you get what you ask for

I have to find that magical place of 'letting go'.

Too many friends have let me go and it hurts, but I have to find a way to let them go as well, or Mr. Lumpy will come back with a vengeance in another place of my body.

Poisoning me with black masses.

Rotting me from the inside, to equal the pain that my heart is exuding.

Today we're going to get the biopsy results.  I know it will show nothing, not only because everyone has convinced me it is only a cyst, but because the doctor missed the mark by an inch when he did the biopsy.

No matter.

July 1st we get insurance and if Mr. Lumpy is still kickin' around, which he is right now, we'll be getting a 2nd opinion at the cancer hospital in Santo Domingo.

Anyway, to keep Mr. Lumpy from moving to another part of my body and possibly causing much more trouble than he already has, I need to forgive.

I need to understand that there is no room in my life for the people who have left me, or I won't be making any room fo the new friends I need here.

Yesterday, the man who started out as merely our DoorMan did the BIGGEST favour for us.

He's kinda a big deal here in the business world, with his electricity options, like our inverter, and later on he'll be fixing us up with our solar energy.

He buys a lot of items from the crappy store called PriceSmart we bought our washing machine from.  They wouldn't return it, and everything we've ever brought from them has broken down.

We still haven't done our own laundry.

Anyway, he TOLD them that if they treated us like that, they they would surely treat him like that.  And if that was the case, he'd take his business elsewhere, because he doesn't want to do business with a company that would treat a newcomer to the country as such.

We got our money back and will be buying a machine that works.  HUGE favour.

He invited us to his house for when he has a housewarming with the big mansion he just bought.

He is becoming a friend, because he WANTS to be.

Every friend who has, for whatever reason they need to tell themselves, let me go in Canada, will gain me a new friend here.

I used to do that with my clothes; in with the new, out with 2 of the old.

Now I have to do it with my heart.

Those who I never wronged, yet still, they block me from their virtual life with an obvious, 'do not disturb' sign as they join ranks with the 'mean girls'.

Those who just stopped talking to me because of their beliefs, but never asked me what the real truth was.

Those who jumped on the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon, because they're now in with the cool kids in the 'community'.

Hey you know what?  If they did it to me, they'll also treat you as such.  You'll get your turn too.  Don't come to me when it happens.

I'll forgive you, but I will not forget how badly I needed you, yet you disappeared at a very dark moment.

I'll forgive you, but I will not allow another opportunity for you to hurt my way too sensitive heart.

I'll forgive you, but I will move on and one day, you'll think of me.

You'll remember that I never did anything wrong, and that I could have been a really good friend to you.

I'll run across your mind that pang of, 'damn I'm sorry' will have to be kept to yourself, because I'll forgive you, but I will not forget.

The DoorMan is making it clear he wants to be our friend.  He's told us not to pay a dime until we are confident that it is working and we have no problems.

No charge until we're happy.

He wants to be our friend.  I'll take him up on that.  So far, he's acted in a more loving way than those who have left me back home.

All I want is love and trust.  It's how I thrive.

Those friends who stuck by me, have been the only reason we're still trudging forward.  There are so many of you that have truly kept me going.

The only thing those who have hurt me are giving me is more depression.

I have to forgive and let go.  I let you go now.

I gain new friends.  I do what's right for me.

I'll ask my angels to help me say, "Goodbye."

forgiveness is a gift you give yourself

if i could pop you like a zit ...

Communication in the Dominican Republic doesn't need to have a language barrier to make it difficult.

It just isn't their strong suit.

Mind you, it's not the strong suit of some friends who seem to have gone dorment since this all started, echoing the experience after my motorcycle accident, when people just didn't know what to say, so instead of supporting me, they merely vanish along with their awkwardness.

All I can say is, I'm grateful for the few that have said words of strength.  YOU lift me up.

"Come back on Monday for the biopsy, the doctor will be ready," said our attending.

So, I freaked out all weekend, having never had a biopsy before.

I had panic attacks.  I cried.  There were more than a few Hurricane Andréa sightings as I was at the bottom of the Pit of Doom once more.

No matter how hard I tried to calm down, my mind just whispering, "Monday, you're mine.  Monday, it all comes down.  Monday ..." like some stalker calling me on the phone every hour to torment me.

Only, I couldn't hang up.

Well, Monday came and I was a mess.  I had done so well the day before with everyone telling me it was just a cyst and I actually felt that I believed it, but the day came and I was hooped again.

Off to the hospital we went, and after 2 hours of waiting the appropriate Dominican Time to see the doctor for our 2:30 appointment, he asked us, "So, what can I do for you today?"

Really?  You're for real right here?  Papi and I looked at each other with disbelief, like he'd just barfed shards of glass through our already thin skin.

We started from the beginning of the story, sounding monotonous, because the story now FEELS tiresome.

He had me disrobe right there, felt Mr. Lumpy for a moment then said, "It's probably benign, but we should do the test anyway because it's on the lymph node.  Come back tomorrow after fasting for the blood tests and after the results we'll book you a biopsy."

You're fucking kidding me, right?  I panicked all weekend for you to push around Mr. Lumpy and tell me to go starve myself?

Now I have to deal with this bullshit for a few more days?

Well, we did what we were asked, and the blood tests were ready for that afternoon and he went over them and told us to come back tomorrow for the biopsy at 9 a.m.

We were there, he wasn't.

He showed up around 11.  Dominican Time.

The biopsy was finally done at about 12:30.

It really didn't hurt all that much, so really, I was afraid of nothing.

Again, he said, "It's probably benign."  The only problem is, there's a mark on my mamm where the needle went in, but that's not where Mr Lumpy resides.

Mr. Lumpy is about 3 cm lower, and my damn tit is still just as itchy as it was the day I started complaining about it.

Now we wait for a week to find out that the results say, 'benign', then we go for a 2nd opinion.

After that, I carry my ass off to Canada to get the cancer gene test, where I get to go be in pain from the temperature difference.

I'm so sick of all this that I just don't even care anymore.  I honestly don't.  I'm done crying, I'm done being afraid, I'm done worrying.

I'm fucking pissed off.

This was not what moving here was about, but all of a sudden it's all about Mr. Lumpy.

Well, you know what Mr. Lumpy?  You can just fucking sit there and do whatever you have to do for a week.  For a month.  I don't care.

Grow if you want to, go away if you get bored now that I refuse to be entertained by you anymore, but Mr. Lumpy, I'm done.

The depression Mr. Lumpy has put me in has robbed me of all strength and energy.

This is not living.  If you're going to kill me, get it over with.  If you're not, then fuck off.

If I could pop you like a zit, you'd be MY victim.

Go bug someone else your own size.  Like a cockroach.

At this point, I feel if this really was something sinister, I doubt my angels would put me through the wringer to find out.

I'm through with your pestering.

loving myself heals my life ... i nourish my body and soul

It's a bad day for The Donkey.

The Donkey goes in to see Dr. Bob to get fixed today.

She will look at us with the saddest face when we leave her, "You're abandoning me?!  What did I do?!"

Then when we pick her up, while she's depressed and lying in a cage, the face will say, "Whatever I did, I won't do it again."

I wish they spoke English so I could explain what's going on.  Hell, I'd settle for learning their language, if I could.

Old Ghost Face is in heat, but she's much to old to get fixed, so we'll just hide her from the other horny males in the 'hood who keep impregnating all the bitches.

So many pregnant dogs.  So many puppies killed because of it.

Why can't I be that rich person who could pay for all the animals to get fixed and stop the reproduction problem they have here in the Dominican Republic?

Not to make this into a billboard for promotion of the local program or anything, but if you feel like giving anything this year, here's the AAAS, their tax exempt donations, along with their wish list.

Anyway, back to Old Ghost Face.

When we went to the beach the other day, we left her in the yard for a short amount of time, as we didn't know what she might do.

Bolt?

Find a stud to take care of business?

After the mob calmed down, we let her out to join the masses to see what happened.

She stayed close by, because she loves her pack and her humans.  There was nothing greater than seeing that smile on her face.

First, there was trepidation that looked like she was thinking, "Is this a trick?  Are they trying to tell me to leave?  But I get 2 meals a day now!  WITH Alpo gravy!  I'm not leaving this yard."

Then, she took the brave slide down the sand that is slowly disappearing from our front area, as we need those massive boulders PRONTO before we wash away.

Next came the smile.

The, 'I'm so happy I could shit' smile.

I'll spare you the details on that one.

Never-the-less, it was successful, and as soon as she's out of heat, we'll take her on those treks to the beach, along with the pack who will also be exempt from making more puppies in this country.

Totally un-related, let's talk about how much love I received yesterday, when Our Fave's Mom and his sister came by to invite me to go play in the ocean.

The sweetest thing ever is when a child who isn't born to you, loves and trusts you enough to ask you to her hand while you go both go wading in the water.

Honestly.

It makes me so proud that the innocence of a child understands my heart.

Even if adults don't, a child and their intuition know that I'm here for good and I'm here for love.

Because of this sentiment, and the affection of friends who keep making an effort to remain in my heart, I can safely put aside all the politics, judgement and people who have dumped me because they're now part of the 'cool kids' who are on the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon.

... again ... my heart needs so much healing from the henpeckers ...

When a child wants to play with me in the ocean, doesn't see colour as a barrier, and asks for nothing but joy?

That trumps all.

Then we came to the pool, I pushed her around on the Princess Floaty Chair and she giggled and smiled while her mom had just a few moments to rest and watch.

She had time to just do 'nothing' but watch us in the ocean, in the pool, because the Little Angel was sleeping and Our Favourite was at school.

Rest, for the mama, for at least 30 minutes.

Probably felt like more to her, considering she goes non-stop because her husband is always working.

I keep offering us to babysit so she can have rest, but she hasn't taken us up on that yet.

However, she did say she was moving to Gaspar Hérnandez without her husband, to be closer to her sister, who is a HUGE help.

That made me sad, but until she actually goes, I'll appreciate the time with my DR Family and play with the little ones in the ocean as much as I can.

That child, and the friends back home who haven't left my side, make me stronger every day.

Truly, love is all that matters.

i know i am important

looking to the future

There's a small possibility that we'll have a washing machine soon.

I'm not getting my hopes up, though.

Hopes for what Papi and I know as 'normalcy' get crushed here pretty quickly.

The women 2 towns down do a really good job, and I don't rub the skin raw off my knuckles trying to do it by hand.

No chloro.  No destroying of clothes.  They fold it super wonderful and they really smell good too.

If we never have a washing machine, we'll just live like we have been.

Clothes don't get brought in for cleaning until they start offending people's nasal cavity.

Mine tend to do that faster than Papi.

Not sure why I'm such a stinky girl, but I never used to smell like this years ago.

Too much info for ya?

Ok, let's talk about The Donkey and her first trip to Dr. Bob yesterday.

There's a double edged sword of reality here.

First of all, the people we adopted her from lied to us.

Now we know they just wanted to get rid of her, even if it meant lying about her, and it always aches when I think about unwanted animals.

I knew they were lying about her being part rottweiler, even if they did show a pic of the 'mother'.  Pictures don't prove anything.

The moment I saw her, I knew she couldn't have any rott in her, because she is so thin in the hind quarters.  Any hound that is part rottweiler would have that rottie bum.  No choice in the matter.

Anyway, I said it all along, but Dr. Bob confirmed it for Papi, and Papi believed him over me.

But the other part they lied about?  She was not 4 months when we got her, she was around 7 or 8 months.

Which means she's not going to grow any bigger.  That to me was the best news EVER!

As much as it's cute and all to have a novelty like the world's tallest dog, the fears I had about her just strolling up to the counter and eating everything off it without her paws leaving the ground have been calmed.

She'll fill out a bit, but no taller.  Phew!!!!!

So, she's around 8 or 9 months now.  Ready to be fixed so we're not inundated with donkey pups from the un-neutered dogs in the hood.

Next week is her day, and it's just as hard for us!

Dropping her off and seeing that face that says, "You're leaving me?!?!"  Then picking her up when she's in a kennel with the eyes that say, "Whatever I did, I'll never do it again!!"

But it's better than having unwanted puppies.

It's better than her puppies being in the hands of the same type of person who would just give her away when she got too big.

There's another really difficult part about dogs in the Dominican Republic that absolutely kills me.

People can't afford to get their dogs fixed, so there's pregnant dogs all over the place.

But the puppies?  When there's too many puppies, people kill them.  That's the animal control, because spaying and neutering is not a financial option.

It absolutely cuts my heart into pieces and I can't handle thinking about it sometimes.

I want to make a difference here and help to start raise money for the spaying and neutering of dogs here along side the AAAS.

As things calm down, I have 2 projects that have to be started pronto.

Make some kind of promotion to help get animals fixed, and get the choir going with the kids.

Then there's the PanMan!

He stopped by yesterday and told me as SOON as we're done here, he wants me to get working with him to help promote his ecotours and land for people to live on.

Oh, hey!  I get my keyboard today!!!  I get to start making music again!!!

So, it looks like I have a lot of good things coming up.  Let's just find me some down time to do it, OK angels?!?!

OK?

And how about that washing machine?

(oh hey ... if you like the sunday sillies of our YouTube show, maybe you could join up on the Facebook page and help spread the word about it?)

i engage in work that impacts the world in a positive way

rolling with it ...

It really is the worst possible time for this 2 week sabbatical.

Papi and I are both feeling it, but most importantly, we're still moving through it.

My love has been working hard at his end of the deal, and so have I.

It's really not easy.

I have seen mi esposo a few times, where we can.

Yesterday he did his chauffeur job and drove me to an appointment after I got to the Vancouver side of the Burrard Inlet.

Even if it was for those 20 minutes of getting a ride with my love, it was worth it just to see him.

The hardest part is when I have to leave, knowing that I don't get to sleep in our bed.

"Can you drive me to the SeaBus now, Papi?" is the hardest question to ask.

I just want to be with him.

I don't want to be somewhere else, even if I do have the coolest temporary roommate, Java the Mutt, not to mention, my Eternal Friend whom I'm grateful I'm able to spend a little time with.

It is wonderful to get to get to have this quality time with my Eternal Friend whom I've known since elementary school.

It's like a little holiday with her gorgeous North Van condo, complete with soaking tub and bubbles!

At the same time I'm making the best of this situation, it's still difficult to have to live out of a suitcase.

However, I would rather that than to live with an active alcoholic.

It's important for me to know that I can live away from him, in the off chance his addiction could one day convince him that the bottle is more enticing than a life with your love and your soul mate.

I have to do this to know that I'm still able to have a sober, drama free life, even if the addict/alcoholic is abusing their drug of choice.

I have to do this so I'm safe.

Papi now has 5 days clean and sober.

Every day he works on his part, is a day I'm closer to going home.

A day closer to getting back to my Fuzzy Family who are currently not speaking to me.

Yeah, they're pissed.

They're not impressed that I've 'abandoned' them.

I'm sure they'll get over it when I get home.

We all will.

'I just want my life back to how it was,' is just a myth.

Everything is changing.

There is no 'how it was'.

Ever.

If we try to stay with 'how it was', we'll be sorrily surprised when life gives us the gears.

If we don't roll with it, we'll remain the victim.

So, I'm rolling.

Even with all the rocks and roots that jab me as my little muscles careen down that hill, I endure bump after bump.

I roll.

It's better than being in the Pit of Doom

Honestly, I'm cool with rolling, as long as I'm not being kicked when I'm down, and so far, everyone has left their hen pecking, shit-kicking Daytons at home.

Instead, I'm feeling so much love, support and hope.

i discover new aspects of my self-confidence daily

2 weeks.

My eyes have gone down a bit.

I finally stopped turbo crying when I had an actual telephone conversation with Papi.  It was good for me to let him know in voice what my terms of condition are.

1. I will go home when he's 2 weeks clean and sober and not a day sooner.

2. I will not live with an active addict or alcoholic, not even for mi esposo. 

3. I love him

Still, the love of my life is not exempt from these conditions and I will never live with that bullshit again.

I've done it too many times in my struggling life, and this is not the way my life with my love was supposed to be.

He has made his mind up about being clean 'n sober, because he had such a bad experience the other day, and doesn't want to have that life of crying on a curb in the streets of the DTES.

One of his messages said, "I feel like an addict again."

It's the lies coming from alcohol if you think you can control it.

Of course you can!

Until it gets it's grasp on your meaty tendrils and then you're alllllll his.  That's when nothing matters more than another drink.

The wife you love so much doesn't matter, even if she's crying at home alone, begging you to take a cab and come home, because the drink has a hold on you.

No, you won't take that cab.

No, you won't come home.

I know this.

I've lived this.

Both from my end and from the end of the person who has loved me, yet left my heart dangling in agony, because their addiction had a hold of them and I no longer mattered.

There is nothing harder than watching someone you love kill themselves in front of your eyes, and having to leave love because of it.

Nothing.

There is no grieving like it, because you don't get closure when they're still breathing.  There's nothing you can do to save them, you can only save yourself, and watch them bob in your wake.

I have a lovely friend who has given me her home for a few weeks, while I watch mi esposo get better day by day.

I've never really believed in prayer, but I feel like it's what I'm doing now.

I pray my love makes himself better so I can go back to my beautiful marriage.

I pray I have the strength to believe that our lives together will be ok.

I pray the tears I cry as I write this will dissipate after I've written it all out and can go find coffee.

I pray for the dreams we have mustered to come to reality.

I pray for Papi.

I am grateful he sees the brutality of addiction so quickly.  

Most people have to go a little further to find it, and sometimes, that little further is too much to be able to see the crumbs to follow back home.

I miss him so much. 

I haven't seen him since I left for Seattle on Friday at 8:45 a.m.

I have a beautiful friend who has forced me to eat berries.

It was a good choice.  They're an addiction that is good for you.

I am grateful for these berries, the outpouring of friendship, support and love we have both received during this, and the optimism that I will be able to go home and have my marriage.

I would be very grateful if I had my lovely coffee.

And my Fuzzy Family.

And my life with Papi back to normal.

i have faith in my future

here comes the hurt.

There is so much more than just selling things to deal with.

Now come the emotions around and within us.

Papi and I have to be prepared that we're going to find all kinds of reactions, because people are hurt that we're leaving.

This says we're loved greatly, but it still doesn't feel good when someone I would never expect to give low blows, did.

I forgive.

Still, I am hurt.

I understand where she's coming from, because I didn't deal with 'things' in the right way, and didn't think about her first.  I have owned up to my mistake, but she still doesn't see that I'm not abandoning our journey together.

I'm not leaving anyone or anything.  I'm just moving a little further away, which will mean that this big, massive world will seem smaller, knowing that the people I love are still close in my heart, even if they're a gazillion miles away.

We are keeping in mind that we need enough space for my baby sister to come with her family, so that means we'll be having enough space for our chosen family to be there with us as well.

I've never had so much love around me in my life, and it seems so surreal that when I find the most love, it's my turn to leave.

Still, I have to do this.

I have to go live a life in less pain.  I can't really live a life here while I'm hobbling about like an old woman, trying to function with a foggy pain med head, and moaning non-stop about that fucking bitch of a back.

I have to do this for my physical and emotional well being, even if it hurts the ones I love the most.

We have to purge everything that is replaceable and start our new life.

Still, I know that I'll be holding on to everything that can't be replaced, like the hearts in this life that I've collected very carefully, and the music that I've created, and am in the process of creating.

Those are the things that will not be left behind.

So, when one of my besties reacts in a way that is lashing out with hurtful words, it absolutely puts me into a tough spot.

I'm so sensitive, and when someone attacks me with anger, I retreat.

I cry, then I hide.

I forgive, and I love, even while the wounds to my heart are weeping.

I'm so tender right now, and it doesn't help matters that we found out only a few days ago that G'ma is going into the home sooner than we thought.

They called us to tell us her day is this coming Tuesday.

We're dealing with all those emotions as well.

Not to mention, someone informed us yesterday that if The Golden is not fit to travel, they won't allow him to.

His poor old legs are having so much difficulty holding him up now, and he's beginning to collapse all the time.

We embrace him as much as we can, because we know his time with us is short.

We know he has to say goodbye to us, but we thought that we'd be able to bring him with us to the Dominican Republic, and have him pass away with us there.

It may not work out as planned.

There is so much going on in so many corners of our lives.

The last thing I need is one of my closest friends to push the buttons that create more inner turmoil in my heart.

It hurts.

It takes away from the joy of our life decision.

We can't live our lives for anyone else, and we can only do the best we can with what we have.

What we have is a dream that's coming to reality.

Please don't rain on my parade.  I love you too much.

i am a positive and valuable contributor to all my relationships

what's mine is mine.

Oh, what The Great DR Purge is bringing up.

As we go through our things and decide what goes and what stays, it brings out a lot of memories to relive.

Good, bad and ugly.

... i will have to scan and post my 80's hair for ya!!! ...

One such memory, is a picture of being reunited with my dad in '99.

It saddens me that I have a deadbeat dad who is a manchild.

Since that reconciliation, I've tried to have a relationship with him, but it's not possible with someone who doesn't know how to do it, or give back.

Having said that, I understand a little bit more about him.

He got a girl pregnant at 15, and I can envision how sad my dad must have been to always know there's a child of his out there that was taken from him at such a young age.

I sympathize with the feeling of grief.

I more than perceive the feeling of guilt.

I can picture how it stumped his emotional development, and even when I popped up as a mistake only two years after he let go of his first child, he didn't take that as an opportunity to work on himself.

Instead, he threw himself further into the abyss of drugs.

When I saw that picture last night, it flattened out my heart.  I had to put it down to remember why it is I can't have a relationship with him.

If you want a friend/family, you have to be a friend/family.

It's so hard to know I can never expect a birthday call from him, or for that matter, a belated congratulations on my wedding.

He can't be there for anything in my life that has importance to me.

There's nothing to share with him, because he's an empty shell.

Seeing it in that picture crushed me.

I could see the wanting of a father in my little girl in my face.  I was hunched over, shoulders turned inwards and was as small as I could possibly be, with the greatest smile I could ever muster.

He was my dad for that small girl who didn't have him to grow up with, if only for that moment.

I have a visual to remember that.

Having lived a life of a fair amount of loss, this photograph is another example of why I am responsible to fill myself up, because I could never count on anyone else to do it.

Certainly, he can't, won't and never will.

He abandoned me when I needed him most, which has made it very difficult to trust anyone as I grew to a woman.

Well, I have a brother out there who probably grew up in a wonderful 2 parent home, with so much love that he may never have had to feel this loss.

I found out his birth mother's name.

My aunt was gracious enough to give a phone call to my sperm donor to find out her name so that my baby sister and I can start on the journey of finding our big brother.

I've known of his presence from a young age, even if nobody believed me all these years.

I feel like he may be searching for us as well.

He's out there.

That little missing piece of our family.

I wonder what he's like.

Healthy?  Happy?  Successful?  Perhaps, none of the above?

It doesn't matter to me, because all I need to do is find him for whatever reason, because I've been psychically connected to him since I was a young girl.

As for dear ol' dad, I have so much love for you, but it's sad to say, love just isn't enough.

we have to accept that some things may never be ours, and learn to appreciate the things that are only ours and ours alone.

Would you like a nice slice of "Fuck-it-all?"

I'm not really in the mood to be writing today, but for you, I will anyway.

Here's my cake.

 

The two friends who actually showed up for my party wouldn't let me eat it as is.

They made me cut it.

Here's the inside.

When 12 of the 14 people called on the day of the party to say they couldn't show up, at first I thought, "Woohoo!  More cake for me!"

But it's a hell of a lot of cake to eat all alone.

... alone ...

I've been giving away a lot of it, and I've learned my lesson, yet again.

15 years ago, I told myself I would never celebrate my birthday again, because people don't show up.

When they don't show up, I get let down.

I would get so hurt, because I felt I wasn't important/loveable/popular enough for my close friends to give a shit to come celebrate my life.

This round, I know I'm loved, but the cosmos just do not allow me to honour my life by way of a gathering of loved ones. 

I guess being gathered by people I love is just never going to be in the cards for me.  Every time I'd be left alone on past birthdays, I would spend my whole day crying, wondering why I'm not good enough for the people I'm close to to show up.

Granted, this time, every single person had a good reason for not being there, but it still didn't take away from the fact that it hurt that everyone but two bailed on my day.

Of course, My Gratitude Buddy showed up later on just to be here on my day, even if it wasn't for the party.  I can always count on her and the other two that showed up.

Even on my actual birthday yesterday, only one person called me.

Here's ironic for you; it was my mother.

I spent the day wishing I never said I'd celebrate.  I spent the day wondering what the fuck is wrong with me?

... i spent the day crying and admitting to someone about how on my birthday, every year, i secretly wish i was dead and i hide from the world... shhh ... don't tell anyone ...

Being left alone this time around is different.  I know they love me.  It's just that I went against my better judgement and thought that people would actually show up because it is my last birthday here in Vancouver.

Didn't matter.  People got sick or whatever and again, yet again, my heart was broken.

I spent $350 on steak, salmon, cake enough to feed an army, alcohol for my drinking friends/family and the list goes on.

I could've used that for the bills that are screaming at me.

I'm pretty much just going to cancel my week, eat cake and cry the sugar out of every pore in my body.  I haven't actually stopped crying since My Gratitude Buddy left late Sunday evening.

And people always ask me, "Why don't you ever celebrate your birthday?"

Well, when even the closest loving people in my life are somehow energetically stopped from coming, there's just no fucking point.

You can bet I won't be bothering with a 'leaving the country party'.

Nobody will show up.

I'll just go away quietly and build a new life with Papi.  I can always count on Papi to make my day wonderful. 

And to give me clonazepam to stop the tears.

if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting

so, i'm a little embarrassed ...

I won't go into all the details of my day yesterday.

Just the highlights.

Like breaking my french press, then the cup of coffee I did manage to salvage, The Bastard Prince knocked over.  Or how about having to ask the cab driver to pull over, to allow me to vomit outside his door because I had motion sickness.

Oh, I can't leave this one out: leaving my wallet on a park bench, and couldn't remember where I left it.  Fortunately for me, I have wonderful karma.  I found it on the bench a little while later.

... thank you positive energy ...

That was all just trying to get to my friend's 50th birthday party.  Oh, I got there.

Nobody knew that I had a hard time getting there, and I certainly wasn't going to go on about it at a celebration, so I enjoyed myself and met new people.

At the end, when everyone left, I was waiting for my 'short bus' to come get me.  True to their service, they'll get you there, but getting home?  Nope.  They think it's ok to leave me stranded in our city park that has no way to get out but walk.

Yeah, walk.  The 'Romney' type Americans who took over the company seem to forget they are dealing with people with disabilities.

It was an hour after waiting that a very sweet couple from the party had returned from a walk in the park.  They lived near me, and couldn't believe I was still there waiting for a ride.

They felt so bad for me, they offered to take me home.  I'll bet they'll never do that again.

You see, they had found me crying at the side of the road.

The rest of the ecstatic people at Stanley Park were busy getting wedding pics with happy shiny faces, or walking their dogs, or walking hand in hand with someone they love, and all I could do was stare down at my phone, pretending I was text messaging.

Really all I was doing was trying to hide my face from crying out of frustration of being left at the side of the road again.  Then I was crying from being embarrassed about crying in public.

However, I didn't expect to also be the crazy lady of the crowd.

As we approached their vehicle, a car happened to drive past, with an extremely abusive man who yelled at his girlfriend, which was followed by a slap and her head moving swiftly toward her passenger window.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH YOU MOTHER FUCKING BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

That was the moment that the two wedding parties, who were getting their 'best day of their life' logged on film beside our beautiful ocean, turned to look at what the 'crying girl' was now screaming about.

As I began to dial 9-1-1 to report the license of this hideous being, the boyfriend of the sweet rescue couple asked me why I yelled and why I'm calling 9-1-1.

"Because, he hit her in the head!"

"Actually, I saw him hit the dashboard."

"Oh."

Oh, my god.

The embarrassment was now so overwhelming, that I couldn't stop apologizing and telling them that I really am not always like this, but that I have P.T.S.D.  They didn't know what that was, so I enlightened them as I spoke through my tears.

I proceeded to tell them The World's Loudest Snorer had just passed away as well, so I'm not really feeling myself.

It was a quiet ride for half an hour, until the ice was broken by a joke.  Their little dog had crawled up on my lap, and being that he's part chihuahua, they were surprised, saying, "Wow!  He's warming up to you!"

I figured he knew I needed love at that moment, but their story sounded better.

"Yeah, he probably said to himself, 'OK, so this one isn't screaming anymore, I guess she's OK'," said the demure, oh so very pretty, new person I met.

Yeah.

It's moments like this that I just want to get out of the city and into the Dominican Republic, where all I have to worry about are creatures with 4 legs, or a garden to feed me.

Get me out of dodge before I lose it.

i am willing to let go of what other people think of me

tears for papi

You know what I think?

I think that Papi and I have been tested up the wazoo, and I think we're on to the next examination of our devotion to each other.

We've survived my motorcycle accident, along with all the brain injury and physical hell that my love has had to endure while watching me struggle to heal.

We've survived a horrible miscarriage, where I had 2 emergency D&Cs, 3 trips to ER, followed by the realization that perhaps, I can't carry a child to full term.

We've survived my love going through male transformation.

We've survived being ostracized by hateful crud in the 'community', who did their best to crush our hearts.

This has all happened in 4 years.

Well, we're now on to another chapter of survival in our relationship.

We're both going through life issues that are not the same, however, we're doing it at the same time.

Today, I begin working on dealing with my past of sexual/emotional abuse, abandonment, and low self-esteem due to my upbringing.

My love lost his mother at the tiny age of 10 and has never really worked on his issues, but now that G'ma is going downhill, he can see her time is coming, and I'm so grateful that he's going for support to deal with his grief.

It breaks my heart to see him in such pain.

We were upstairs organizing our recycling together, when we noticed G'ma didn't eat her dinner.

We tried to give it to her, but she said she's not hungry.

Alzheimer's will do this.

We're seeing all the typical textbook symptoms come to light now, and this is putting my love into a very difficult place; It's bringing up everything from the loss of his mother at such a young age.

It's interesting that we've both had stuff come up from our upbringing at the same time.

My dear sweet Papi is hurting so bad right now, and is afraid that I'll see his worst side and not be able to take it.

I'm not sure if my love has really taken a look at Hurricane Andréa lately, but she is not one to back down from any emotional challenge.

I didn't stick around after the year of grieving from losing my butch, only to take off after a difficult time comes up.

We're two peas in a fucking pod, I'll tell ya.  The 'CooCoo Couple'.

Even still, by having two people who know what it means to work on personal issues, we're very fortunate that we both understand.

My heart breaks to watch my love witness his G'ma getting worse.  It breaks my heart to see his tears roll down his face as he sees G'ma fading.

The one thing I do know is, he will get better.

Everything gets better with time, if you work on it.

Everything works out, no matter how hard it is at the time, even if it's not the result we want.

Between the two of us, our reasons for healing are different, but we're in the same car on the road to get there, we'll just take turns driving.

There is so much work for both of us to do on our own ends, but we'll do it with love, and some more tears.  Not to mention, a few more difficult passages through our own personal hell.

All I know is, I'm ready to be Papi's advocate, support, and caretaker when the time comes for him to fall.

I'm also ready to start my counselling today.

After all the intake has been done, and my case presented to the BigWigs who decide whether or not I get free counselling for 6 months, I've been accepted.

Congratulations Andréa!  You're nuts enough for the government to pay for your counselling!!

I look forward to being even stronger and happier, even if I'm terrified to look at my past.

i am willing to let go

Do it!

Gettin' my hair did today.

It's mandatory.

I'm looking like a walking fire hazard.

I am so in need of some time!  I don't feel like I have enough time for writing the way I have been.

I feel like I'm hiding from my issues by doing too much, so that I don't have time to think about what's on my mind.

I do this always.

Too much on my plate and not enough time to get 'er did.

Except my hair.

It's all about my hair.

Truly.

I once had a therapist who said, "You have quite the relationship with you hair."

That's putting it mildly.

It's sorta like having a pet on my head.

I have to treat it good, give it water daily and play with it to give it the right attention.

Yes.

I have a relationship with my hair.

You would too if you had this mop of a Honky 'Fro.

But the point is, I'm doing everything I can to keep from thinking.

You must have noticed it in my blog.

There hasn't been very many times I've talked about what's going on in my mind.

However, I usually feel the need to let it swirl around a while before I barf it out here.

Sometimes it's hard to put into words what I'm feeling, because it's so chaotic that I can't even figure out what's going on for me.

I believe I've successfully switched my mind off from thinking about the rejection I get from both my parents.

Anyway, I have to go get ready.

Every damn time I go see Chad at Moods, I look like I've just rolled out of bed.

Then I get to stare at my pasty face for hours on end, from taking as many pain killers as I can to help me sit for the duration.

Not today!

I'm going to put on my favourite make-up and look at a pretty face in the mirror.

Not this ghostly white one I have because it's going to take another 5 months for the bone in my jaw to grow back.

Having said that, I gotta go if I'm going to look pretty for this round of choppage.

My 'short bus' will be here in 20 minutes.

So!

If there's any spelling or grammatical errors in this here blog, you can point them out to me because I'm not going to edit today.

Off I go!

giving up doesn't mean you're weak.  sometimes it means you're strong enough and smart enough to let it go

Crying Sucks.

Sometimes, it really hurts.

Basically, my mother has chosen her husband over her daughter.

Can't blame her.

She's had such a rough upbringing being beaten by nuns and living with certain dysfunctional family members could really screw someone up.

Then being knocked up by my deadbeat dad would've given her more issues.

So, she met Mr. Homophobia and they're living happily ever after.

She's not even so much as allowed to speak her dirty disgusting dyke daughter's name, or the man of the house who rules the roost will start a fight with her.

She can only see me when she has managed to get out of the house without him knowing she's coming to see me.

So, I don't really have a relationship with my mother.

But it still really hurts when I see my baby sister talking about going to her house for dinner tonight.

I should know better than to be hurt by it.

If I allow this to affect me each and every time, I'll only be harming myself.

I get to go to Swiss Chalet with the most wonderful spouse there ever was, and a crazy old bird who will make it quite interesting.

Why the hell would I even want to be over there with Mr. Homophobia?!?!?!

My love doesn't hold grudges like I do.

... yup. another one of my shortcomings that i have to deal with ...

However, my love would never disown his own daughter because his spouse told him to.

Good god!

It just happens everywhere to me!

In my 'community', within my friends, in my family life and even strangers who believe the lies all of the above say about me.

I'm lovely goddamit!

Why do I get ousted all over the fucking place!!!!!!!

No fucking wonder I want to run off to some 3rd world country and start new.

I would rather be with goats.

Knowing my luck I'll get the only fucking goats that know how to judge me as well.

So, while I sip my coffee, hoping that my artificial happiness will stop my tears from burning my skin, I have to remember that my life is what it is.

Never ending extremism.

Either really, really good, or really really painful.

It's been like this since I was a kid.  I should be used to it by now!!!!!

But I'm not.

My sperm donor left me with abandonment issues that are still harming me today.

I see that this pattern of being banished from various groups and people really needs to be looked at.

In life, when we have something to work on, life passes it to us non-stop until we learn how to deal with it.

Any fucking suggestions on how to deal with constantly and consistently being ostracized and banished?

I have started my Victim Support Counselling.  I hope that in the 6 months they allow me my counsellor, that I can deal with as much as possible.

However, I'm really only supposed to be dealing specifically on the sexual abuse of the hands of bio-males.

Does abandonment fit in there?

I fucking hope so.

Because this hurts.

Someone told me crying is good for you.

Fuck you.

i am attracted only to those people and situations that support and nourish me

Always the Princess.

So, I've been trying to let go of the 'father' that hasn't been a dad.

I have abandonment issues from him that strengthen my insecurities to this day.

I am so afraid of abandonment that I expect everyone to leave eventually; friends, family, Papi.

It was the the way I grew up.  I would wait for everyone to leave, or my mom would move us around so that I was the one leaving friends I worked so hard to discover.

It makes for a clingy person who is desperate for love, and willing to do anything to have people in my life.

I also would add up the patterns in my existence that were difficult and obsess about the fact that I'm doomed to repeat that same pain, over and over.

When the chemical imbalance had me suffering from a nervous breakdown, it obviously affected my last relationship.  I thought that once I was better and on anti-depressants, everything would run smoothly.

Instead, I was dumped in an epic way by The Beast.

and boy am i grateful ... 

However, my 'issues' are now poking at the flesh wound of the past year of struggle with Papi's male transformation.

My fear is, now that I'm cruising on a happy plain, that Papi will leave.

Last night it really hit me to the point that my love asked what was going on.

All I could say is, "Nothing," which eventually turned into, "I don't really want to know the answer."

Cryptic?

Yes.

I've become been quite the professional at hiding feelings in my sober, adult years.

Papi nudged a bit more and I said it.  "I feel like now that I'm feeling better about the transition and all, that you'll leave me because I feel strong enough for you to do so."

My love was quite confused.

In all reality, so was I.  Yet, Papi reaffirmed that it's all going to be ok, "I'm looking at houses for us to buy in the Dominican Republic!  Why would I be doing that if I was thinking of leaving you?"

Well, you have a point, Papi.

Then The Yank had words of wisdom around this, by telling me that this past year is proof that mi esposo isn't leaving.

Well, I have all this dread to thank dear ol' daddy for.

I'm not sure why I feel guilty about not calling the person who could care less to call me on my wedding day or my birthday.

I stopped calling after that.  I refuse to be the one to always be reaching out to someone who doesn't reciprocate.

I have at least learned that from my abandonment issues.  I can't be chasing down love.  I can only give love to those who want it and have the ability to return in kind.

Anyway, that man, who's sperm brought me into this world, was so horrible to my baby sister that I don't really want to have anything to do with him.

It hurts to know that I was his princess and my baby sister was less to him.

That's what keeps me from calling.  The fact that he treated us differently is enough.

I love my baby sister so deeply, that I will defend her to the death.

that's the dog in me ...

So, someway, somehow, I've got to get over this guilt thing.

For years it was the reason I would call my father.

Out of guilt.

I don't really get anything out of a relationship with him.

It's so sad, and my heart aches.

All I ever wanted was a dad.

Who loves you baby?

Ok.

So I've calmed down a bit.

Papi doesn't like me helping with the changing of dressings, because of my panic attacks, "It's just a little easier without you **emulate sound here** all over the place."

I just try so hard to help and be of support to my love.

However, right now maybe I need to be of support to myself?

You know when things are just so brutal that you can't even take care of yourself?  That's where I am right now.

I managed to get the tattoo infection under control, then just ignored it.

Seriously.

Haven't done anything to help it heal for 2 days.

This is not like me.

I am usually an avid brace cleaner.  I like these like metal rods with magic teeth straightening powers to be treated with as much care as possible.

Last night I didn't even bother brushing my teeth.

At least I'm eating.  For me, that's the biggest one.  If I don't eat, the world suffers.

Truly.

Everyone around me will feel the wrath of Andréa if I don't eat.

So, I supposed you could say I'm doing that for everyone else as well.

Somewhere in there, I have to start looking at me.

It's a little tough though, because I have a tranny, 5 animals and a 95 year old to take care of first.  Not to mention 11 hour shifts to get through on top of it.

Oh, and don't forget practising for the CD Release on Friday night.

Then there's father's day coming up.  I'm in a tizzy because of that too.  The obligation of calling that person who has never cared for me from the age of 10 upward.

Perhaps that's who I learned this from.

That I don't really matter.

If my own father doesn't care, then maybe I'm not worth it.

thanx dad.

It sucks having a deadbeat dad, but it also sucks being someone who has a heart.  I actually care about him and feel sorry for him that he ruined his life.

I don't like the feeling of 'obligation' to this person, but nobody else is going to care for him, because he hasn't cared for anyone but himself his whole life.

Maybe he should call ME on father's day.

He could say to me, "Happy father's day, and I'm sorry I was never there and I love you."

dream on ...

That's a really nice fantasy.

My birthday is the day before father's day.

I doubt I'll even get a phone call.

think about something else now ...

So, I suppose now that I've identified what it is I'm doing to myself I have to change it.

No point in just looking at it.

Ok.

So now I'm going to go do something for myself.

silence ...

I don't even know where to begin.

update:
just threw my back out.  guess i get that 'slow down' day after all 

Beware! Closets shrink clothes!!

Packed!

And ready to go ...

We don't leave until Thursday at 3 a.m., but within those 4 days, I will be working 40 hours.

eek!

I may need to have a chats with 'you', my imaginary friend, in the evening hours of relaxation.  There will be no morning coffee chats for this femme before we leave.

it will be frazzled around the edges Andréa.

As we were packing, my dear love realized that all the clothes from last year's vacation don't fit.

those damn cookies and ice cream with a lack of exercise will get'cha every time my dear ...

Poor Papi was suffering, trying to find the right fit of clothing that will be comfortable in the heat of the Dominican.

do i get my 'i told'ja so' now?

I suppose it's easier for me to keep the weight off considering the fact that I'm completely, 100% obsessed and OCD with my eating disorder.

I can feel 5 extra pounds, and they don't make me happy.  I abolish them!

However, regardless of the pain of finding mi esposo's wardrobe shrinking over the past year, there was a much bigger problem.

Breasts.

Papi has no way of concealing those beautiful sacks of joy.  Although, to give my love credit, Papi gets an 'A' for effort for trying.

Mi esposo has spent countless dollars buying fighting chance after chance of those 'somethings' out there that will cloak those mammaries.

Nothing has really worked so far.

It's been more like we've returned to the days of corsets, only the roles have been reversed.

Every binding effort comes with a doting wife pulling down that stiff nylon article.  Skin is chaffed as it violently rubs and squashes those breasts into deformed pancakes.

I really can't see anyone being able to get those buggers on without help.  They're brutal!!

Papi gave up on them.

All they really did  was push all the breast fat toward the shoulders and it looked like fat was oozing out of the top of t-shirts, work shirts, even sweatshirts.

sexayyyyyy

Well, the one we tried last night for swimming in, was truly horrid.  It was more like a middle age torture version of today's Spanx that women wear to hide the areas that the gym workouts can't reach.

abandon binder!

Papi looked truly defeated.  I felt so deeply for my love and this binding failure.

Then what I was waiting for came out, "Will you be really uncomfortable if I go topless?"

I replied no, but I know it will be a different story when we get there.

I'll be cringing when the prudes and religious zealots go insane and say nasty things or leer with hatred.  I'll also be getting my boxing gloves out when men think it's an invitation to get a woody.

I guess my last days with those breasts will be going out with a bang.

Maybe it will make it easier to say goodbye?

Perhaps.

Or maybe I'm just never happy.

alas, the high maintenance femme ...

Chapter Four: Sexy Sauna Party

My hands shook when I saw the face of the person who was signing us in to the party.

Remember my nightmare of rape by the person in our community?

It was her.

She is the sweetest person, yet all I could see was her face turning into the demon that raped me in my dream.  It was a flashback that kept happening over and over.

I let Papi take care of all the speaking while I stared and handed over the money.

here ... take all of it ... please don't hurt me

My love knew exactly what was going on with me.  Mi esposo knew the moment we saw this butch that I was going to have troubles.

My legs barely carried me down the stairs and the first wave of hugs began when we entered, breathing in the heavy air and trying to act 'normal'.

not sure why you're hugging me ... when i asked for your support, you never even so much as returned my email ...

I gave a half-hearted hug.  Enough that she would know that there was now a wall between us.

I then received hugs from my Trust List people.  I took that hug of support like I was a child hanging on to their mother's leg for dear life.

clingy ... don't be clingy ... nobody likes it

Papi and I did our best to just be calm amongst the naked bodies everywhere.

It was a private party that happened every year.  Naked women everywhere, the birthday women getting lap dances and breasts being flaunted in their faces while sex-pots sang Happy Birthday, kinksters getting their asses welted by the birthday women's toys of infliction. 

Yes, it is the birthday women who GIVE the spankings at this party.

There were exhibitionists having sex in the semi-private rooms, there were people making out in all corners and I was just standing there with my bathing suit on.

When I'm feeling overwhelmed by stress, I can't show my body.  I feel the need to hide.  My little red bikini doesn't hide much, but it was enough to keep me feeling somewhat protected.

you people don't get all of me yet ... you abandoned me for 5 months ... 

Papi and I were in our own world.  We went into the sauna that was filled with people, but somehow we were alone.  My head laid on Papi's lap.  Those hands caressed my body where ever they could reach.

Sweat was dripping and mi esposo had enough of the hot, "I can't take it anymore, can we get out of the heat?"

I did it for my love, but also because of fear.  I could have stayed there, but I wasn't staying alone.  What if a Rah-Rah-Tranny attacked me with words spewing judgement?

My love and I took a stall and laid together.  The tears began in my eyes.  Here, in this place, there were breasts everywhere, yet soon my love would have none.

This moment of security with Papi however, turned into a beautiful moment of expressing our physical love of one another.  I was pleased in more ways than one, and there really existed nobody but us.

We laid together for quite some time, but when we decided to go, we were halted by one of the birthday women.  My newest member of my Trust List.

So, I lied.

We have Chapter 5.

My Sperm Donor

Today I receive my beautiful 1910 Heintzman upright grand piano.

My fingers  have been waiting 5 months to play for my heart.  But, I have to be careful as to what I choose to play

Sometimes, it can pull me further into the pit of doom.  Sometimes, the most emotional of songs will reach that part of me that is aching, and those sound waves will whisper in my ear as if they are a living tortured soul, crying with me in empathy.

I've learned over the years as to which songs I should play for different feelings.  I am so sensitive to music, that when I'm feeling low, I can't listen to anything that would entice the demons to come for a visit.

When emotions are raw, I can only play classical music on those ebony and ivory keys.

These songs of intricate notes, filling the page, requiring every last bit of my attention will take my mind away from disaster and steer it into a more physical experience.

Once, I learned a song for my father.  He was a Supertramp fan, which means that I would be too.

anything to try to earn his attention ... it never worked

I learned 'Downstream' for him, because he liked it and had once said, "You should learn that one."

From that point forward, every time I played and sang that song, the tears would well up and I'd be crying through the words.

Last night, during The Great Sewage Flood Purge, I found a picture in it's frame that I've been hanging on to for about 12 years.  It was my reuniting with Dad.  I looked like a tiny child being held by her father, even though I was a grown woman.

I have hated the frame all this time.  It's ugly and dated, but I would hang on to it, because it's the only picture I have of Dad and I together.

I've seen him a couple of times since then, but it's still not the relationship that I needed so badly when I was a kid.

I finally took the photo out of the horrid frame and threw that bitch in the trash.  I put the depiction of falsity in a place with all the other photos Papi and I have found during our unpacking of mess.

It will go into a box with the rest of the forgotten images.

I feel as though the last ditch effort Dad could have made wasn't made at all, and he is now just as unimportant to me as I am to him.

Don't get me wrong.  I love Dad, because he's the sperm that brought me to this world, but I've never had a father.

I wanted Dad to be at my wedding and he and his lovely common-law wife said they couldn't make it down because of many reasons.  She has too much pain, they can't afford it ...

can't afford to come to my wedding, because they're too busy spending all their money on booze 'n smokes

... and the list goes on.

I understood the list.  I was a practising alcoholic/addict for years.  But what I couldn't forgive?  Not even so much as a congratulations, not a card, not a call, not a 'good luck'.

Nothing.

was it because it was a same sex marriage? 

Not sure what I was expecting from a dead-beat dad. 

andréa, haven't you learned? those damn expectations will get you every time.

The picture is being put away.  I hate that ugly fucking frame and I threw it in the trash with glee.

I will play my piano today for Papi and I.

I just might play Dad's song.  Somehow, I don't think I'll cry.

No.

Not anymore.

Don't worry, be happy ...

Someone called me strong again.

It's a strange feeling for me when I'm called strong, because honestly, I feel like I'm 10 years old again.  A little girl who has no coping mechanism to deal with the inexperience of life.

At 10, my parents split.  Well, more like my mom kicked out my dad.

With reason.

He was a drug dealer, which meant there were a lot of not so 'desirable' creeps around.

which one of you bastards is the pedophile that destroyed my joy of sex?!?

My dad wasn't the best father or husband, so it wasn't a huge loss, other than the fact that I felt abandoned.

a common thread for the rest of my life ...

At 10, my way of confronting fear was to believe all the words my family told me about being fat, and so I began the cycle of anorexia.

if i lose just one more pound, i might just die ... just like karen carpenter ... please let my heart stop

At 10, my anxiety took over and I became the most worrisome child anybody could meet.

Worrisome.

Anxiety.

Here I am feeling like that little girl again, and people will tell me I'm strong?

Well, I'm strong for living through a brain injury and coming out on top.  Yes.  I can accept that.

But in this case of my love going through male transformation, I feel weak.  I feel scared.  I am in survival mode.  I will have fear of impending doom and not have any idea what it's attached to.  It is deep and dark and all I can do is try to run past the catastrophic cloud, but it just catches up to me every time.

get busy ... just get busy ... and your mind will leave you be ...

The funny part is, when Papi is around me, all that fear seems to be weakened.  I just have so much joy when looking into my loves eyes.

So much pride when I look at this person that I have been so fortunate to have in my life.

But I can't be around Papi all the time.  Co-dependency is not sexy.  So, when people tell me I'm strong, I really have to shake my head and look at them like they're nuts.

Not unlike when people tell me I'm thin.

if you could only see what the mirror tells me ... if you could only be in my head with this fear

I would so love to be this person people see me as.

I would love to be that amazing woman on stage who exudes presence of power.  She is one that most would look at and say, "She's so lucky."

No, when I'm on stage, I am also a person I would love to be.  If you talk to me 10 minutes after a performance, you'll be sorrily let down.  I am a meek child who just wants to be happy and loved.

Fortunately, it's not a lot to ask for.  I do receive it every day.

I really do have a glass half full life.  I just wish that half empty part would leave me the fuck alone.

4 strings that sing

It sucks that past crap comes to haunt us later in life.

My feelings of being unlovable come from deep memories of a time that deserves tears.

I'm not sure why it destroys us when our parents split, but it does.  My question is though, why do we have to find ourselves in the same predicament that proves repeatedly how abandoned we really are?

I did this.

I attracted only those who were bound to hurt me.  I needed to feel pain over and over again to relive those feelings that I couldn't possibly be loved.

If I was loved, then my deadbeat dad would sober from his drunken stooper, put down the heroin and return.  Wouldn't he?

I played with the devil.  Those who were like the machines that helped me replay those tapes.  I would be left alone with tears of confirmation that were as loud as a Stellar Jay who's beak screams to the skies.

The strange part is, somewhere along the way, I learned not only how to love myself, but how to find love in my life that I could trust.

Trust.

I trust to a certain point, I suppose.

Even in the greatest love I could ever have, I still have that nattering part of me that whispers to me through door cracks.

they're all going to leave you ... you will be alone again ...

I've been alone many times in my life, and it's not so bad.  I get past the hurt and rejection, then I get my life rolling with smiles and shiny friends.

I'm really good at being alone.

I'm not alone now.  I am married to a wonderful person, who has a heart so sweet and gentle.  The kind friend who would head out at midnight to bring their step-sister to the hospital.

not to mention, hott

This is no ordinary person.

Neither am I.

Two peas in a pod.

This I know.  I'm loved by this sweet soul. 

So why won't those desperate murmurs that threaten me go away?  I can even try to talk about it out loud like I did to Papi yesterday.  The venom of paranoia seeps into me and waits for clues to affirm I'm not loved.

I wish they had a magic pill for that.

Ah.  They probably do.  I've just spent my life trying to figure out how to abolish it on my own.

My only defence is to do the things I love. 

Yesterday, I had a bass session that sang the sweetest song.  My fingers flew around that fret board.  The rehab of brain injury in this department is concluded now I'm sure.

I would watch those digits moving, feeling the burn of my tendons.  I'd allow them to shriek their pain, but I wouldn't stop.  They'd give in eventually and endorphins would ease the sting.

I played until my heart had the strength to tell me, "This is why you're loved."

I'm loved because of what I love.  In my life the only way to be loved is to love myself.

And my bass.

I played those 4 steel strings and long necked mass of wood for both Papi and I yesterday.

I sang my songs to my heart.

Music heals.