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..



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.”

Somewhere over the rainbow

Everything’s the same but it all feels so different. 

I need different, I need some time in a beautiful place, no phone, no work, no stress. I need to smile again, laugh, be who I was before my dad passed away. 

It’s not just that my dad died. I know that.

My feelings are hurt. I feel like I’ve put so much into my job, I helped do new line on my nephews 4th birthday, I’m there whenever they need me. Why am I making less then a sales associate? Why am I making less then the people that are only available 2-3 times a week? I understand that I make more then minimum wage, and that I should be grateful that I have a job, that I get hours; I am, I really am. But I’ve started to feel so taken advantage of, I feel so resentful. I would never laugh at someone who told me they were on the phone with income assistance trying to get help to get their loved one cremated. How is struggling to grant a mans dying wish funny? I’m sorry my mom and I don’t make triple digit incomes like you and your husband. I’m sorry we don’t have money to go on vacations monthly. We struggle and laughing at our misfortunes really bothered me. 

I use to feel so comfortable at work, I don’t anymore. 

I’m struggling so much just to go to work, I’m struggling to not fall back into my old ways where I would just not show up to a job and ignore phone calls. I’m constantly battling myself, trying to beat my depression. 

I’m angry that my “best friend” hasn’t even tried to see me since my dad died. 

I’m annoyed that everyone assumes I’m dating the only real friend I have left. Putting thoughts like that in my head is just making me question myself and our friendship. It’s making me withdraw myself from him. I’m pushing the only person I really care about, other then my family, away because of other people’s words. I know we are better as friends, I know we love each other but arent in love with each other. Yes, I know best friends make the best partners, and he’s everything I look for in a man but his friendship is more important to me then trying to risk it all for “love”. 

I hate that everyday my eyes burn because no matter what I do I end up in tears. My eyes are constantly blood shot, I’m constantly tired. Every time I attempt to talk about what’s bothering me I shut down, unable to get anything out other then “I don’t want to talk about it” 

But I do want to talk about it. 

I want to scream it all out, I want to ugly cry until I feel better, I want people to ask me how I am and I can tell them I’m terrible. I want to tell them I’m not good, I’m not fine & I’m not living. 

A piece of me, a huge piece, has died. A part of who I am is dead. How can anyone be fine after that? How can anyone expect someone to be fine after loosing someone they love? Half of the reason I’m here isn’t here, half the reason I’m alive isn’t. So no I’m not living. No you can’t say or do anything to make it better but not saying anything doesn’t help either. 

I don’t want people to treat me like I’m broken, but I want people to listen when I want to talk about it. 


I still haven’t seen you in my dreams daddy. Where are you?