Standing for nothing

Sometimes it's not worth fighting for. But how does one know when it's time to give up? 

Maybe it's when you realize the other person is sick and twisted, and their real colors are revealed. 

Maybe you've seen these colors long before hand but have ignored them because in a stereotypical word you and this person are supposed to be closer than all. 

It's sad when someone is so fucked up they can't see that they are the real problem. When you just put all your love out on the line and it gets you nowhere. 

I guess it's just a matter of time before someone fucks it all up. 

She is the the Reason

Let's get into detail about my life! 

Creepy or conceited? We shall see. 

I was born June 5th 1994. My mother ,22, had an 11 month old son, lived at home, was in school, and was not in a solid relationship with my father. She had no idea she was pregnant with me. She had pain that she assumed was an ovarian cyst and BAM at 26 weeks I was born. Stealth much? Anyway, she knew that another baby on top of everything else was too much so I was put up for adoption. This is where the story really starts. I was adopted by my loving and wonderful parents. I have 2 older brothers who are the most different twins imaginable and an older sister who could pass as my twin. 

All my life I was raised knowing that this was my family, it's what I knew. I also always knew I was adopted. That conversation of being adopted isn't something that was a big ordeal like in the movies, I mean, my siblings and myself are 50 shades of mysterious brown and had 2 white parents. One day when I was 15 my sister and I found a slip of paper in the garage with the last name that would've been mine had I not been given up. I knew I had an older brother from my biological family so i did as any teenager would and looked him up on MySpace. I found him, sent him a message asking if his mom had a baby in 1994 who was adopted, and it goes on from there. I became friends with my brother and birth mother on social media and found out I had a younger sister who is full blood (sounds like an unauthentic sketchy Harry Potter reference). Well years later, just shy of my 22nd birthday, I decided it was time to meet my biological family. My little sister, mostly grown up, graduating from high school, driving cars, and going off to college seemed old enough and ready to take that leap too. I drove an hour away with 2 friends recording my every move and basically every thought. 

It's hard to explain what went through my mind as I looked up from my phone and saw my beautiful little sister standing there, when I hugged the woman who created and carried me, who made the hardest and most selfless decision a mother can, when I met the man who aided in my being, and the young man who is my brother. It's probably hard to explain because honestly I can't even explain it to myself. Since that day I've watched my younger sister walk across the stage and glide her tassel from one side to the other, made plans to hang out, and met my 5 other siblings. Yes. 5. My dad was a "hoe".

Along with meeting and spending time with these people who I get to call my siblings I've met cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents and as of now there is no end in sight of people I've yet to meet. 

If you've read my writing before you know that the woman who raised me, my heart and soul, my mommy, passed away a bit over 2 years ago. Every time I write it leads back to her. She is the reason so many wonderful things in my life. 

What keeps me strong in all this overwhelming chaos of meeting someone new every week, is her. 

I know she would love to meet everyone with me and I know she's looking down on me and at many times is beside me guiding me where I need to go. 

So I guess that's detailed enough for now. 

Thanks for staying with me mom. 

Year Two

I've never been afraid to cry in the comfort of my own presence. Or at least a thought I wasn't. It's been two years (tomorrow) since my mother passed away. After the first year I stopped crying as often. I thought it was because people said it gets easier with time and that my time for tears was lessening. I very well could be wrong. Maybe I stopped crying so much because I thought of it as throwing myself a pity party. I always tell my friend not to do so, not to wallow is her hurt. I very well could've taken my own advice. As this picayune day draws near to its end and the dawn of the day my mom left approaches, I cry.

I sob uncontrollably. I'm letting myself cry. 

The tears I shed this night and tomorrow in day are selfish within my thoughts and I'm okay with that.

I cry because I miss her. I cry because I'm scared without a constant reminder I'll forget all of what my mother was. 

I could never truly forget her. But her touch. Her laugh. Her comforting presence when her "baby girl" is in need, that all seems to slip away from my memory with each passing month. 

So either way, crying selfishly or just because I need more time to let the tears fall like flurries, I accept it. 

Mom, I want nothing more than to talk to you and hold your hand at least once more, I know that'll have to wait so until then I'll do my best to keep your memory eternal. I apologize that the miracle I begged for didn't come true. 

I miss you so much more than I can even fathom for myself. 

I love you. 

Afterlife

In February it will be two years since the day that changed my life forever. February 21st will be two years since my mother passed away. Her memory burns within my heart daily. 

On two occasions since she passed I have felt her with me. 

The first was a late night in the summer. From my slumber I was awoken by the sound of the dream catcher that had been given to me by my mother. It was no rustle of the winds that made the symbolic ornament move, it was moving with too much hast in a room with only a fan blowing. When I woke up, I felt my mothers presence. 

I've only told a few people about that experience because frankly up until now I felt strangely embarrassed about it, like people would judge me and my beliefs. After this morning I feel so strongly about all of this that I'm ready to talk about it. 

On this morning, December 22nd, just a few days shy of my second Christmas without my mother I felt her again. 

Getting into my car on my way to work. 

My car was my mothers car and some will say that that's why it occurred and its not her, but I know what I felt. I opened my car door and the smell of my mom rushed towards me, taking over every ounce of morning calm I had. I knew in an instant what it was. As I got in my car I knew she was with me. Overwhelmed with feelings I cannot even begin to describe I cried for a brief moment and went on my way to work. 

All day I've had a lingering feeling of peace, body and mind. Some would be scared if they too felt the presence of the deceased and some may say I'm foolish. 

I feel lucky to be able to feel my mother with me on the occasions I have. I'm lucky for the time I had with her but selfishly it wasn't enough. 

Merry Christmas mom. 

Fear in Life

What is fear? Its a noun and it means "An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat." When most think of fear it assosicates with spiders, clowns, death, and other fairly shallow things. Now, I'm not really saying that death is a shallow thing that shouldn't be feared, but, ive met many, whom like myself, do not fear death. There is fear of the unkown which more commonly is described as anxiety. Something people dont talk about enough is fear of happiness. I am sure that I am not the only know who has the unpleasant reminder when i look at my arms and legs, that i have spent so much time unhappy. I'm not hating on my scares at all. As I've grown I've come to realize that they are a beautiful reminder of my trials and tribulations I faced and ultimetly overcame. i am a surviver, if you will. Ive come a long way, but still, I fear happiness for within my experience it is taken away too quickly. 

Fear what you will. 

Take the risks you see fit.

Find growth from the pain you experience. 

Live life and love it daily, it truly is a blessing. 

Mother Of Mine

For years all I ever wanted was my mother. Being a girl in her early teens I couldn't fully understand that my mother was sick. Her addiction to alcohol to numb her pain from past, present, and future was something so beyond me. Being 15 you normally shy away from your parents, it's totally normal but when I was 15 I wanted more than anything to go shopping and get my nails done with my mom but I couldn't cause my mom was never sober enough to do so. And like most, when your mind is altered by alcohol, you say things that are hurtful. Now I know people say that alcohol brings out the truth in people, but when you're being told by someone who is meant to love and comfort you that they wish you never entered their life, you really hope that alcohol is just a poison  that makes you say toxic things that are only lies. 

As I got older I realized more and more that my mother had a disease. And as I got older I also realized that with how much I wanted my mother I had to accept the facts and deal with it. 

Loving someone and keeping yourself at a safe distance isn't easy especially when it's your mother. You learn to shield yourself from pain. But shielding yourself from pain also means putting up a protective wall to keep the pieces of your fragile heart safe. That makes it hard for anyone to enter. Most people would see this as a problem but to those of us who have been wounded by love and trust, it's something we couldn't imagine life without. 

So when I finally came around to understanding my mother and her illness, it's was amazing. It made for 2.5 years that I will never forget and be eternally greatful for. Getting to really know someone is awesome. Especially when it's someone you've always known but you're able to do so as an adult with more knowledge of the world and more openminded. I am so lucky that I had the opportunity to meet the women my mother really was. My mom touched so many people in her 63 years on this earth and fortunately I was one of them. 

As much as it hurts to think about the fact that I really only have two years with her and that my mom won't get to see my in a wedding dress or play with her grandchildren, I was blessed with a truly extrordinary mother. She was an artist. A lonely painter who lived in a box paints. My mother inspired me to write. 

I miss my mother everyday.

Every second. 

If I was given the chance to talk to her again I would tell her that she is forgiven completely for any hurt that she ever caused me and I would thank her, because all the hurt she inflicted on me though forgiven, helped shape me into the person I am. 

I am my moms most beautiful peice of art. 

I would give anything to look into her eyes, to hear her laugh, her wise words, to hold her hand.

I know that one day I will be able to do all these things again. 

For now I'll go on living knowing that my mom is dancing in the clouds and singing with the heavenly choir. 

I know that with each sunrise and sunset that as much as it hurts for me, as empty as a part of me feels, my mom isn't in pain anymore. I hope everyone in heaven knows how lucky they are to have her. 

And I know when I look at the sky painted with mesmerizing hues, my mom is doing what she loves from a place where she is safe and sound. 

I know she looks down on me and smiles, just as I look up and smile.

Rest in Peace Mommy.  

I love you most. 

Happy.

How is it possible to feel this happy? 

I mean, I though I was happy. 

And I'm not doubting for a second that I was, but being as happy as I thought I was, being as devastated as I was (for like 2.5 days), and now being so happy people can just tell. 

I feel great but I'm confused by it. 

The relationship was awesome and I felt incredibly happy, but being happier apart? Was there something in me that maybe just knew it wasn't going to last? 

Was there an underlining inkling that is wasn't right? I don't mean "right" in a moral sense, though he was 24 years my senior, I mean it in a sense that, as much as I wanted to think he was, that he wasn't the one for me? 

I shouldn't be confused about an emotion that is purely joy. 

Why do women try to convince themselves that it's all good? 

Because we want more than anything to be happy. 

For years I've faked a smile, hide tears, put on an award winning act that I am okay. That I'm not hurt. 

Maybe I've gotten so good at the fake face of happiness that I have no control anymore. 

Is it possible for someone to get so used to playing a part that it becomes them? 

I feel so happy but what if my body is just going back to what it knows? Have I become so used to faking happiness that I believe it so much, am I living a lie? 

Has an act become my reality? 

Will I wake up the next few days and continue to feel on top of the world? Will it last longer? Will it last forever? 

OR will I wake up one day and feel the overwhelming sorrow that I know so well? Darkness is second nature to me. 

People get sad. 

People get happy. 

But what do you do when one becomes the constant? 

Do you try to evoke the other? What's your catalyst going to be? 

How will you know when you're going to be happy? 

Is it truly a decision left up to you and you alone? 

Everyone wants to be happy. 

Choose to be happy. 

Help others be happy. 

Just be fucking happy-go-lucky.