To the people of my past

To the people of my past who shaped my present and will help shape my future:

I can’t and I won’t apologize for who I was during a particular time in my life.

I could, but what how does that help me? It doesn’t. It can’t change anything about who I was, the actions that I took, the things I said or even how I behaved. I can only send my apologies that you aren’t able to experience how I’ve grown, who I have become and who I will become.

For the people of my past who continued to my present and hopefully my future, thank you. Thank you for sticking by when I was at my lowest and continue to stick by me as I fall further.

If you know anything about me, and even if you don’t I suppose, then you should know that I don’t let people into my life. I don’t let people in to my heart unless they deserve that spot. I don’t give pieces of myself to just anyone. When you walk away, I do too. The only difference is that I don’t look back. As awful as it sounds, I don’t check in on you from a distance, it’s as if you never existed to me unless it’s relevant and even then I don’t use your name. But if I let you in during a certain period of my life you served a purpose. As systematic or pragmatic that may sound, you did. You served a purpose for me so I can and will thank you for that.

Some of you taught me things about myself that I never would have learned otherwise. Some of you taught me what I will and will not compromise on. Others taught me what toxic relationships look like. Others taught me to find value in myself. Unfortunately so many of you taught me how to hate every last part of myself down to my core being. You almost allowed me to think that the world would be better off with out my darkness in it. The thing is though you dont have that power over me, you don’t dictate my actions, my thoughts or my moods. You my influence them, but I am my own person.

I make my own choices and you don’t have to agree with or like them, that’s not my problem. That’s your problem. That took me the longest time to learn and understand and actually conceptualize to the point that even as I walked across the bridge to get to this rock that I sit on as I type and I thought, I fucking thought about jumping and ending it, it would have been my choice because of my OWN feelings and thoughts.

I try not to let anger rule my life or my emotions, I try to live in a way that allows me to forgive those that have slighted me, but honestly. Most of you from my past that didn’t carry forward can just go fuck yourselves. My life is so much more full without you, that I want to thank you for letting me go and giving me the space to find myself.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever had a moment where you think about what you would say to someone if they ever asked you “if you could be anywhere right now; past, present, future, whatever. Where would you be? It’s kind of like being asked if you could take your dream vacation, describe it.

When Kelsie was still here, our most dreaded household chore was laundry. Like, we avoided it as often as possible. We finally sorted out that if she washed it, I would fold it because I was particular about whatever it is she thought I was particular about, probably socks. Now though I have to do all of it. But, like laundry is all fun and games until it has to be folded and put away. Which would explain the two loads I just dumped onto my bed so that I would be forced to finally fold them.

I started thinking about what I would give to have Kelsie alive, with me, in our old bedroom, folding laundry and helping me put it away. Actually, what I would give just to have her alive period. I don’t care about the wedding, or really anything. What I would give just to be able to have more of those boring, mundane moments. Whether it was just holding hands in the car, laying in bed before we fell asleep, sitting on the deck drinking coffee before we had to shower and get ready for church, walking the dogs, cooking together, or even just watching hockey and drinking cider after a shitty day at work.

Have you ever thought about what you would give to hear a loved one say “I love you” one last time after they have already passed? I have, but I don’t think I could ever give enough. Just for one more “I love you.” Just for one more hug. Just for one more dimpled smile. Just for one more look into those poop brown eyes. Just, for one more.

I wonder, have you ever…

(Un) fun read 

I really, really have nothing to say. My mind is numb and I’m running on empty. Emotionless. It sucks because to even go to my home away from home, to my happy place, literally called Happys, I had to go back to wearing a patch, find my anxiety medicine, you know the fun one that makes me black out, and get fucking obliterated just to be able to stand it. Sure I got to play laser tag, throw some darts, hear my southern accent reveal itself, and push another girl up against her car and hear her moan into my mouth as I kissed her for the first time, but I felt nothing. Not in the sense that for her I felt nothing, although I could honestly care less, she is nice, fun, easy to hang out with, but I got nothing, so I guess for her I romantically feel nothing. It’s okay it happens. Like I said #singlelife and living it out. I made plans to go to Florida in March to play wing woman-why I don’t know, drunk me thought it would be a good idea-drunk me thought a lot of things would be a good idea last night. Clearly, since I woke up this morning having texted two of my ever favorite exes to be around. Don’t get me wrong, one of them I love til death, she’s the one I turn to when shit goes down-when I looked into the future with my most recent ex, I couldn’t picture her standing next to me and helping me get over the ever pending death of my grandmother. To me that says a lot. Like yeah I would have married her and done that shit, she was great, but even my subconscious was telling me that when things got hard she wasn’t the one that I was going to count on to help me stay together or even put myself back together. Why I texted either of them last night, I couldn’t tell you. Why I still have her phone number in my mind, no fucking clue, why my drunk self could even type it in, I can’t fathom. So I kissed a girl, and I can’t really remember it. I literally had to blow my mind out to even want to take it that far. Sure she is, well I don’t even know, sometimes it’s just nice to kiss someone I guess. 

You know how when you read certain things like fanfic? Especially about the supernatural ones, like vampires can just turn their feelings on and off? I can do something similar. Like not to the point where I become savage and ruthless, okay maybe I become ruthless, I’ve heard being shut out by me is fairly brutal, but like I just literally don’t feel anything, don’t give two flying fucks about anything. I can be emotionless and it is simultaneously the most amazing and terrifying thing I can experience. It’s amazing because of how freeing it can be to escape feelings, but terrifying because I am no longer me. To be perceived as normal becomes a strain and then they no longer believe I am fine, the cracks in my armor are visible. 

It’s time to put on a new patch. Or maybe just say fuck it and start smoking again. No that’s the unemotional part of me talking, telling me that I don’t give a shit about myself. I do give a shit, I care about living and I no longer wish to die, I no longer wish to escape this world, I long to live in it, to experience all of its beauty and even its ugliness. There is the other part of me, the side that constantly tries to rear its ugly head that says to just live on the edge, do you, whatever it is just do it. Maybe some sleep is what I need, maybe even to lay off the alcohol and PRN meds, and keep up with the patch. 

Things are always better in the morning. 

Until the next time I decide to pull my head out of my ass and write down how I am feeling and what I’m thinking. 

Here is me pretending I’m Justin Bieber last night. 



Every once in a while I look back through my photos, I like to see some of the memories I have let myself forget, I like to see the physical progress I have made. If you’ve been following along with my story since I got out of the hospital in December you may have a rough timeline of my life prior to it. I make it a habit to not get on the scale, it makes me sad, but it also encourages negative behavior on my part-I have a hard time eating as it is, knowing and being unhappy with my weight does not help anything. I’m gonna guess that back in October I weighed conservatively somewhere around 180/185. Today I watched a video that my ex and I made on our way to go hiking back in November I think. No wander I was always more comfortable in over sized clothing. Looking back at it and then seeing myself in the mirror I can’t believe how much of a change I have made. I mean I knew that my muscle definition was getting back to normal, but my face is just so much more hollow and not in a bad way. My eyes are also finally clear which is huge. 


November hike^
So it has been almost 2 weeks since I smoked my last cigarette and like 3 days since I last put a patch on. I’ve gotten over the cravings and the withdrawal period and honestly I couldn’t be happier. I’ve decided to replace those 45 or so minutes I would spend smoking per day and I’ve started working out instead. For anyone who knows me you know I fucking hate to run. Well I’m running. I hate every minute of it, but I’m actually learning to look forward to my run every day. It’s 15 minutes that I can take and just go, I can push myself past what I thought I could handle. I’m learning more about myself while running than I ever did in therapy. Sure it’s a different self exploration, but it’s important none the less. So for now that’s where I am at this week. 

Burning House 

I finally admitted out loud that I haven’t been as good as I am letting everyone believe. I cried for the first time in over a month the other day and if I don’t cry again for another month I won’t be upset about it. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m making strides and I am further along than I thought I would be at this point. There are so many things I am thankful for every day and that is really helpful in allowing me to keep going. 

In October, until the day I entered the hospital I had quit smoking. It was great for calming me down, but it was also a tool for me to get temporarily elevated as if I was hitting a manic cycle and even better for getting me drunk. Since leaving the hospital I haven’t been able to make the next step in quitting for good. I wasn’t able to admit to myself that I couldn’t just quit cold turkey and that would be that. On Monday night I decided to suck it up and for once help myself out. Sure I love the feeling I get after I smoke a cigarette, but the come down a few minutes later isn’t worth it. Even further I don’t like having something besides myself being in control. Cigarettes have a hold on me and I’m not about it. So I bought the patch. It’s itchy and it keeps me awake at night, but it’s working like aversion therapy and I don’t hate it. I’ve gone from 10 or so cigarettes a day ( I was nearing 20 just a week ago) to maybe 3. Tomorrow I plan to bring my 3 down to 0. Wish me luck, pray for me, keep me in your thoughts, whatever tickles your fancy. I have the patch, but withdrawal is still kicking my ass and it only gets worse each time. 

It’s not always sunshine, rainbows and unicorns, but it is and it does get better. Setbacks happen, believe me I know it sucks, but each time I am learning something new. I am learning my limitations, my strengths, my weaknesses, things that don’t make me happy right now, but that I hope to build up to being able to do them (again). Progress is progress and I will take it where I can get it. Every chance I have to build myself up I am going to take and run with it.