Rise

It was dark.

I was broken, staring at my phone at an hour when no reasonable person should be awake, but it didn't matter. I was starving for the truth, and my mind wouldn't let me sleep until the honesty had tumbled clumsily from my chest, into my arms, down to my fingers and out onto the page, like a scream tearing a volcano open, bloody words flowing forth like lava onto my screen.

This silent scream, now splitting the page in half with angry words that reverberated against the walls, as though Earth herself couldn't understand the volume and intensity, throwing the sounds back toward the source, like an active grenade.

And then I fell. Into Hell. A place reserved for murderers and holy liars. But liars don't heal.... Liars don't heal!

And there I lay, my own Hellish words echoing, cutting deeply into my flesh with each repetitive wave. Words that had been flung from hot boiling depths, deep within the belly of this broken body, tortured mind, and fragmented soul, so shattered it didn't seem worth the effort to rebuild this messy shell of a human.

But Truth did not abandon me there. She patiently stared back like the reflection of an angel.

"help me..." I cried quietly. But she shook her head.

"Get up." she commanded softly.

"I said get up, darling. You don't understand your value. You don't understand your power and the weight of your story yet. You misunderstand the silence of the crowd. You misinterpret the gifts you possess. You misunderstand the life inside your heart.

"Your demise was not written in prophecy, your ascention was. 

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Our story won't end in shattered pieces, broken on the floor like a child's clumsy error.

Rise up, warrior, hero, lover. Embrace the knowing in your heart and feel the power of your internal strength. Listen for the gentle truth that can only be spoken through your own mouth, words that you have been aching for someone else to declare boldly.

Express yourself from that eternal source, which resides inside of your rib cage.

Let the roar of your self-love, rumble up from the depths of your being like existential fire, building islands of safety in your life. And let it give you more than simply life support, let it give you an appreciation for beauty and a hunger for service.

You are brave. You are resilient. You are made of love. You are divine energy waking up. You are the embodiment of our hope for an abundant future.

Namaste. I see you.

12:26 am

I like to think this is an anonymous blog.
One that no one really reads.
But for whatever reason, there are still views stacking up.

A handful of people, somewhere read this. And that frightens me. I share stupid things on here. The things I need to vent. And I'm scared. I'm scared of who might read it. What if I'm in danger by posting thoughts online? I am ashamed of my life. I am ashamed of existing. I am small and weak and pathetic, and I'd like to fall asleep and never wake up. But that's just dumb. I can't do that to people. I mean, I could, but I hate the idea.

So here I am. Floating like a fucking weight around everyone's neck. Making it difficult for everyone to get around and do anything without my fucking weight pulling them under.

I'm sorry. Sorry to be such a fucking burden.

I can't even type anymore. I'm too depressed. Good night or whatever.

Share. Delete. Repeat.

I share,
cautiously.
And then I retract.
shamefully.
My emotions are invalid.
My needs are ridiculous.
My pain is irrelevant.
I share my emotions -
cautiously.
And then I retract.
shamefully:
I'm sorry I shared.
I'm sorry that I'm sorry I shared.
I'm sorry for existing.
I'm sorry.
...fuck.... why did I say that?
--- -- - ------ ----?
- ---- --- ------.
Scratch all that.
I'm oversharing.
I should delete this.
I should delete everything.
Can I just start over?
Like, can I just go back in time,
and save my dad from dying?
Everything would be different.
Ron wouldn't have married my mom,
Owen wouldn't have died,
I wouldn't have moved to Alberta,
I wouldn't have --- -----
- -------- ---- ------ -- -------
Everything would be different.
Maybe one day
I'll look back on this and remember
what it was like to feel this way
to shamefully regret sharing.
Maybe I'll feel different in future.
Maybe my emotions will be valid.
Maybe my needs will be heard.
Maybe my pain will be understood.
Maybe I can share my life story without shame.
Maybe one day I will own my story.
I hope.
But right now,
all I want to do
is delete this.

I miss you

Hello, Stranger.
I'm sorry I didn't say this before. I'd like you to know I meant to say it. Hello, and I miss you. I think of you often. More often then I let on.

Your essence floats by into my subconscious and slowly begs the attention of my pre-frontal cortex. I wish I would say hi as often as I mean to. No matter what, I'd like for you to know that I love you, even from a distance.

You have a way of bringing out different aspects of my character, and I know I don't communicate it enough, or maybe at all - but I really like some of what you bring out in me, and I really don't like some of what you bring out on me. The part I do like, I want to keep nurturing, like a small seed in freshly tossed soil. And the part I don't like, I would rather learn about and understand better. I'm sorry you have to put up with that part of me. I don't find that aspect of my character very appealing either. Please forgive me, I'm still learning in that department.

I know I've got some pretty horrible tendencies, and the first of those I'd suggest is falling off the face of the fucking planet, like the common orbit of the moon - hiding in shadow, below the horizon, only to peek out in full bright blooming for a small portion of the month.

By the way, you ever think about the word "month"? It's so close to MOON isn't it? It's almost like moon and month were derived from the same word 👀 I know. Crayzee right?

But yeah. So Hi, and sorry, and I know I'm terrible. I am shy and scared and decidedly alone. And I'm sorry that I push people away, and that that includes you. I don't know any other way to be yet.

Sorry.

I sacrificed the best part

The rain is pouring like a train out there, and I hope I've closed the windows so the wet doesn't get in, but I brought no shoes or jacket and I'm not close enough to check.

I'm about 5 minutes away by bike ride. I'm further away in my mind. I'm eons away, really. Miserable in my own right. Mostly because I haven't spilled the beans yet. I haven't told the truth I've been aching to tell. 

The part of the story that hurt the most, the part I haven't healed... The one that gets in the way of every interaction and every intimate moment - I haven't told that part. 

The part where I let my best self come out, willingly laid down on the table, exposed, dressed up, planned it for months... Well that part I'm still afraid to tell. I'm still afraid to say out loud what happened. I'm still afraid. 

I'm afirad, but that's not what comes across. What comes across isnt just fear, it's something much more alienating. 

Apathy. 

It's like I transform into this careless monster who fakes a smile in exchange for sex. Well fucking look again, I'd say... Look again. I'm not what you think. I'm not what you think. 

It's all about people, not where I'm gonna live

I thought I was deciding on a city for the winter, but I'm not. My bus life can't support me through the cold months, it's not warm enough. So I thought I needed to choose a city to live in.

But it turns out, I need to slim down, sell the bus and travel as light as possible. Bring as few a set of items as I can and buy a vehicle much smaller than the bus, and connect with people so I can launch my business in the summer.

It's all about the people, not about location. I'm happy to finally understand that. :)

Neglect and Homelessness - a sickness you can't see

I own no pairs of pants right now.
I do own one t-shirt however, and that one is dirty.
I have 3 dollars in my pocket, and yesterday's rice in a pot which I plan to eat for breakfast and probably lunch.

I am one of those people who has fallen through the cracks of society. I have been forgotten and neglected. In fact, I have been forgotten and neglected so often in life that I'm just so used to looking after myself I've forgotten how to accept help. I call it independence. I stubbornly take care of myself without anyone's help.

But the truth is, it's not independence. An example of how it's not independence, and how my state of mind is actually quite twisted and ill: I was hired to make a design for $70. I made the design. The person asks how I'd like to be paid. I freeze up and cut communication. It's been a week and they haven't heard from me. The subconscious thought I'm having? 'I don't need you, I don't need your money, and I reject you for trying to help me!' and this happens all the time. I reject people and their money even though I need it desperately and I've earned it.

Like I said, I have 3 dollars in my pocket. I need the money. And I did the work. And they want to pay me. I earned it. WTF?

I've been neglected so much of my life I've simply learned that when people give you things or are nice to you, they want something from you. It's like there are these invisible strings attached that they don't tell you about but that they blame you for not knowing existed.

I was going to therapy a while back and that was helping, but I don't have any money for therapy right now. I don't even have money for food. I'm living in a bus in a trailer park. I use the bathroom at fast food restaurants and charge my devices with an extension cord running through the door of the trailer next to me.

My phone bill is overdue by two months and so my phone will get cut off soon. I have no gas money to refill the bus and my tank is hovering just above empty.

But I'm in Fort McMurray! You'd think I could find a job no problem, super easy and it would pay me well. But I freeze up when it comes to money. I have so many issues I can't even function in society like a normal human being. I'm confused and alone and it feels like I have no way of getting out of this by myself.

My community failed me. How does someone become homeless? Well it happens when you aren't looking. It happens when you turn away and you don't look because you don't want to look and it 'should be someone else's problem to fix'.

And rightly, you should feel the desire to help - but don't help me. Help the people around you before they fall through the cracks. I'll pick myself up and dust myself off like the person you know me to be. I'm a fighter and I'll get back up, but please, for God's sake, save them before they fall through the cracks! I'm showing you a side of your world you probably don't want to see. It's there, but you just aren't looking.

So I'm gonna put on my only t-shirt, and my one pair of shorts, and I'm going to clean my bus up and then I'm going to rebuild my life. Ya'll can ever so kindly fuck right off because this independent woman is gonna fight for a better life and then scream from the top that she did it herself.

To the community that rejected me, I forgive you.
To the family that taught me, I forgive you.
To my mother who raised me, I forgive you.
To my alcoholic ex step dad, I forgive you.
To my father who wasn't around much, I forgive you.
To my lovers who broke me, I forgive you.
To my friends who turned away, I forgive you.
To my religious leaders who shaped me, I forgive you.

I forgive you because you didn't know what you were doing either.

But just because I forgive, does not mean I will trust those who cannot be trusted. Forgiveness and trust are two different things. If you want my trust, you'll have to earn it by asking how you can repair the damage.

I will grow and I will learn and I will grow and I will learn and one day I will make it to the top. And one day they might ask how I got to the top. And I will forgive them for not knowing.