a new day

my sitting and pining seems to spark mainly a flame in my soul which yearns, with each open breath to speak to you and tell you all that I've discovered in just a few days of looking. Looking where? Into my own thoughts, and beliefs, and motives, and behaviors, to see why my life has fallen short of what I want it to be; why I am so hurt, so scared, so lonely, and so confused. Because I pray and I ask to be shown what I can actually do here, right now, to make any sort of anything better. Don't we all come to that moment at times? That moment when I know I have no idea which way to turn, but I know I gotta turn some way, and it feels like the scene of an old movie as i sit at the fork of a dusty dirt road.

my relationship with God has been my only ever peace and resolution in times of absolute doubt. and yet, over and over again I find that it is so hard to trust God. Perhaps about as hard as trusting anyone here as well. But I fight and I cry and I whine when my life doesn't work out the way I want it to... all the while forgetting that I believe in a world where God always provides. I just forget to ask. often.

but, i believe in this world where happiness is a perception deal, and my faith can change my world because it has been my experience in life. i have seen miraculous things I could seldom admit in front of a croud of people, and it is not my place to debate the origin of such miracles. I know it in my heart.
but what's most amazing is that every single time I can turn my heart and my thoughts and my attention to what I can give and do and be - rather than what I need, or did, or can't have - then I am on my way to freedom.

cause i'm starting to realize that my un-checked selfish desires (ooohhh, banan splits, fancy clothes, and love!) might be the biggest reason why I begin to think that my life has fallen short of what I wanted...
which happens sometimes, you know?

there is no need for me to complain. i have everything i need, and whole ton of stuff I want. i am loved and taken care of in every way by myself and my loved ones. no matter what today brings, i hope i can remember just how very grateful i am for every person, every moment, and for the chance to start over at any time of my day or night, to say a quiet prayer and let my mind change.

When my heart hurts:

I'm mostly beside myself because I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go, and it seems like the choices I make keeping screwing everything up. It's hard to know if I'm trying to force life into what I want it to be because I'm constantly taking charge of situations. And this is ludicrous considering I frequently make mistakes in what I say and what I mean to say. I shouldn't be in charge of my own relationships.

The good news, however, came from my bff's perspective this morning:
I need to focus on the internal stuff I can control and regulate, and start letting something much more powerful than me do the work on all the external situations.

I just don't know why I start to believe that everything is up to me to figure out. I sit here, today, looking at the bag of his things sitting near the door waiting for that god-awful 'exchange' thinking that the truth is that i do not have the answers, and that is perfectly ok. I don't know if I should fight like I want to, or let him go in the hopes that he returns whole-hearted like that old adage says, but I'm listening and learning that maybe, just maybe, if I stop trying to figure out what to do for half a moment, and I start looking into my own heart, and my own behavior, and my own ideals, and my own beliefs, then I might get out of the way long enough for God to place me exactly where I need to be. Maybe what I want doesn't matter. Maybe what I can learn here is most important.

Of course, for me, every vision still includes him in it... and my heart still aches... and I still hope beyond hope that my future follows his... but I'm starting to believe that my only right move, is the one I ask for strength and guidance to be shown.

it is broken

I think a broken heart is the most painful status of being there is. Cause that's the deal... it is a state of being. It happens, like it does, horrifically, suddenly, and then there you are: heartbroken. Sitting, staring, crying, snoting, blaming, whining and begging. Oh god, it is so unpretty.
I love that almost every human on the planet can relate to a broken heart... I love that when I walk in the door with snot on my face and eyes the color of jupiter I can quickly explain away their horror by admitting my status of being: broken hearted. It is almost like declaring oneself a writer or a musician as a way to stave off the would-be hygeine critics and career police. My broken heart is my clearance to look an absolute mess... though, instead, I frequently try to look my best. At least that's the advice my grandma always gave when a boy didn't want to love me anymore... she said there ain't no use in crying, you just go put on your best silk blouse and call it life.
But the truth is, even though I don't like to call my granny a liar, there is nothing I can do to make this pain go away. No silk blouse of any color is gonna fade the feel of his arms on my skin, no one's opinion of what should've or would've is going to rewrite this story. I don't really know what heals the heart which has been broken, but I'm certainly waiting on its magic.

Almost a month

It's been almost a month since I've set my intentions on writing here, in this digital space where maybe 10-50 people will hear my words spoken within the reiteration of their own mind's reading. Subject to interpretation, of course. But one month, almost, it has been, and today I remembered that I want to write here everyday most importantly for the reason that the release keeps me sane. In this last month, as like always, I have tempered my moods, calming and heightening my affect to suit the likes of the people around me. But for some reason, today, I am more resolved in my heart, and quick in my middle-finger muscle memory. I want to write because I want to live, and that desire doesn't always come so easliy or genuinely to a bipolar chic like me. But today?

Today I am sitting in the midst of my own broken heart. A dream I had just yesterday seems suddenly to be unreal. The person for whom my heart yearns decided to walk away, and I am still here. Living today despite the horrible possibility that the only script I'd ever written concerning love, is turning in to a bigger flop than any J Lo theatrical disaster. So I sit, and I cry, and I cry, and I cry, and I tell myself one hundred thousand times to stop thinking whatever it is I happen to be thinking at that moment which is most abundantly along the lines of self-hating, pessimistic, hateful, pitiful, and martyrdom. That's just how I roll.

See, the deal with being bipolar is that most often my thoughts and my emotions are guided by forces and chemicals outside of my control, and often outside of my awareness. I do not know that I am abnormal; frequently the only barometer for my whackyness will be the looks and attitudes of the people around me as I blow through conversations like a hurricane, or melt into emotional mush on their feet. In fact, not until I have begun to silently implode on my bathroom floor in a pool of my own thoughts and fears do I start to catch the idea that I'm suffering from something that I just don't understand.

Maybe this is why my heart is broken.

 

 There is an article published in yesterday's Wall Street Journal titled "The Magnitude of the Mess We're In" that I haven't yet read, but is on the top of my must-read list for the day. Yes, like, today. I find it sometimes quite difficult to fit into the hours given in one day the total number of experiences I'd like to have. There is so much to see and do and feel and taste and hear and learn that the time it would take to do it all pales in comparison.

Like right now I'm totally supposed to be in class. But it's raining. And my favorite person is not otherwise engaged, and I have internet, and coffee, and a new puppy all joyfully existing in my home. And so there it is that I shall remain also, to tell you this story...

About stumps.

 

Two inches below the surface

you don't even break the wake

but meters you have an' aren't showin'

Brrrrbbbrrrrrbrbrr...  ya give me the shakes

 

 

A forrest, he said, up under those ripples

the land, hardly cleared 'fore flood

old hickorys and oaks

they make your motor choke

and send fear through your blood

Tally-Quincy!!

I've never been on this lake before.... I bet that's hard to believe. But sometimes even just 4 miles can make all the difference in the world...

I never knew this was in my backyard. No, not literally. But kinda... Lake Talquin is amazing, and beautiful, and scary, and a little bit gross.

I spent the day on the water with my new digital water-proof camera, a few fishin poles, and the only wilderness guide I've ever met who's knowledge could rival my Dad's. I wish I could write about all the cool and interesting factoids I learned about this lake and its rivers and canals... but I keep all of that information safely stored in my boyfriend's brain. And he's asleep right now.

Needless to say... this lake is actually pretty darn cool.

This spot pictured above was on the creek with an Indian sounding Okeehokee-type name. It reminded us of that awfully awesome move Anaconda... ;)

In fact, I swore I would photo shop J-Lo and Ice-T (...or was it Cube? hmmmmm) into the bushes back there.

These bird's nests are everywhere along the rivers and the lake. I saw many Great Blue Herons, which was such a treat! My grandparents raised our family on a little canal-front house on Merritt Island fishing often from our dock chairs and scoping the grand, great herons on post after post down the brackish canal. The herons will forever remind me of my Grandmother, calling out rediculous bird calls and caws to the stoic creatures, and time after time never tiring of pointing them out to me.

Aaaahhh, yes. These are the stairs which lead to no where.... and from nowhere they follow.

The day on the lake was unbelievably peaceful. I didn't even take my phone in the boat. I know that the way in which I obsess over my phone could lead one to believe that I might freak without it, but the contrary is actually more close to the truth. I love the seldomly experienced, responsibility-free moments in time which grant me independence to exist in this world without having 'to answer' in any way, shape or form. You know those times when we make that conscious effort to float away from the crowd and into the softer, smoother, deeper waves?

Well that's what this day felt like for me...

Happy?

Sitting in the arms of my totally gorgeous, and very rational, boyfriend thinking about my day and my life I say, "I can't believe I finally lost those 30lbs! I'm happier than I could ever say in words!"

Looking abashed, my boyfriend asks, "Why can't you just say 'That makes me happy.'?"

Hmmm.

My frontal lobe immediately began churning and spawning thoughts and theories so quickly that I lurched across the table, to his consternation, and scrambled for the nearest pen and pad. I hastily scribbled:

"Suffice it to say that my incessant attempts at communication and diction are often fueled by the utter inadequacy of vocabulary in vocalizing and epitomizing the truth of my heart."

Ironically, my pleasure at the concoction of this magnificent sentence afore was actually equivalent to his suggested verbage, so as I put down my pen to rejoin the conversation, I could not help but to giggle out loud.

And so I said, in response to my convenient sentence, and with a cermonious drop of my pen and pad onto the table,

"That makes me happy."

.perception.

Relief comes in moments, on days, not always,
when the world's overcompensating pain seems dull and relentless...ly, I see
that the moments of ease came sparing and clean
with the staff-driven truth and the long white hair
always there
but only then that I felt, in repose, I suppose,
an ounce of relief.
But when my id, my ego, my self upon self says, to me, in a heated, heartfelt stutter:

"I ddiiddiiiddn't know....."

Then I know.

I know that this hole in my heart and this part in my soul
seem to be all I remember in the heat of my throws.
Times of peace or ease that sate
are those times of grit and grimace, and faith.
Much of the rest sits massively in wait
like a tumor webbed through synapse
...or a dog. at the gate.

Ok, this should be easy...

I used to have water and now I don't
Fish could prolly live here, but they won't
Scientists say "dang, we didn't know"
But the Indians 'round Jackson..... they say it's always been so.

Spirit of the Wolf

DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE ??

It's the   spirit    of      the      wolf  

 

On some numbered dirt road in the Appalachicola National Forrest.

bog log jog nog dog pog cog hog FOG!

Do you know where I am?

I could give you a hint...

It's a canopy road in Tallahassee...

But farther in a particular direction than most of us would normally go...



I stood in awe of the morning mist moving through the Pine field as the sun rose behind an opaque sky cover so thick it seemed I could feel the grey weighing down on my skin. It was fresh. And so clean, clean.

9am. No, not now.

Today I randomly met my best friend for a conversation in a parking lot around 9am. Surprisingly, this is not all that unusual for the two of us.

We talked about my first day of my last day of undergrad, which is today. Hooray. I went back to school 3 years ago simply because my whole life fell apart, I had no money (thank you Recession 2008-2000ever), and I didn't really want to keep working as hard as I was at a job I no longer enjoyed. But this wasn't something I planned to do. Going to college seemed, to me, the easiest route to take. I never struggled academically (just socially, emotionally, and chemically!), and I knew I could excel if I just went back and gave it the ol' college try.

We talked about this journey of self discovery through education and postsecondary learning and my best friend told me the story of 'Ms. Judy:' a family friend when my friend was a child, a woman born with severe dyslexia who struggled her entire life through school, a graduate of college after over 12 consecutive years of taking classes, re-taking classes, and learning to learn despite her disability, and, now, an elementary school teacher with empathy, hope, and experience to share with children in her classroom.

I love that. And I'm pretty sure I'd love 'Ms. Judy' too. I'm really grateful that learning has never been a challenge for me... because other areas of life have never come anywhere close to easy... so it's a balance thing... and a reminder to always, ALWAYS, stay grateful :)

... and work hard.

-On 27-

This is that place you may have passed one time at 45MPH...

 

 

You know how when your family has that place out of town that you travel to frequently and you feel like you know the trip so well you could see it driving with your eyes closed? That's how I feel about Hwy 27. I've headed either North or South on 27 most everyday of my life, I guess. And this little spot is so amazingly cool, you know, if you're in to delapidated structures and all. (Which I am, so... YAY.) This building sits at the junction of 27 and 19, the Florida-Georgia Parkway. I love flashing through those blinking caution lights all the way down the state wondering, "Do people really live here in... Two Egg!?" Well, I'm sure they do. But I digress.

 

And so stands, wearily, on the edge of rememberance, this old store-front. I stopped here with my love while passing through recently to snoop for secrets, and wonder what happened, and wander the scene. There were bluberry bushes around back...

 

I like the way my belly feels when I peer into windows not knowing what I might find. 'Cause, really, how often do you find underbrush growing within a building? I like the way my mind and my eyes search every old shelf, dusty corner, for some sign of previous life. All the while I remember my previous life, and that not-so-old house that was left much in the same way this one must have looked when I fled those years ago. Sometimes the darkness in others and within ourselves is more subtle than dusk falling second by second. Sometimes the best thing to do is run...



 

Standing in this time warp, I contemplated what seemed like my entire existence in a matter of 3 minutes. I see metaphors in most everything, and this building was no exception. What ever destroyed it is gone now, and the new growth within its unnatural walls tout a feral conformity to new laws of life. It is like me. Those who have done their part to belittle and invalidate me are no longer around, and the new life I've been given resembles my old purpose but a little. I have been formed and reformed by the elements surrounding me, and the most basic and truest form of myself is still here.....life has just peeled back a few layers to give me a better view of the sky ;)

Where am I?

Does anybody remember this place? I used to go here all the time with my family when we kids were younger. I remember that mound felt SO tall and those stairs seemed to reach as high as a mountain top! I think it's so strange how memories build and are re-made through the years if you stay in your home town. I see places everyday that I've been watching change my whole life. And I guess we, as people, change too. I remember the last time my whole family was together at this place...

It was the Spring of '99. My sister and I were 17, and my little brother 11. My father obtained a day pass for me from the adolescent substance abuse treatment facility I attended, and my sister was 8 months pregnant. I usually sarcastically joke about how my family raises "winners" at this point in my story. But I remember chasing my little brother up those stairs, thinking how short the rise of each step felt, and reaching the top before my attention span expired. I remember thinking about my soon-to-be nephew and how much life seemed to be changing at that moment. And I remember my family as we were on that day.

What are your memories of [here]?

I prefer to 'endure' rather than to 'suffer'

This shiii is crazy. Or maybe I am?

Perhaps I could tell you that I am a recovering alcoholic of the manic depressive type with a ton on my mind and a laptop at my fingers. There exists a medical chart roughly 52mm thick in some office somewhere that probably paints a pretty rough picture of my personality...though I think enough is quite evident already in my daily behavior and jaunts into 'civilian' society to clearly define my issues: Bipolar, PTSD, ADHD......whatever. My diseases and disorders, while opressive and foreboding, do not necessarily define me. I am a woman. I am a woman old enough to do whatever I wish, and still young enough to jump in feet first. I am a mother. I am a mother who had to learn what it meant to love my child as she grew, because it didn't happen in my heart simply by rite of her birth. I am a student. This Fall semester will see the conclusion of my undergraduate work after so many years of setbacks and hard work. I am a partner and friend. I give my love to a man whom I'm pretty sure was given directly to me by God, and all the rest of what I have is spread like joy to my friends, without whom I would not be alive. And I write.....

I write and I snap photos and I will share this journey as I go. THIS is an amazing life far beyond my wildest dreams, and it's time to start documenting the dang thing!