No matter how much life brings you down, just remember; the sun remains to shine. So it can’t be that bad.



You exhaust me, you exhaust me in a way I never knew was possible.

I never understood those people who were always tired, always yawning, always so drained looking; Until I became one. I became one slowly, or perhaps quickly. One morning I woke up, unable to really open my eyes, with a headache that felt like my head was ready to explode. My eyes burned like a million pieces of sand penetrated my eyes, and I felt like 200 cups of coffee couldn’t keep me awake. I was so tired yet unable to sleep, to fall asleep and stay asleep, to sleep more than 2 hours at a time. I became to tired to even sleep, something I never knew possible.

I am not a mom, so I do not have an excuse or reason to be tired like mom’s do. I do not have the “reward” to smile at me and coo; I would lose 100 days of sleep for that. I am just me, I am anxious and I am depressed. My mind races all night, all day actually, and I am unable to form a proper sentence. I find no rest at night and therefore I am “one of those tired people”.

I suppose this is just part of my journey, to become the person I am destined to be. To fight through the storm to reach the rainbow. For the heavenly father does not put us through anything he knows we cannot overcome. But I am tired, I am tired of being tired, I;m tired of fighting a battle I cannot win. I am tired of being sad, of being stuck in this limbo of I’m fine, and I’m about to cry.

This is not even the worse part, the worse part it the loneliness.

It’s the “your-not-good-enough” feeling that overwhelms not only my heart and brain, but my soul. It is the constant, nagging reminder that I have no children and no man to love. I understand that there is worse things in the world than to be alone, but in my mind I should have a child by now. I should have a family and a home. I shouldn’t still be this sad. This worthless.

I understand people will say that a man, or children do not make you worthless. But when you have a plan, when you have a life long dream of being a mother not having a child does make you worthless.

But, I know I am only, only as if it is still young, 25 and I have a lot of life to live; I have many more days of my life. This is not reassuring the thought of having to live 100 more days without the one thing I want more then anything in the world feels like 100 years.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”


&like the waves in the ocean the pain comes and goes

It’s been 3 months, yet it feels so new; so new yet so distant. Like I’ve lived a thousand days since the day you were taken, like it just happened yesterday. 

I wish, I pray that soon the torment will subside, that I will make peace with your passing, believe that you are free. Free of pain, of a body that betrayed you. Free of the constant muscle spazzums, the lack of rest. Free from the loneliness and depression. 

I hope one day, soon, I will wake up with the sudden realization that you really are gone and that you aren’t sitting in a care home you hated, that you are watching over us, walking and guiding us along the path our lives are meant to follow. That you are here, that you see my tears & you are trying to comfort me. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being so weak daddy. That I can’t look past my selfishness to see that it was your time. That you were tired and ready. I’m sorry I can’t stop crying, or start living. I’m sorry all I picture and remember is your last days alive. I try so hard to remember you healthy and I can’t. 

I miss you so much it physically hurts. It’s a constant reminder that a part of me, you, is no longer on earth. 

I feel so lost, even though you were here you were still alive. I had the choice to go see you, I was struggling with this pain. Oh how I thought you sick was painful, I never dreamed losing you would of affected me so.. Hard. I forgot this pain I guess, but I don’t think I ever felt like this after grandma. I don’t remember crying this much, or feeling so empty. I don’t remember, or maybe I just block it out, the emptiness of loss. 

I have so many regrets, I wish I saw you more before, I wish we spent more time together. I wish I spent more time with you, that I told you I loved you more. I wish you were still here. 

I miss you so much

So much it hurts 


Dear my amazing, strong loved ones. 

I am beyond blessed to have you, have people that will be my back bone when mine has turned to jello, to calm me down when anxiety takes over my mind; when my depression clouds my heart. 

I am sorry, sorry that on some days I am overly anxious and so lost in my own worries that I don’t have the energy to text, or the strength to leave my mostly-safe home; That I cannot answer your phone calls or be spontaneous. That I am selfish and boring 80% of the time. 

But I appreciate you, your strength and your support. Your to-the-point advice and the time we spend together that gives my mind a break from the war that’s going on inside. 

To those I’ve lost, those I haven’t given a chance to and those I’ve hurt

I am beyond sorry that my anxiety has hurt you, that I am so lost in my own self-hate, anxiety and depression that I couldn’t explain to you what is going through my mind. How little things set me off and I shut down, how I push the entire world away on my bad days and usually that’s when I hurt, disappoint, stand-up and avoid you. I have the greatest intentions that “tomorrow” I will find the strength to over come these anxious thoughts, that I will no longer hurt the people around me, yet this day has yet to come.

I am sorry that I am the type of person that doesn’t ever text first, call you back or ask to hang out. I hope you know this isn’t because I don’t want to talk to you, but because I am worried that I am bothering you. 

One day, soon I hope, my anxiety will no longer stop me from living a normal life. I hope that I will be able to all I know I can be. Until then I apologize to and thank everyone who is still in my life. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov’d,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d

William Shakespeare 

Some say I’m a dreamer, but I can’t be the only one. 

Imagine, if you will. That everything we say was real. 

“I’m fine” no longer was a way to get out of admitting your pain. Our natural instinct wouldn’t be to push our feelings out of the way, imagine what we would gain. 

Our deepest regrets and our suffering would no longer be just ours, no longer just manifesting in our minds. We wouldn’t die with regrets or unspoken lines.

Instead we would live in a world that knows that we are not brave, strong or “robot” enough to deal with things that destroy us alone. We can openly say “my heart is broken” or “your actions and words hurt” instead of crying while acting like we don’t care behind the screen of a phone. 

We wouldn’t take our lives, cut our skin or swallow pills in a desperate attempt to quiet the demons and pain, if we weren’t ashamed to share what hurt us. No brave faces, no unspoken words just honesty, anger, crying and fuss. 

We wouldn’t need to question the actions, the feelings of others, we wouldn’t be afraid to expose our vulneralable side. Imagine the people we could be, the ones we could have saved, if humanity didn’t make us feel like we have be someone else, that we have to hide. 


Even now I’m sitting here, unable to vocalize what I am feeling to anyone because “fine” is the easiest answer.

I get asked daily how I am, it’s part of that annoying way we are expected to greet people. I tell them I’m good, or fine, and continue on with the way I’m expected to act. Expectations.. That’s what wrong with society. We’re expected to be kind, to be quiet, to follow rules set for us through parents, teachers, employers and of course theinfamous  “girl/bro codes”. We are constantly told how to be, given time lines on feelings, expected to be and act a certain way after something or someone inflicts pain on us. We are encouraged to put on a happy face and go with the flow, we are told to fake it until we make it and having “walls” up is so common these days that I don’t think anyone allows their true self show. 

I am beyond guilty of this. 

Instead of allowing my true feelings show I fake a smile, change the topic or pretend that the situation doesn’t hurt. I hate it, I loathe the fact that I am unable to be real with people because I am afraid of what they will say or think. What they will say behind my back, hushed whispers when I’m around. We are all such cowards, talking about people rather to them. Complaining instead of fixing, backstabbing instead of uplifting. This is what we’ve become. 

Oh what a world we live in. 

In the process of finding myself.. 

My family moved to Canada less then 70 years ago, which seems like a long time but really Im only 2nd generation Canadian and in that sense we’re pretty new. My grandma was born in California where she lived until they moved to Canada in 1938. My great grandparents, grandma, great aunt and uncle never became citizens of Canada and so my mom, uncles, second cousins and so forth are all children of immigrants. 
I was raised very close to both my great grandma and grandma on my moms side, I’ve picked up a slightly southern accent and never understood why a person from Califonia would have a southern drawl. To my surprise I found out my great grandmother is originally from Kansas (no wonder I love The Wizard of Oz)

This is my great grandma’s tree, my great grandfathers cut off after his father, who arrived to America from Ireland in the 1800’s. What surprised me even more was that there are pictures of men that look so similar to my immediate family. 


my dad and mom at a childrens 4×4 toy run

I have traced my maternal grandmothers family line all the way back to 1612 and I’ve discovered many dead ends and undisclosed information. 

I also researched some of my dads lineage. Again immigrated to Canada from the United States, Iowa to be exact, on my dads mothers side. Her mother’s family is from England and her father’s family is American. Other then that I haven’t found much. 

 Nor had I really wanted to because of a tormented relationship I have with that side of the family. However I was extremely intrigued  when I came across a picture of my 2X’s great grandma on my dads grandfather side. 

The older woman looks a lot like my sister and father while the younger girl has a forehead and hair similar to mine. 

my natural hair


my dad and sister (her hair is naturally straight)

I have a lot of dead ends on both sides, mostly due to little or no information about the fathers on both my mom and dads sides so I’m still awaiting the results of my individual DNA test through ancestry. I think it’ll help me identify with myself better. Not knowing my ethnicity had bothered me for way to long. 

In 2-4 weeks I should have the results. So I’ll blog about that when I have the information! 

My insecurities could eat me alive

I have been, and I think I always will be an insecure person. I always feel judged, which is a part of my social anxiety, I have this over powering feeling that I’ll never be good enough, or as pretty as other females my age. 

These worries, these insecurities make me so cut off from relationships because I’m positive he could and will find someone better then me. My anxiety makes me over think everything and my depression makes me moody and even more cut off. 


I haven’t wrote in a while cause I hate where I am emotionally. 

I feel like all I do is repeat myself, my worries seem so minimal when I think of what the people on the other side of the world must be going through. Yet every little thing sets me off, but not into anger but sadness. How can I even begin to live a life, heal, when I can’t follow a schedule because my hours at work change? How can I even think about putting myself first when I have things and people that come before me because they are more emotionally distressed then I am? How do I break down my walls in order to be happy when I built my walls so high and thick even the deepest love can’t seem to penetrate them. 

My life changed a lot when I was 14-16, and I feel like I ended up frozen in that time, in those feelings. It’s been over 10 years of being afraid to love, afraid of that broken hearted feeling. My grandma dying, my dad getting sick and my ex coming out all happened so closely together that I didn’t have the time to grieve each thing individually and I think that’s a huge reason why I’m so gaurded. When my dad was diagnosed with ALS the guy who said he “loved me” was no where to be found. When my grandma died he wasn’t around, I found comfort in my guy friends instead of someone I gave the most personal thing you could ever give someone. How could he claim he loved me, give me a promise ring, allow me to become the most vulneralable I’ve ever been just to come out and tell me he’s always known. I understand that coming out is hard, and 11 years ago it was even harder but he was the one who persuaded the entire relationship; and then cheated on me with men. Risked my health by engaging in anal sex and then having unprotected sex with me. It’s not even him being gay that bothers me, it was that he was never honest with me. He was never there when I needed him the most and yes I understand love when your a teenager and love when your an adult is different, but in my city most of the guys never really grew up. My pain was disregarded and made fun of by teachers and other students at school, the pain I was going through at home, not having my grandma anymore, watching my dad drop things and get more and more frustrated killed me but because all people saw was him being gay those things didn’t matter. 

No one was there for me when my world was falling apart, I was trapped in my own hell. I was scared to tell anyone anything because I told people one thing and the next thing I knew it was all over the school.

A year and a half later in the middle of the night I was touched, his hard penis pressing up against my back, and no one believed me. I asked for it, I lead him on. I was blacked out drunk for the first time in my entire life, and if I had been leading him on I wouldn’t have grabbed my friends hand to wake her up for help. I wouldn’t of told him no and pushed his hand away. I wouldn’t be forever tormented by the smell of beer. 

In what world would I want to trust someone or be vulnerable when everytime I was, I was hurt. 

How am I suppose to move on from that? Everyone who promised to be there for me, told me they loved me has walked away, lied or betrayed me in some sort of way. 

Because you are not good enough, Donna. 

All these things and everything since then has turned me into someone I hate I can’t look in a mirror at myself without noticing everything wrong with me. My teeth are over lapped and not white enough, the bridge of my nose has a bump that needs to be removed, my eyes have dark bag underneath them, my breasts aren’t as perky as I wish they were. I could go on forever. 

I’m not blaming them completely though even though it seems like I am. If I didn’t make stupid decisions like thinking I was mature enough at barely fourteen to have sex and to continue to drink after knowing I was already intoxicated I would have never been in the position to be hurt. 

I wish, every single day, that I will be able to use the pain of the past to strengthen me and not pull me deeper into this angry place; this depression. That I will find a man, or rather have a man come into my life that shows me that not all men are like the ones I’ve encountered and that I’ll open my heart to the possibility of loving someone other then my family (and my dogs).

But who knows how long that’ll take. 

I’m sorry for the poor quality of writing today, I can’t find the motivation to form proper sentences or use the correct terminology/adjectives.