKE YOU WERE BEFORE YOU FUCKING USED ME. I am sorry, I didn’t mean that- I love you so much. Please say that this is an awful joke. Please say that we can work this out. But you don’t want to marry me!? There is no spark!? Why the fuck have you lied to me for FOUR GODDAMNED YEARS AND MADE ME THINK THAT…

I sobbed, screamed, begged, and then gave up in a pile of tears on my bed. He eased in behind me, pulled the covers over me and started massaging my shoulders. I continued to weep. He rubbed my shoulders, then my back, then my hips and my thighs, and…

I fucking had sex with him.

I don’t know why. Maybe a final pathetic plea of some sort. Don’t worry, it was not good sex… I immediately rolled over (after he came inside of me-inconsiderate) and continued my sobbing. He held me for the rest of the night, for one last night.

When he went to leave for work around 5:00 AM, he came to kiss me- and I wouldn’t allow it. He told me he loved me. I told him he was lying. He slammed the door. I packed my bags while he was at work.

I will have to go back for my furniture soon, after I find an apartment. I have been staying with my mom (shoot me).

I have only texted with him once briefly in the first few days in which he told me that he was happier without me… Ouch. That little reality check slapped me in the face because I do love him. And his happiness is very important to me.

If he is happier without me, I just want him to be happy.

Disconnected…

What does that word mean to you?

Is it a feeling?

Is it a verb?

Is one or the other or both?

Does that even make sense?

 

Ha.

Disconnect, ye disconnected…

 

a universal human experience

 

to be human is to be temporary

and how wonderful it is to be

only temporary

and human

all in one and one in all.

 

 

I can’t wait to be 50.

I feel like there is a certain age at which you are allowed (by society) to no longer give a fuck.

You can dress as you please. Speak as you please. Live as you please. And no one is looking for you to change. They accept that you are “set in your ways”.

This is an age at which you can flip the bird to a 10 year old and a 70 year old on the same block (only if deserved and with no fucks given).

There is no more”respect your elders” talk because, hell, you are an elder and you have lived long enough to know who deserves your respect and who doesn’t.

I have always been told that I am “an old soul” but I must say my “stay the fuck away from me, let me read and swing on the front porch” stage is starting far too soon…

xo-

💘 Am

 

On Death

My little sister, Brooke, who juniored me by 18 months, was in a tragic car accident with two other teens early in the morning of March 24, 2008. They were all three killed on impact.

This has been the single most defining event in my life. The lessons that this has taught me could not be understood in any other possible way, as harsh and awful as that seems. I am still learning these lessons everyday. But this is part of my soul’s polishing process- and it hurts.

The most precious human being that I ever had the pleasure to know was Melanie Brooke Dover. Silliness and beauty followed her like light follows the sun.

When the world was able to wipe her from it’s existence sending her onto her next adventure without my permission, my brain melted.

My heart froze.

I denied my soul.

Everything turned black.

For about two years, my anger churned and burned. I cursed God. I became reclusive. I grew apart from my family. My bad relationship got worse. I just didn’t understand.

This was never part of the plan.

HOW? WHY?

I wanted answers.  I wanted to understand. I wanted to trade places.

She was the good one. Not me. She had plans. I never have.

I saw multiple psychologists and psychiatrists. I was diagnosed with more ailments and disorders than I can remember. I was switched from anti-depressant to anti-depressant from benzo to benzo. “Here is a pill to level you out daily. Here is a pill to help you sleep every night. And here is an extra pill for when you have panic attacks.”

None of that jazz really worked out for me.

There was one counselor who understood me and that helped me to learn to start loving myself again. She told me that time was all that would make it easier.

She was right.

By now the all that time has let some scar tissue form and the wounds are eight years old.

I still cry and it still hurts often. But somehow, I believe I am a better person because of it.

I consider the value of life more. I want to better the world and be a part of it in a way that I did not before. I no longer feel guilty to be happy. I have a desire to live and travel more than ever before. I don’t fear physical pain like I did before. I am gutsier and more honest. I feel like I have to make a difference in the world, because I know that she would have.

Don’t get me wrong, in her short 17 years, she touched more lives than I even know of. But if I can give back just a smidgen of the love and hope that she gave me, I will have lived well.

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It’s been a while. (a.k.a. “On being fired”)

I haven’t written in almost 2 months.

Much has occurred, but I am only going to hit on the important stuff, and not in chronological order.

  • I was in a wedding for a dear friend, Winston and his darling husband, Brian.

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  • I took a 5 day cruise to the Bahamas.

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  • And I was fired for the first time in my (almost) twenty-seven years.

flushed-face

The on-board ceremony for Brian and Winston took place while at port in Jacksonville. They picked the most luxurious venue on the cruise ship. There were giant pink pearls in the ceiling, fancy glass flute-like lights, and a shimmering golden curtain at the front stage area where the ceremony took place. The reception had the fanciest, most delicious food and an open bar. It was both a grand and intimate affair; exactly as a wedding should be.

The cruise was lovely until halfway through, for the two nights when we experienced 5 foot waves. My bed creaked with every sway. Dramamine became my dearest friend (once I finally discovered it on the 2nd day of the movement).

That cruise was about two weeks after my cousin/boss stopped me in the hallway at work and asked to speak with me “just a quick minute”. He followed me into his wife’s office and rapidly told me that he needed someone to work 45+ hours a week and my 22 hours (as agreed upon when I was hired a year ago) was just not enough. He also mentioned that he already had someone in mind to fill my position, and that he refused to ask me to put college on the back burner. So here was a thousand bucks, I could go ahead and clear my desk and take some time off. “Is it something I’ve done?” I managed to stutter, still processing what was happening. “No! And don’t take this as me firing you. We are family and I love you. You are so smart. I just need someone who can be here more. ” Still confused, I wiped my tears and scurried back to my desk.

I have been working since I was fifteen years old. I have never been let go or fired from anything. I have never had someone say, “Thanks, but we really don’t need you.” or “You just aren’t worth it or working out.” This has been a blow to my ego/self-esteem.

I am so thankful for my overly comforting boyfriend. He was angry at first, just because he knew my feelings were hurt. But he keeps reminding me that this is how it is supposed to be and probably a blessing in disguise. “Look, I am working over-time since it is summer and you are still taking classes and all… we don’t necessarily need your income, I mean, you really don’t even have to get a job if you don’t want to.”

Thanks boo, but I need to feel useful and like I am holding my own.  I will be ok. I will find something better suited for me. I will stay positive and start looking for my next adventure. Some-fucking-how…

 

Here’s to new beginnings!