Tuesday, April 8, 2014


When you say you are getting healthy, you aren't just talking about your body, even if that's the only thing you're thinking about.  When you think about "getting healthy" you think about eating the right types of foods, and getting the right amounts of exercise, and lifting weights, and sometimes even getting the right amount of sleep so your body is rested and you can get up and do it all over again the next day.

What you're not looking at though, is the WHOLE picture.  There is a whole lot up above that body that you're not even taking into consideration when you're thinking about all things healthy.  Probably the most important piece of all that needs to fall into place before any of the rest of it really can or will start matching up and making ends meet.  Your mind has to be healthy.  Or at least more healthy than not.

Over the last year and a half, I have had a very NOT healthy mind.  I'd say it was right around the time my grand mother died.  It wasn't her death that caused it, it was all of the crap that followed.  Finding my boyfriend's "secret" blog to his dead ex-wife where he told her he liked me but he wasn't really sure if he loved me and he knew I loved his boys and I was great with them and yadda yadda yadda.... I had had doubts about him before finding that little piece of information, I was pretty sure he had been talking to other women, but always too afraid to call him on it, afraid that I would have been called the snoop and then, once again, everything would have been turned back on me.  So my mind started slipping.

I started dating J, a man I had loved for as long as I could have remembered loving anyone, and it was wonderful and real, and easy.  I didn't even have to think about it.  It was like sinking into a warm bath, something I had done a hundred times before, something I didn't need to relearn.  Comfortable.  An old sweatshirt.  Even after I had lost him, I still had him.  For another few months at least.

And then the walls came crashing down around me.

This is what my shrink refers to as the catechism.  The point at which all points after this now revolve.  the hole through the floor of my world through which I would eventually sink so low that I would eventually fall through, but only if I were lucky enough.  Slime.

My defining moment flashes back to chipped beef and cream cheese, blue fuzzy slippers, dill pickle chips, "women for Obama stickers" and sea weed green sterile surgical scrubs.  The thought of any of these things and I want to vomit.  I have the same reaction to them that a pregnant woman would have to the smell of chicken cooking on an open stove.  I ate a lot of waffle cone ice cream.  I chased a lot of that ice cream with vodka and sleeping pills.  I wore a hole in my couch in the shape of my body.  I didn't answer my phone.  And no one knew how bad I was because I was so good at pretending that I was alive and not really dead.  I put on a smile, and I talked really fast, all the while thinking of ways to get Aiden out of the house so that I could kill myself.

We put the Christmas tree up a week before Thanksgiving.  I knew with the Christmas tree up, I could keep the tree lit all the time.  With the lights lit all of the time, I wouldn't kill myself.  The lights make me happy.  I wouldn't make my child an orphan before his birthday or Christmas this year.  We had no money.  I ate ice cream, and I chased it with vodka that I said was soda which was actually vodka, and ambian.  and I slept in a hole on the couch shaped like me.

This was just like a bad breakup.  I just needed a few weeks to get my shit together.  Just a few weeks, and everything would be back to normal, back to a routine.. a few weeks turned into six, I didn't shower.  I smelled.  I smiled.  I finally got a routine back.  A job.  A boy.  I fell in love and suddenly everything was better.  I was better.  OMG this was so great how did everything suddenly get all better?

This guy wants to spend time with me, he wants to be with me? he doesn't see what a screwed up mess I am, or he does and he doesn't care.  I can tell him what a screwed up mess I am and he doesn't care, and he still comes back.  He's a screwed up mess too, but I don't care because he's here, and he's mine, and he wants me, and I love that, and I love him, and YES finally someone who can love and want me in the way I need and deserve to be loved and wanted!

Crash.

When you start to base your entire world around someone, instead of really facing the reality of what you're going through mentally, it is a recipe for disaster.  I was dating a man who would proclaim loudly at the bar that there were only three things that mattered in his life.  His son, his work, and darts.  All while I'm standing there next to him, holding his next drink.  There was uncontrolled crying, and suddenly a warm bed was empty, and I had no idea where I was going to go to next.

The sun and the summer were able to hide some of it.  An excuse to get outside, lay in the sun and bake my skin, and bake my brain, and then I didn't have to think about how lonely I was, or how messed up everything was.  I hated my job, I hated my friends, I hated my clothes and my hair and the color orange.  I didn't write nearly as much as I wanted to since I couldn't form coherent words.  Aiden flourished, I kept better care of him than I took care of myself.

Then darkness.

Around a four week period of time when I drifted in an out of an insomniacs world.  I don't remember much.  I slept, I worked, I studied.  Finally, after my CLC certification, I realized that what I was feeling was not ok, and that this had gone on for long enough.  I finally reached out for help.

I was me again.  My sense of humor was back.  I still carry around this huge PTSD hole inside of me, that rears its ugly monster head from time to time, never know what it going to trigger it, but just being aware that it is there, helps me to keep that monster at bay. 

"I tried to be more than me, and I gave until it all went away."

I guess all that is left now, is for me to just keep swimming.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

An open letter to anyone who is my friend.

I want to be perfectly straight with you. I think it's important that you know what you're getting into if you're getting into a friendship with me. There are some things that I absolutely will not do as your friend. 

I will not sleep with your crush. I will not have sexual relations with, make out in a dark ally with, and even if in ten years, you are happily married and have children, I am going to have serious doubts about even developing any sort of feelings for this person that you used to have a crush on ten years ago. I may kiss them close-lipped in front of you at a New Year's Eve party, along with a hundred other people, and I might hug them if we are friendly, but I promise, unless there is a naked picture of me floating around somewhere that I don't know about, they will not see me naked. 

I will not let you walk around with a period stain on your pants/food in your teeth/booger in your nose/guacamole smeared on your forehead. I will tell you. How discretely I do this will be in relation to how much I have had to drink. 

I will not let you date a douche bag without telling you that I think he/she is a douche bag. I am sure you are already aware of this. I am sure you don't want to hear this. I also know that sometimes we avoid certain things because we don't want to hear them. If I have to listen to your boyfriend call you fat, he is a douche. If your boyfriend accuses you of cheating with your gay best friend and your straight female friend, continuously, he is a douche. If he borrows money from you, from your family, from his friends, your friends, the bank, doesn't have a job, and doesn't pay anyone back, he is a douche. You get the picture. 

I will not ever tell you to build a bridge and get over it. This is your life. I am here. I will ALWAYS be here. No matter how many douche bags you fall in love with or how many times you fall back in love with the same one. I will point out the inherent flaws each time, I will listen to the repeating stories, I will offer my advise, always. I will never expect you to be someone you are not and let go of something or someone before you are ready. (Note: unless you are being physically abused in which case I will call the police on that mother-effer.)

I will never realign my priorities so much that I will not have a place in my life for you. I am always a phone call or text message away. At most.  One of the most devastating moments in my life came in the form of a text from a friend who I thought would be there forever. "I do not know where our friendship stands. My priorities have shifted greatly..." And that was pretty much it. I will never leave you hanging. If you are my friend, you will always know where you stand, where we are at, and that you are one of my priorities, even if we go a period of time without talking. 

I will never intentionally leave you out. I never enjoyed the cliques in high school, I don't particularly like them outside of high school. I don't enjoy the drama that seems to follow some people around, and I most certainly don't enjoy making other people feel like less than. 

Sunday, January 26, 2014

The Truth is the Truth


I'm going to tell you something about me.  I am an over-sharer.  Shocker, right?  I know this truth about myself.  The truth about it, is that most of the time, I don't really care.  There are times that I realize I do it in inappropriate situations in which case I end up with a very bad case of foot-in-mouth and find it hard to remove myself from those situations.  For the most part though, there are very few things about myself that I don't mind sharing, or talking about.  I wish more people were more open and honest about things.  I think life would be a lot easier.  I think relationships, friendships and everything in between would be a lot easier.

You will NEVER have to wonder where you stand with me.  Because I will tell you.  If I don't like you, I'm not going to go out of my way to tell you this, chances are I will go out of my way to not be in your general vicinity.  If I find myself in the company of people I am less than fond of I am capable of being polite.  If you pissed me off, I will tell you.  If I think I've pissed you off, I will ask you.  I am not shy about this.  If someone up and unfriends me on Facebook, I have a tendency to ask why.  I don't like unresolved conflict.  I don't like that rock-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling.

That brings us to the purpose of this little blog post which I have been writing in my head for weeks now.

I have noticed a trend going around lately of people talking about how they are just "out there living their lives."  They say what they want, and they do what they want, and they are sick and tired of everyone judging them and their choices.  They are living THEIR lives!

Well yes!  You are. 

Go you!

Now, this may sound callous, but I'm assuming that because if it's gotten to the point where if you're posting something about being able to say and do what you want, that you've had people telling you that what you are saying and doing is upsetting to them on more than one occasion.  Is that a correct assumption?

Saying what you want and doing what you want is great.  Being an adult is great.

But did you ever stop to think that other people aren't really judging you, and maybe you're just an asshole?

Just some food for thought.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

I am Thankful

When I start to get down on myself, or super stressed out, or frustrated, I will make a list in my head of all the things I have that money cannot buy, and that others may not:

a family who would do ANYTHING for me, who makes me laugh until I cry and encourages even my most seemingly hopeless of dreams, and even when they hate me they love me.

a best friend who I have known since I was four. who I can go months without seeing but can pick up like we've never been apart, who also just went out of her way to attend Aiden's 10th birthday party.  Things like this matter, especially when you're questioning a lot of your friendships as of lately.  I am a forever type person.  I don't get into things lightly whether it be friendships or relationships, and to have friendships fall apart for what feels like silly reasons, it makes the good ones, the ones that have made it through EVERYTHING all that much more important.

I have safety and security and a warm place to crawl into at night.  I  have a little person who relies on me and loves me and tells me so every chance he gets.  I have clean water.

Even if school is currently making me want to pull my hair out, and the thought of all of the student loan debt, and all of the work I still have to do, and how many times a day I want to just quit, I want to curl up into a ball and just quit, because I know that I am really good at that.  I can accomplish that.  What if I can't accomplish the rest of this?  When all of that gets me down, I have all of that other good stuff to fall back on.

That and a cup of warm coffee, and maybe a big hug or too from someone special.

Friday, November 8, 2013

We measure what we value.

 
One year.
Twelve Months.
Fifty two weeks.
Three hundred sixty five days.
 
A letter was put into a mailbox a year ago today, and it would take another week to make it to my former employer.  A year ago today my life changed and I didn't even know it yet.  I've been having a rough time of it, both today and yesterday, but I've been blessed in a hundred other ways, and so that is making up for a lot of the anger and resentment and a lot of the falling apart that I am really wanting to do right now.
 
I am right in the middle of my second semester back in school, I have a 3.85 GPA, and my first assignment in my class, a 21 page summary paper on a book came back as a 100%.  I also got an email from my advisor (who, funny enough, is also my instructor this session) with my degree audit for the coming year, and her suggestion for courses for next semester.  If I take one class this summer, am able to get my distance courses taken in the spring, and am able to find an internship, I will graduate next December.  That is best case scenario.  That is, Sadie buckles down and everything lines itself up, and tax return is hefty, and airline prices are decent, and internship works out, and work gives me time off, and the planets align PERFECT.  If not, we're talking spring or fall of 2015.  BUT, it is possible for me to do it by next year.
 
I can safely say that without what happened to me a year ago, that probably wouldn't be happening.  I spent a lot of nights on my computer, drinking, and surfing the web.  A lot of the colleges I sent out emails to I don't even remember.  I don't even really remember how I ended up coming across Union Institute. 
 
I am not the same person I was a year ago.  I am still not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.  Maybe its both.  I don't have that same trust that my life is just going to float along and everything is going to be dandy.  I don't trust people that I used to, that I probably should, in the same way that I should, any longer.  It may not seem like it, and I have opened up a lot more recently, but I am a lot more reserved about the things I do say.
 
I hate him.  I know I need to let that go and move on from that.  I know that carrying that around inside of me will poison me from the inside out, but I'm not quite ready to let that go.  I'm not quite ready to walk away from the karma train on that one.
 
However, I am going to boast on my accomplishments.  How far I have come.  How far I have clawed myself off of that couch that I laid on for six weeks straight watching Netflix next to the white Christmas tree, eating waffle cone Breyer's ice cream and living off of the $8 of cash I happened to have in my wallet over my son's birthday and Christmas came and went.  I picked myself up.  I dusted myself off, and I carried on.
 
Now, if I can only finish what I started.
 

Monday, September 16, 2013

If we look to another for our dreams they may never become our own... Scream and be FREE.

 
I have wanted to do this for years.  Never really sure which way to go about doing it, how to come up with the money for it, how to take the time.  I have spent nearly the last year of my life in this chronically depressing bubble of failed relationships, devoid friendships, and in a job that I don't really enjoy.  Not in the way that you should enjoy a job.  Materials Management at the hospital wasn't something I wanted to do my entire life, but it had become a position I was happy with, paid me well, and I probably got far too comfortable.  Even the worse things in our life can have a silver lining.  Mine was in being fired from a job and being unemployed for six weeks, I was able to finally figure out how I wanted to go about my schooling and trainings and certifications.
 
I have been a very passionate breastfeeding advocate since I can even remember.  I used to breast feed my Strawberry Shortcake doll.  Since having Aiden, I have helped several friends start and continue breast feeding their children.  I have been support for people I barely know through recommendations of friends.
 
This week, I am in Loveland, Colorado, amidst all of the flooding, and evacuations, and I'm attending a week long course where at the end, I will test for, and hopefully pass, for my CLC.  (Certified Lactation Counselor) 
 
This morning, at around 10 a.m., shortly before our first break of the day, we were watching a video that was made a few years ago about a hospital in the Phillippines.  This hospital had done away with any and all infant formula, the women crowded into huge rooms with hundreds of beds pushed together, the babies remaining with their mothers during their hospital stays.  In the crowded, terribly poor conditions, instead of seeing a rise in diseases or infant deaths, they saw the exact opposite. 
 
Mother's assisting each other with the breast feeding relationships.  Learning to express milk for pre-mature infants, and for the first time ever, this hospital was able to save enough money (about 6 million a year in U.S.dollars) in order to actually FEED its patients three meals a day, plus snacks, when before it was the family's responsibility to bring the patients food, or they simply didn't eat.  As I watched this video, watched these women who had virtually nothing but the clothes on their backs feed their babies, and their babies THRIVED.  In this conference room with about 40 to 50 other women, most of whom are nurses, and I started to tear up.
 
Not because of the video, even though it was touching.  But because I knew, with certainty, that this is what I was meant to do.
 
I am thirty years old, and I never thought I would be able to say what it was I wanted to do when I grew up.  Having a baby at 20, and everything just kind of gets put on the backburner.  Hopes, dreams, relationships, jobs, friendships.  Everything.  They all become secondary to your child and what your child needs and wants.  In coming here, in taking this course and going back to school, I knew it was something I would enjoy.  Well, I mean... obviously.  I've done it for free for friends and near strangers for the nearly ten years since I had and gave birth to Aiden.  I knew I'd enjoy it.  I never really expected to have the emotional reaction I did in the first two hours of a 40 hour week long course.
 
Maybe this is the feeling people in the church refer to as "the calling"?
 
I managed to hold my composure the entire day, only really losing it when I got back to my hotel room.  Then I cried happy/excited tears nonstop and nearly uncontrollably for forty-five minutes, changed my clothes and went down to the hotel restaurant.
 
I sat at the bar, armed with my homework for the night, ordered a beer and asked for a menu.  The bartender, a fairly attractive man much younger than I am, asked me softly if I was ok (tear stained and puffy post cry face and all) while he was pouring my draft beer.  (They didn't have Boulevard, WTF?!)  and I told him, "I have just figured out, for sure, what I am meant to do with my life."  He sat the beer in front of me, handed me a menu, and said, "Then you need some skin."  Offering a high-five, which I returned with much gusto. 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

I Lost You (new prose)

I loved you in ways I can't explain. 
In ways I had never loved anyone before. 
In a way that made my stomach jump at just the thought of you. 
In a way where I could get lost for hours sitting next to you just talking. 
In a way that the days never seemed to have enough hours because there were always more words, 
more stories, 
more& more& more

but never enough time. 

I loved you in a way where I could be myself. 
All of myself with no apologies or hesitation. 
I loved your picky eating habits and the way you snored up against the back of my head that would actually pull me into my dreams. 
I loved your smelly feet and the way we would lay across each other on the couch, talking, 
laughing. 
Trying to watch movies but falling asleep. 

I loved you even when I did not love me,
and that scared me. 

I loved you even when I didn't deserve to love you. 

I loved you through pain and tears. 
Screaming matches and lost earrings. 
Misplaced iPods and broken cell phones which were thrown across empty rooms. 
Through all of the drunk and disorderly. 

I loved you through the bad movies and the hogged popcorn 
and the way you would kiss my hand. 
And my forehead. 
The way your hand fit into mine. 

I loved you even when I wasn't important enough to make your top four list, announced loudly to your friends at the bar, while I stood three feet away from you.

I loved you even when I hated you, 
when I feared losing you. 

I loved you when I lost you. 

I lost you. 
I lost you.