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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Broken walls 

I’m instantly drawn to people who are lost, who are struggling with something bigger then themselves. Their souls intertwine with mine and I am engulfed in their pain; I find myself obsessed with getting us out of this place, healing this person I’ve become mentally one with. I think that’s my problem, I physically feel the sadness and pain of others. The pain is not mine, yet I can’t help but be effected by it. This is how I felt when my dad first passed, I did not cry for me but for my mom because I knew her pain was overwhelming. I am so consumed with other people’s pain that I can’t address my own demons, my own pain.

I use to think the worst feeling in the world was being physically alone, but now I know the worst feeling is feeling alone in a building full of people. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that, while I feel others pain and can empathize, I don’t trust anyone enough to open up completely to. I keep my vulnerability locked behind steel walls with the keys pressed closely to my heart where no human will ever touch. My very outlook on the world, on human’s as a species is undoubtly grim. We are fueled by the notion that we are happy with what we have, until something better arrives; until we are bored, or trust was broken. We hide behind the screens of our phones, tablets and computer screens idolizing false reality of greener grass. We spill our unfiltered hearts and dreams to people, people that may cheat on you and tell you it’s your fault, that they never loved you or that you are crazy. How can I find the courage to trust a person when I am so aware of the impeding doom that may lay before me.

But how can I judge an entire world by a few people’s choices? How can I hold Joe Blow accountable for John Do’s mistakes, the wounds that aren’t from 12507306_1055527871186745_1375600450009688696_n.jpghis words and actions? How can I expect to find love and have children when I am so cynical and cut off?  I am not naive to believe that all men are the same, that they all only want one thing however I am wise enough to know a good majority would rather act their shoe size then their age. Mind you, I shouldn’t only throw shade on males, females are sneaky and manipulative and are just as immature as their counter partners. I know many females that walk away, that give up on people, that cheat and play games. I have encountered women that run from their families, abandon their children for the same reasons a male would. I know women who pride themselves on sleeping around, who are proud to have babies from different daddies, who live their lives a way I never knew a women would want to; But I have strong opinions on gender roles, and maybe that’s why it surprises me when women act the way a male would.

Yes, I’m a female who thinks a woman’s place is in a home raising children. That a man should make more money, should work and should provide for their families. I do not believe that a women that chooses to be a mother should be involved in a 40 hour work week while her child(ren) are being watched by a person that is only doing it for a pay cheque, or stuck behind a computer screen doing work while their children rot their brains in-front of tablet or TV. Two people that decide to have children should do everything in their power to give their children a well balanced life, and there’s no balance in a daycare or being raised by an electronic device. 

There is a point to my rambling I promise.

Like I said, I’m drawn to broken people; I am overcome with the need to speak to someone I believe is struggling no matter how long its been since I had a conversation or seen them. I constantly worry and check on their social media sites hoping to see a change. This happened not to long ago, a dream set me spiraling down to an unknown place filled with people I didn’t recognize and landmarks I didn’t know. I ended up in a apartment with people from my past, brothers of a family I knew in my younger years and as I slept my mind raced with situations and outcomes I did not understand. The youngest brother, a kind boy in his youth before the world crashed before him, was the main focus of this dream. I know, as I still speak to his sister and periodically him as well, that he as substance abuse issues and been in trouble with the law on more then one occasion. He was struggling in my dream, he was hiding from the law, he was lying to his family; his family that was in the other room emotional because of his actions. I have dreams that don’t make sense often and usually i forget them shortly after I wake up, however this dream  was different. The details were burned into my head and I was consumed with what it meant, I still am. I checked his social media for a week before finally just reaching out to him; the tormented feeling wouldn`t shake no matter what I did and I knew I had to do something.

He is currently in Detox.

His life had flipped upside down and he was days away from going into treatment when I reached out to him. He is the strong, thug sort of guy, yet every time we speak he breaks down his walls. He tells me things any other man wouldn’t, he explains his actions for things without hesitation and he shows his feelings. We sort of dated when we were 13 and his sister was one of my best friends, I was there when his dad passed, when his brother betrayed his trust and I guess I am comfortable. I am from a time when his life was a little simpler and he is from a time where my life was full. I guess we have a bond that I cant make sense of, an unwritten, unspoken binding that keeps us connected even through the years and miles apart. If a male, a broken human, and a man that made his living slanging drugs can break down his walls, can admit that he is wrong and can accept the help he needs to become the person his son deserves and in his words and so I can have a healthy relationship with someone If I wanna settle down”; If a person that has had nothing but bad situations thrown their way can look on the brighter side and I can’t? Why do I bury myself behind walls that are doing nothing but hurting me? Why am I allowing past mistakes, demons and fears scare me from living the life I always dreamed of?  It baffles me that still to this day I do not have a person I feel comfortable with, that I can tell the complete truth to, that I can show even the deepest and darkest corners of my  soul to, and yet I have become that person to so many people.

I hate my walls, the things I built to protect me have done nothing but isolate me, they have taken more then they have saved. I’ve lost so much because if and when I begin to let my walls open my mind freaks out and sends me into an anxious mess and I run. I need to learn to express myself, to allow my walls to crack and fall, to love myself, to allow others to love me; to live.

My third and final resolution for 2016 is to learn to be vulnerable without fear of judgement.

xoxo Donna.

 

 

Previously https://donnampenner.wordpress.com/

Hi Everyone, I have had a recent spike in inactivity so I was thinking it is because I changed my blog address! If anyone has looked for Donnampenner.wordpress.com please know that I have changed my address to theworldofdonnamarie.wordpress.com

Donnampenner.wordpress.com is no longer active.

Someday’s I feel like a pebble resting peacefully on shore, happy and grateful; grateful to be in a beautiful place, to be alive, to have the sea gently tickle my toes. On bad days it feels like a storm. I’m still that tiny pebble sitting on shore, however the waves are now crashing into me knocking the wind out of me and pushing me under. My lungs fill with water, I gasp for air trying to breath but its impossible. The waves, the sea has a hold of me and I feel like I am dying. Its dark and cold, I am panicking and alone and in that moment of despair, the waves subside and I return to shore. I catch my breath, open my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Just for a moment I am able to regain consciousness, fill my lungs with air rather then salt water, open my eyes without the salt water burning them and then the waves catch me again. Non-anxious, non-depressed people would say “Why don’t you just remove yourself from that spot if you know the waves will come?” Well, sane people it is because on those good days, the ones where the sun is shining on the ocean and the breeze is gentle, it is home; Its comfortable and calming. It is because the mud has dried up all around me and I am unable to move, I am stuck in this peaceful and horrific place.

Snap back into reality and I’m not a pebble, I’m not on some beach stuck because of mud, but that doom still overwhelms me.

***

 Life isn’t suppose to be easy, I know that. Our lives do not come with a instructional DVD or a perfectly laid out plan, we are not robots or characters in a scripted movie. We are all trying to find our place in this world, to find the purpose in our lives. We learn and grow everyday and this is ‘Life’.  But, someday’s that doesn’t help the feeling of dread and being stuck; being unable to leave a place, a mind set or a person that is beyond toxic to me, to my happiness. I am belittled and buried by things and people that do nothing but hurt me. I allow people and situations to control my mood. I take jobs, and do things that make me unhappy and hide my dread behind fake smiles and insincere remarks. I know running away doesn’t solve anything, I know I have people here that I’ll miss and that’ll hopefully miss me; but if I keep thinking of other people I will never get a chance to be selfish. Not selfish in the way that you may think, but putting myself first has never been my first priority and I think it’s time I do things that make me happy. I’m not getting any younger, happier or livelier being here; putting everyone else’s needs and wants before my own.

My second resolution this year is to put myself first. To do things that make my soul happy, that will help heal my broken spirit.

Writers block?

I’m so preoccupied in my own self doubting, self conscious thoughts that I am unable to write about anything.

cropped-img_1343-0.jpgHundreds of millions of Americans and Canadians feel overwhelmed and stressed out everyday, we believe that our stress and our minor problems are crushing and numbing; Myself included. While I know people have it worse, I also know that people have it better.

I know I was a blessed kid, ‘santa’ always got me my wishes, in moderation of course, My parents were together, I had clothes and a home, and more love that surrounded me then I knew what to do with. I saw an appropriate amount of affection, but I wasn’t raised with men and/or women in and out of my parents bed’s. I knew what love was, I knew what happiness was, I knew what so many people don’t; and because of that I should feel beyond blessed and grateful for the life that I live.

But for some reason, unknown to even myself, I am not.

My inability to look pass the past; the time in my life that I wasn’t in the midst of depression, or an anxiety attack. I wasn’t this angry, this sad; this radical. I did not do things out of anger, or because I ‘couldn’t deal’. I did not know what a panic attack was, or how hard it is to look someone in the eyes because something about them, or the person before them, sends me into an anxiety attack. I am not rude, or unkind; I do not avoid eye contact, or small talk because I think I am better then anyone. I know I’m less then many people. I am 25 years old, and I am unable to be a productive part of the world. I feel like I have jumped into a fire, or a freezing cold lake, and I have to try to live through all the consequences of that one mistake. I still don’t know what mistake I made, if I am being punished for being dishonest and drinking without telling my parents, for having sex to young, or maybe all of this is just a test; something only god knows the answer to.

If this is a test, father, please show me a clear sign that this is teaching me, or leading me to something far better then the pain and suffering myself and my family have gone through. tumblr_mc6pf3dKAb1r1iv4bo1_500

I am, I have been for a while, clinically depressed. Following my fathers passing it resurfaced, not exactly in the way it has in the past, I am not suicidal, I do feel hopeless. This hopeless feeling is what cost me my job, I know this. I am in need of a change, a drastic change that will make me happy. That’s all I ever wanted, you know, happiness.

I couldn’t care less about material things, a huge house, or lots of money as long as I was happy. 

Maybe this is just a chapter in my book, maybe this ‘closed door’ will open another one, one that will provide me with happiness. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.

******

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Hello again, old friend

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Hello, former best friend

I see that your life has fallen, almost magically, into the place you’ve always wanted.

You are beautiful and successful, you have a home and a man to come home to. You are sporting a smile I have never seen on your face before; glowing with a love that seems so pure and true. I am beyond ecstatic that your life is coming along so perfectly, your imperfect past seems to have long disappeared.

I remember, as though it was just yesterday, our plans of growing up together, being there for each other through many of the mile stones life throws at us. Our first places, our first loves, our engagements and our weddings. Yet, it seems like life had its own plans. Our immature selves we’re unable to fight through the hardships, the gossip and the way we were growing so far apart while we grew up.  My life, while it had its up’s, was a series of downs; my inability to accept love, or move on from my past dampened my soul until it was just a pile of wet, soggy doubt. Yours, however, suffered its share of lows but marvelled in your highs. Your amazing transformation from a man that wasn’t good for you, to a man that thinks he isn’t good enough for you; from a self concious girl to a vivacious woman and from my best friend to a person I know nothing about.

While none of this can be place upon either of us individually, it is a consequence of both of our unkind words, our unconventional way of becoming ‘friends’ and the way neither of us could put aside our pride and be 100% there for one another.IMG_1652-0

That was probably the problem, we were to into ourselves and I was unable to communicate with you about the things that were weighing so heavily on my soul. I apologize because I know our failed friendship is 80% my fault.

While our generation went through the normal teenage emotions, the normal ‘depression’ we all felt once and a while, I was trapped in a never-ending-spinning-carousel of emotions everyday. My dad’s body was failing him while our classmates, you included, pumped their adolescent bodies with drugs and alcohol. I became the kind of person who didn’t want to be away from home, not because I was antisocial, or because I wasn’t “fun” but because I didn’t want to miss a moment with my dad, especially with people who were damaging their bodies. This was something I never confided in you, one of many things sadly. While I know friendships fail all the time, I cannot stop myself of wondering what life, what our friendship would be like today if I stepped out of my comfort zone and expressed how I was feeling to you. Why I was unable to keep a job, why your comments such as ‘I told ____ you probably wouldn’t last’ hurt me to the point that I began to hate you.

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I am sorry that I hated you because of something that was never your fault. I am sorry that I ignored your phone calls, or became unreachable many times throughout our friendship. I am sorry for everything that I did that ultimately ended the one friendship that I expected to have forever.

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Congratulations on your recent engagement and I hope your wedding is everything you ever dreamed of.

Lots of Love,

Donna

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Everything I loved became everything I lost.

All of the above...but make that coffee a hot chocolate, please.:

Stress – You self absorbed, attention seeking jerk of an emotion, I hate you so much.

I hate the way you are always right there demanding my full attention. Screaming and crying like a two-year old that wants something they cannot have; pulling and tugging on my clothes, hitting and punching me and becoming ‘dead’ weight leaning on my entire body.

I’m sick of pretending to be happy all the time, I’m sick of having to cheer everyone up when I can barely stand getting up in the morning. It just does not seem fair any more.

How, honestly someone tell me, how am I suppose to get over, or rather live with the stress of feeling empty. I am coming undone, and unable to live past the loss of my dad. They never ending reminders that seem to plague my home and dreams. That haunt every inch of this city and every mile of the world. I am stuck – in a theoretic way of course – in the past, in the life I had. I think 1998 was still only 10 years ago, my entire life froze the instant I learned of my dads illness.

How do you overcome that?

How do you begin to live again? Especially after all this time in limbo.

I want – more then anything- a happy life. One thats full of adventure and of love. Which seems nearly impossible with the self-doubting, stressed out, frozen in the past personality I’ve developed.

So, Dear Stress.

PLEASE Leave me alone.