Rambling…

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..

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Kinda angry today PT.2

You just need to move somewhere with a bunch of religious people, they’ll have the same mind set

– my mom. 
Having morals doesn’t mean you have to be religious. Being religious doesn’t mean you have morals. 

The most talked about religious family; the duggars, have preached and praised God on TV for years only for their son to be exposed as not only an adulteress but as someone who sexually assaulted his sisters and a family friend. People that believe in God, people in my own family that attend church, have less strict morals then I do and I haven’t attended a church service in over a decade. 

I’m not saying I don’t believe in something, some bible verses do provide me with comfort especially lately, but I don’t believe to be holier then thou, I don’t think the morals I have are unreasonable. 

Women shouldn’t sleep around, parents of young children shouldn’t do drugs recreationally, and people who abuse drugs don’t deserve the care and attention they get. I understand we are all humans, we have needs, but every man you meet doesn’t need to meet your vagina ladies. A man that doesn’t respect you enough to wait isn’t a man that deserves to be inside you. As rude as that sounds we need to protect our bodies, the way we are built we literally let someone put a part of their body inside of ours. Shouldn’t we know, trust and feel respected before allowing a man that type of privilege? Men should respect themselves too, they need to know that a woman that gives it up easy gives it to many other guys. That a part of your body will be inside a woman that has been with more guys then years she’s been alive. 

Even with HIV and AIDS being “treatable” now why would you want to chance it? Why would you want to have to get sti/std tests multiple times within your life? Why has it become the norm to have 1-5 children with different partners? That isn’t how I believe life should be lived. I’m not saying be like the duggars, no touching until marriage but we need to pace ourselves; teach our sons and daughters to respect themselves and their partners to wait until they’re both emotionally ready. 

Recently in my city a spike of fentanyl over doses have occurred because dealers have been cutting/lacing street drugs with it. Although I do feel for the families that lost their loved ones I do not believe the people that lost their lives deserve the sympathy or attention they are getting. They injected, smoked, popped or snorted the drug no one forced them to do it. Why would you put something your body that comes from someone you don’t know. 

My biggest thing is why don’t we respect our bodies enough to NOT put things the came from or belong to people we barely know.

Why is a person that overdosed on a street drug important enough to publicly mourn? We have so many more important things we should be focusing on. In my city especially, drug addicts and homeless people are encouraged to use the resources available which varies from shelters to needle exchanges yet they still chose to live on the streets, in the bush, because they do not like rules. 

And before I get ANY hate two of my uncles are addicted to hard drugs and live on the streets and no matter what we do for them they won’t take help. 

My best friends house got trashed by a girl addicted to herion, which he did not know, that was renting a room in his and his roommates house. They lost everything including hunting rifles, personal information and cheque books. Yet this girl gets unsupervised visits with her son, lives off welfare and still scams good people. 

These people do not deserve sympathy, they do not deserve media attention. 

Can we PLEASE start respecting ourselves, reporting good news, giving attention to people who deserve it.