My reason for starting this blog was to have a place to write everything down and know that it’d still be there in the rare occurrence that things may turn out for the better, but this blog just causes me stress. Knowing that anyone – especially people who try so desperately to squeeze into mine and my families’ personal lives – can read all the things that I’ve always kept so deep inside. How am I suppose to comfortably write, blog, share when I’m so concern with who or what is reading my thoughts? I use to find comfort in that thought, the fact that people around the world would read my blog posts and in their own ways connect with me, or perhaps find comfort in knowing that their pain wasn’t abnormal. Now, every time I begin to write my anxiety spikes. My mind shuts down and I am unable to write anything.

But really, what more can I say? What else can I blog about that I haven’t said before? My life is just so repetitive, so boring; its comparable to writing the same sentence over and over again, and yet I do nothing to make it better, nothing to make my life more exciting and more worthy of being called a “life”. I just exist, that is all. I do not live life, or embrace the unpredictable, yet beautiful chaos that life brings. I idle, neither going forward nor backwards, in a place of unhappiness and entrapments. I often feel as though I am living in a glass box, able to see the glorious life that lays just feet away from me and yet I am unable to break, or escape from my enclosure and so I run in circles. I continue to run in circles, day in and day out, to incompetent to see that my glass house has no roof, to” comfortable” in my routine to see what is literally just above me, just feet in the air. I fear that if I do not begin to climb, jump, or reach for a way out I will be in this place forever. Stuck in a life that I am not happy in, stuck re-living the same day repeatedly and calling it a life.

I’ve always had so many excuses, whether it be my dad or my nephews, it was an excuse. I barely visited my dad, and my nephews didn’t need me as much as I made it seem, but saying I couldn’t leave because of my dad or nephews was easier than accepting the fact that I was just too scared. But fear is normal. Being scared means your stepping out of your comfort zone and making progress in your life. What isn’t normal is how unhappy of a person I am, how I haven’t had a relationship sense tenth grade, that I haven’t been in love sense Brandon, and that I haven’t moved on from things that happened so many years ago.

Why haven’t I moved on?

Why can’t I find the strength to learn from my mistakes and move forward, why haven’t I been living like a typical 20 something? I can’t continue to blame other people and past mistakes for why my present is such a mess.

                      How easy is it for me to say what I know needs to be done yet I am here still, still in the same place I was a year ago; the same place I was in 3 years ago.

I need to stop caring so much for the wellbeing of other people, because lord knows no one cares about me as deeply as I care about them, and begin to focus on me, on what will make me feel better. No matter how hard its going to be. I’m tired of being the person who is always there for everyone else, and yet I am constantly lonely. I am tired of crying in the shower or late at night because I am lonely.

I’m so lonely.

I’ve been so lonely sense the death of my best friend. No one understands, and I don’t know how to explain to people, why her death has messed me up so much. I don’t know how to tell people that she was my comfort. I don’t know how I’m suppose to tell people that she was the 17498646_10158508230045381_4974498748359248487_nonly thing on the planet that could calm me down when my anxiety was beating me down, how she was the only reason my depression didn’t consume me – she always knew when I was depressed and she’d curl up in my arms and gently lick away the tears from my face. She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t imagine losing; and then I lost her. It was so sudden, it was so painful, I didn’t even get to sit with her, tell her I loved her one last time, and comfort her while they ended her suffering. I’m still so angry that I didn’t get the chance to make the decision whether I saw her pass away or not, and I resent my mom because of it. I love my mom, so much, but I hate what she did. I hate that I had to be in the dark about my best friend, and that I was at work while my bug took her last breath. I wish my mom would have allowed me to make the decision, I wish she knew how angry I am at her for taking that away from me. Jayda was more mine to me than just a dog, and I thought my mom knew that; it hurts so much that she doesn’t get it. I wanted to be there, that’s why I stayed up for 3 days making sure she didn’t die alone – yet she still did.  She died in a place that was unfamiliar, with nothing and no one. That breaks my heart more than anything, knowing she was so alone, and I hate myself everyday for it.                    

I just wish I knew why I lost her… She was my baby…

That’s another thing…

I’m almost 27 and I’m no closer to having a baby than I was 5 years ago, actually I was closer 5 years ago, and yet it appears everyone around me are having babies – my sister included.

I love my sister, but she never wanted to be a mom and here she is a mom of almost 3 and I have nothing. I use to dream of being a mom, I use to play house – imagining that I was a house wife and my husband was working – and care for my dolls as though they were real. I took care of my parents friends son when I was 13, and dreamed of the day when I had one of my own – all the while my sister locked herself in her room and would stay far away from children. So why is she the one who gets to have babies, and I’m the one who has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Life’s not fair I suppose…

Ugh, I guess I’ll end this here since I’m rambling..




Perhaps one day, I’ll wake up and know what it feels like to embrace the day. I’ll know where I’m suppose to be and what I’m suppose to do and my heart will be full.

That’s not today though, I wish it was but it’s not.

Today I woke up angry and sad, feeling belittled and taken advantage of from my work and the people around me. Jealous of the people who are able to put a smile on their faces and img_0710allow love into their hearts. Jealous of the women that are pregnant and in love, jealous of the little families that make their way through the door of my job everyday. Envious of the sweet soul my co-worker has, and the fact that without even trying has landed herself a man who loves her for her. Today I woke up and begged the universe to “not make me” do today. Today I woke up with the feeling of stomach acid and pent up emotions rising up from my stomach. Right now I am unsure of where I am suppose to be, who I’m suppose to be, and where I fit in to this crazy world we live in. My fight or flight instincts are in high alert today and all I want to do is run; run and hide like a small animal trying to escape a hungry lion that wants nothing more than to eat me up in one bite. The world is that lion, my anxiety and depression is that lion, and right now, it’s winning. My head pounds and my eyes hurt from holding back tears, my throat burns with the pain I’m afraid to show because no one understands.

So, I guess once again today won’t be the day that I wake up and embrace the day.

I wish I could explain to everyone how I actually feel and how the emptiness is almost unbearable. I need something or someone who’ll help me get over my past. The things that happened to me, happened so long ago and it’s time for me to move on.

The worst part is that no matter how hard I try to cope with the things I’ve been through, no matter how much I talk about it or how much “power” I take from the situations that haunt me I can’t seem to move on. I can’t seem to look forward into the future, I can’t help but remember the situations and memories that fill every street in this city. I hate that places, smells, and features remind me of the moments I so strongly wish to forget. One day, hopefully, I’ll escape from the hell this place keeps me in. 

Maybe One day…


&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 


Feeling.. Misplaced 

A Broken record, a playlist with only one song, that’s how I feel but this isn’t just about hating where I live, and all the memories and pain it brings. 

I feel like an outsider in my own family, there’s no first Christmas pictures or videos of me, very few pictures of me as infant. I was never really photographed with my parents. I feel like an alien in my family, my morals and attitude is so much different then everyone around me. I don’t curse, drink, party or sleep around. I do not find comfort in the arms of strangers, I do not think farting, burping and blowing it in someone’s face or slapping someone in the face with ham is funny. I am not loud, usually, I do not like attention, I do not seek sympathy. 

Maybe this why I always feel so.. Sad. 

Where do I belong? Why am I so different then the people I share blood with. I’m not doubting that I am my parents child, I look like both of them, but I wish I knew who I act like. I wish I knew where I get my curly hair from, my bottom lip. Why do I get chills(the good kind) every time I hear traditional Native American music? Where did my grandfathers come from? 

I don’t think I’ll ever find my real grandfathers, I don’t think any of my questions will be answered, but I hope to find out at least a little of who I am. 

About 3 weeks ago I purchased a Ancestry DNA kit and it came in the mail 2 days ago. It takes about 1/4 tsp of saliva and some blue stabilizing liquid and then you send it off to Ireland to be tested. I’m not sure how truthful it will be but I’m hopeful. In 6-8 weeks I’ll have the results. 

We shall see.