sometimes I just have nothing to say.

dinner.

Last night my dad got mad at me because I didn’t finish my dinner. I have two issues with this.

1. I’m a grown woman. I’ll eat what I want to eat, when I want to eat it. I appreciate that he made dinner last night, and sure, I probably should have finished those delicious looking potatoes, BUT...

2. I get really afraid of food sometimes. Ever since the gluten incident in Mexico, I’ve been scared. Sometimes I will wash CLEAN dishes before I use them, just in case. Dad made dinner on the BBQ last night. Steak for the grown-ups, chicken nuggets for the kiddos, and potatoes on the side. He cooked the nuggets on the top rack. Nuggets are breaded. Bread crumbles when it gets dried out from the heat. Gravity exists.

I inspected my dinner as I ate it, picking off anything that looked like it might not belong in my tummy. The steak was fine. The peas were cooked in a separate dish, so they were fine. The potatoes were covered in little flakes and dots of seasoning and death.

I was afraid to eat the potatoes, which is why I didn’t finish my dinner. This post isn’t really about dinner, it is about fear. I fear food because of what it can do to me. I’m afraid of getting sick because it hurts so much. It gets to the point where I worry about my food being contaminated so much that the worry of contamination makes me feel ill. Ugh.

Hey check it out, I added pictures :)

lyrics.

Sometimes after I hear a new song on the radio, it gets stuck in my head. Sometimes I don't catch all of the words, just the tune and stuttering of syllables. I try to sing my way through it to try to find those missing words. Sometimes I forget them altogether and I’m stuck with:

da dah da dah dada

da dahda da dahda da daaaaaah dahhhh

hmmm da dah dah dada da

da dah daaah dada da hmmm  daaaa dah

I’m a resourceful person. I’m a creative person. I think outside the box, and I make up my own words.
                        I feel the night come down
                        darkness, and I will come find you.

hmmm da dah dah dada da

there’s just something about the night time.

And then I hear that song again, and the words are wrong, and the tune isn’t quite what I remembered, and I wish they wrote it my way because it stuck much better in my head.

Close your eyes. Open your mind.

in other news...

Why can I no longer post comments from this account?
:(

gluten.

WARNING: this is a serious rant, and has a bit of 'adult' language. I don't care if you like this post or not. I don't care if my grammar sucks, or if things are misspelled. I need to get this rage the HELL out of my system, and this is my way of doing so.

I haven’t eaten gluten since October of last year. It’s not because it isn’t tasty- I miss the hell out of gluten-filled food. It is because I get really sick when I eat it.

I haven’t eaten gluten since October of last year. That’s a lie. I’ve eaten gluten about 5 times since then, and each time I have been violently ill. One time, I ate two bites of breaded shrimp. (do you know how hard it is to watch other people eat your favourite foods that you KNOW you can’t eat any more?) I felt my stomach turn while we were in the restaurant. I did my best to maintain my composure, I clenched my fists through the cramping, and I swallowed back my urge to vomit. I was shaking and sweating, we paid our bills and left. I drove a friend home, and normally we’d sit in the driveway and chat. This time I didn’t even pull in to the drive way. I didn’t even put the car in park. I drove home quickly and ran to the bathroom. I vomited so hard I got a nose bleed. And then I shit myself. That’s right. I’m a grown woman, and I shit myself.

That’s what gluten does to me. The same thing happened when I was on vacation in Mexico, except I ate more than two bites. I thought that what I was eating was gluten-free, but there was some mix-up with the order. After drunkenly devouring an entire plate of food, I was hit like a Mack truck with a wall of “oh no” on my insides. I spent that night in the bathroom on the toilet with a bucket on my lap. At one point that night I tried to shower because I had vomited on myself. I never made it back to my bed, and I spent the next two days lying naked on my hotel room floor in a pile of my own ‘gluten intolerance.’ Yay vacation...

I used to get sick all the time. That’s why I stopped eating gluten. My sister tried a gluten-free diet and it seemed to really work for her, so I figured I’d give it a shot. I am a student. I don’t work during the school year. I work in the summer, and save as much as I can. My parents (thank God) pay my tuition. OSAP helps with the rest. I’ve been to college for three years, and I just finished my second year of university. I used to be able to make ends meet financially. Used to.

Now, a loaf of gluten-free bread costs $6-9, depending on how much you like the texture of Styrofoam. Now, a box of gluten-free cereal costs $7, and that isn’t for the family size. Want to go eat at a restaurant? Good luck. Fast food? HA. Nice try. Grab something quick on the way out the door? That works if you just want an apple. Want some cookies? Be prepared to spend AT LEAST $4 for a box of 12. And those are the gross kind. The good kind are $7/12pk.

Do I need to start taking out more OSAP? Should I cut down the features on my cell phone? Ask Mum and Dad for more help? What do I do? Government to the rescue!

A friend of mine informed me that the government offers a tax break for people with celiac disease. You can claim your groceries as a health expense (or something like that, Dad looked into the details for me) and get money back to make up for the cost of living gluten-free. All you have to do is get a formal diagnosis, and you’re set! :D 

Here’s the fun part! Guess what’s involved with a formal diagnosis? I asked my doctor today, and this is what she told me:

“Well you can go and get the blood test done. It isn’t very effective, so it isn’t worth much. I don’t even think the government would take that as proof. The best test to do is a biopsy. They take a camera to guide a pincer through your colon and intestines, and take a few samples. The samples get sent to a lab, and they can tell you if you have celiac disease. This test is only 75% effective. And all you have to do is eat a gluten-filled diet for two weeks before the procedure. Want me to set it up?”

EXCUSE ME? A gluten-FILLED diet for two weeks? And it is only SEVENTY FIVE PERCENT effective? So TWENTY FIVE percent of the time, a person WITH celiac disease will not receive a diagnosis?

I thanked my doctor for her time, and left. I nearly started to cry.

Fun fact: eating large quantities of gluten can cause intestinal and colon cancer in people with celiac disease. I wonder if they’d take that as proof.

<is crying now.>

quiet.

My house is quiet. It used to be busy and loud, but now it is quiet. There are the same number of people living here: 2 parents, 1 sister, 2 bambinos and my lovely self. There is significantly less noise.

Sometimes Sister takes the kids on day trips. We’re reno-ing, so it is a lot easier for them to play if they have access to more than just one room... and a bathroom that isn’t doubling as a kitchen. It gets quiet when she’s gone, even if Mum and Dad are still around. We used to talk at meal times, all the time. Used to.

I don’t know what’s happening. They don’t seem to like to talk anymore. Dad comes home from work, and Mum makes him lunch. We all sit around the table (at this point, around the coffee table in the tv room) and there are the few ‘how are things at the office?’... ‘oh, that’s nice,’

 comments, and then the silence comes. We eat in silence. We sit in silence. My mind is screaming on the inside “TALK TO ME.” I worry that my twenty-something-drama annoys them, so once I’ve blithered for a few minutes I become silent as well.

What happened? Where did the conversation go? We used to talk at meal times. All the time. Used to.

The rain is tapping on my window, at least I don’t feel so alone.

secret.

My heart swells when I look at you

I see the future in your eyes

I am warm when I’m with you

I love the way you feed me lies.

I’m gullible. I believe people too easily. I see the good in everyone, and I give out second chances like a contagious cold flowing through a kindergarten class. I tell myself time and time again that I need to be more guarded. Put myself first. Don’t give in.

I get walked on, stomped on. I am not a welcome mat. I am not a welcome mat. So why do people walk all over me? I let them.

I let people in too easily. Secretly, I just want everyone to love me.

change.

I feel unhappy, I am so sad
I lost the best friend that I've ever had.

She is my baby, I love her so

But it's too late now, I've let her go.

We’re going through changes. 

-Kelly and Ozzy

We’re renovating the kitchen. We are in dire need of a new kitchen. I’ve lived in this house my whole life, and I only remember the kitchen ever looking this way. I talked to Mom about it. I guess we’ve renovated once before. But that was long ago and I don’t remember it at all.

I live in the basement of my parents’ house. We share the kitchen, but I have my own bed room/living room/bathroom downstairs. Many changes have happened in the house recently. For example, a bed room, living room and bathroom exist downstairs now (har har). I moved down to give my sister more space upstairs. She lives with us too, with her two beautiful kids.

Sister took the kids shopping for outfits for an upcoming special occasion. Dad was at work, and Mom and I got to work on the kitchen. Dad removed the baseboards last night, so we could start removing the wallpaper this morning. Sister and the kids came home while the kitchen wallpaper was...less than finished. Bear (nephew, 2 ½ years old) has been having some grumpy days recently. He’s potty training, and he doesn’t understand why his little sister Squidgee seems to get more attention than he does (she’s breastfed, which means she sits on Mommy’s lap by herself periodically throughout the day, which Bear LOATHES).

Bear tends to lose his mind about the littlest things. For example, if he wants a drink in the blue cup, and you give him the blue cup with a green lid... you have wronged him. You have wronged him, and you will feel his horrifying scream-his-two-year-old-face-off-temper-tantrum wrath. When he woke up this morning, he realized that Grampa (Dad) had BROKEN the kitchen. Oh no. How very sad. After shopping, he came home to see myself and Gramma (Mom) DESTROYING the walls. Grampa was draining the fish tank so that it would be easier to move out of the kitchen. Bear started losing his mind.

            No no no no! That my shishtank! Shishtank stay in titchin!

He cried and cried and screamed and cried. Then I realized something: He’s just like me. We both don’t do well with change. His grumpy days started when all of a sudden he had a baby sister. All of a sudden he was a big boy. Big boys pee on the potty and sleep in their own beds all by themselves – a huge change from his toddler days.

I realized that even though I get frustrated with his exceptionally loud (and occasionally violent) tantrums, I have to sympathize with the little bugger. I get uneasy with change. I usually tend to avoid it. But as an adult, I also understand change. I knew that when Bear was born I’d be an aunt. I knew that when the three of them moved in, I’d have a bit more responsibility and it would be a bit more hectic around here. He’s just a kid. A really little kid. And when he sees Grampa dragging the ‘shishtank’ out of the ‘titchin’ (which doesn’t even look like the real titchin anymore) his little world crumbles.

As much as change makes me uneasy, and scares me most of the time, I think I like it. I’ve made a lot of changes in my life recently, and my life has improved quite a bit because of those changes. Now, I’m realizing that the only thing scarier than change is staying stagnant. I’m a young adult- a student. Things are supposed to change... otherwise I’d be a broke twenty-something living in my parents’ basement making late-night blog posts and eating leftover Easter candy forever....

emotion.

“you’re sad? here's a cookie.”

“not feeling well? have some juice.”

“I’m so proud of you! Let’s celebrate with ice cream!”

As a child, I was practically conditioned to depend on food; not for nourishment, but for extra emotional support. This doesn’t sound too bad, I mean, who doesn’t want another slice of You-Got-An-A+ cake??

Fast-forward to right now. I’m stressed – have a cookie! I’m sad – have some ice cream! I’m bored – have nachos! I recently lost a bunch of weight. I kept it off for a while, and then exams hit.

I’m stressed – have a cookie!

            I’m stressed – have some ice cream!

                        I’m stressed – another cookie?

                                    I’m stressed – ice cream!

                                                I’m really stressed – ice cream AND cookies!!!!!

Thanks to the food-rewards that were given to me as a child, I am now an emotional eater.

NOTE: I AM NOT BLAMING MY PARENTS FOR THIS IN ANY WAY. Most parents do this with their children (or at least I think so) and I even find myself using food rewards on my nieces and nephew... and even my friends...

That 20lbs I lost? It found me again. Today I wear my fat jeans, and quite frankly I’M OKAY WITH IT.

why?

Because this too shall pass, and once exam stress is done I will be able to get back on track, get into a better mood, stop eating junk, and rock my skinny jeans.

planning.

Sometimes I plan for the future. Every day of my life right now is directed toward my future goals, and my future depends on my actions. I am a student, struggling through the end-of-semester shuffle of papers, projects and exams. The stress is overwhelming, and all I can do to ease off on the anxiety is count down. One more seminar, two more lectures. Hand in the proposal, then five exams. I can do this. I will do this. I want this, remember?

...

Time is ticking and the pressure is mounting, and then I realize something:

The rest of my life depends on right now.

Maybe not entirely, but everything I do these days will later be part of my past. They say that your past makes you who you are... So why can’t I get motivated? I keep procrastinating on everything. I’m so worried about the future that I can’t stop and handle the right now. I’m neglecting the now.

I’ve been a student for a long time. I’m currently in my fifth year of post-secondary. Last year I even took summer school. I’m worried that I’m burning out. I’m worried that I won’t be able to maintain this much longer. I still have two years left of the program I’m in, and then I’m planning on doing a Masters – another few years. What if I burn out completely? What if I can’t do it anymore?

What if all of this is for nothing? Sometimes plans change. What if I don’t want this anymore? I started off in one program in college and dropped out. I graduated from a completely different college program two years later. After realizing that the job market in that field in the region I wanted to stay in SUCKED, I moved on to university. If you weren’t keeping track, that’s three different programs. Plans change. So why am I stressing so much about right now?

limbo.

warning: this is a serious ramble.
I hate uncertainty.

I can’t make up my mind to save my life sometimes, but at least I have clear boundaries when I play mind games with myself.

I don’t like not knowing where I stand with people.
I don’t like not knowing where people stand with me.

Is it appropriate for me to hug you when I say ‘hello?’

Do I text you ‘goodbye’ or just stop responding?

            When you said you’d text later, did you mean it?
           

...

At least when I am uncertain about myself, I’m causing my own troubles. When I’m in limbo with other people, I feel like can’t brace myself with any form of expectation. If I have expectations, then I’m bound to be let down. Sometimes I wish I could read peoples’ minds. That way, when they say ‘let’s be friends’ or ‘I’d love to grab a coffee some time’ I’d know what they were thinking.

I have a number of great friends whom I depend on for support and encouragement and all around good times, but sometimes I want more. I want to make sure that if ever I’m in need, there will be somebody there for me. I just hate the process of making sure that those “somebodies” are worth it. I hate it when I think that they are, and they aren’t. I hate opening myself up to someone who refuses to open up to me. I hate putting my faith and trust into someone and having my plan backfire.

I guess what I dislike so much isn’t limbo, its uncertain levels of sincerity.

Sometimes I don’t know how to interact with people. Sometimes there’s a friend that wants to be more than a friend, but I don’t feel the same. Sometimes there’s a friend that is a great friend, but I want more.

Maybe I just don’t like the instability of relationships. I dislike change.
I like having new friends, but I don’t like making new friends. If I text too many times, will they think I’m desperate? If I don’t text enough will they lose interest?

I hate that I play like I have all these walls to keep people out, but they oh so easily fall down. I let people in, too many people. I trust to easily, and sometimes I feel taken advantage of. If I didn’t let them in then they wouldn’t have had that chance. I wonder what I’m doing to myself. Why do I want more? And is more actually better? I don’t want to sacrifice quality for quantity, especially when it comes to friends. I’d rather have a few close friends then a bunch of acquaintances. At least with close friends you’re never in limbo.

mirror.

I met a stranger in a cafe.

It was a total fluke, a chance meeting. I rarely hang out at cafes. I was meeting a friend, and it seemed like the only appropriate public venue.

I brought some homework and I set out to make some serious headway before my friend got off work. I noticed someone rustling by the chair across the coffee table. It was him. He asked if I minded him sitting there, and I said it was okay. He read his book, and I typed away. I could hear him laughing and I couldn’t help but wonder why. Eventually I got up the courage:

“that book must be hilarious, you keep laughing at it.”

We talked for nearly an hour. It turns out that the book wasn’t funny, it was actually quite serious. It had an eerie way of mirroring his life. He came across passages that resembled thoughts he had days ago.

We talked and talked, and he said that it was amazing that he kept meeting people like me. Like me. I think back on it now, and realize that maybe he meant people like him.

I met a stranger in a cafe, and that stranger was me. He wasn’t me right now, he was me from another life. He had seen different things and experienced different things, but he was me. He was a mirror of me. I can’t stop thinking about that day. I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop thinking about me.

I had a heart to heart with a friend about all of these things that she is going through right now. I saw myself in her. I saw my struggle in her. I saw my perseverance in her. I saw my passion in her. Almost as if she was me. Not me right now, but me from another life.

I read a blog that really spoke to me. It spoke to me because I felt it was speaking about me. I read the words and it was like they were coming from my thoughts onto the screen.

All of these mirrors keep finding me places. I see myself in my friends. I see myself in strangers. I see myself everywhere and I can’t help but notice a number of things.

1.      I am blessed to be me. NO ONE will ever know what it is like to be me, as I will never know what it is like to be them, and I am thankful that I get to experience MY LIFE fully as myself.

2.      You are blessed to be you. NO ONE will ever know what it is like to be you, as you will never know what it is like to be them. Be thankful that you get to experience YOUR LIFE fully as your wonderful self.

3.      I am confused. I have been struggling with a number of issues recently, and I am finding it hard to find myself within my own life. My sense of self feels damaged in some ways, and only time will tell what I build myself back up to be.

I met a stranger in a cafe. He wasn’t ‘strange’ at all. He was me in a different life. I can’t help but wonder if I will ever see him again.

thinking.

I find myself thinking late at night. It doesn’t matter what I think about, just thinking in general.

Last night I realized something about myself: I feel compelled to come up with a new idea before bed. The context of this idea doesn’t matter. It could be a new conclusion for a paper I’m writing, an idea for an outfit for the next day, anything really. Sometimes I even just think of strings of words that sound pleasant together.

Our hearts melted. Into each other, the warmth of our love was like glue. We were bound together in this moment.

Some nights I struggle to come up with a new idea. Last night I went to bed at a reasonable hour, and found myself tossing and turning for hours. For FOUR hours.

I could wear the green dress, or maybe not. Was the main effect supposed to be significant? Did I analyze that correctly? What will I eat for breakfast? Maybe I should move my furniture... or maybe not since I’ll be moving soon.... I need to buy more pasta. I don't think I have any eggs left.....

I felt like my thoughts were spinning within me and I couldn’t keep up. I felt like I couldn’t get one solid idea- only parts of this and parts of that. I felt incomplete. I couldn’t stop thinking for long enough to start sleeping. I wanted to fall asleep. I wanted to feel rested. I was all 'cocooned' up in my blanket. I was warm. I was ready to jump into dream land... but I was stuck in reality.

crunch.

I’m proud to set my own goals.

Sometimes I set goals that I know I will reach. I get a sense of accomplishment when I check of that last thing on my ‘to-do’ list. I’m proud to hand in that paper on time. I feel good about myself.

Sometimes I set goals that will be tough to reach. I push hard, and the struggle is worth the pay off. I find that there is a thin line between goals that are tough to reach, and those which try to break me. I feel broken. I set a goal for myself which I knew would be tough. I tried very hard. I pushed myself. I worked myself to the bone, exhausted myself. I tried, and I tried, and I tried.

I failed.

Maybe not quite yet, there is still time, but I’m feeling the crunch more than ever and I want to give up. Life is so much easier when you set goals that you can soar right by. Life is so much easier when you have lowered expectations. Life is so much easier when you can coast by.

But that’s not my life. That’s not my style. I could never settle for that. I know that sometimes I set goals that are too distant to reach. But I will try, and I will feel that I let myself down when I don’t make it. I’d rather almost make it than to never have tried. This sense of failure is worth much more than a sense of accomplishment that I didn’t have to try for. Sure, I could be a bit more reasonable about this when I’m setting up my next goal, but I’d rather not.

Sometimes I like the pressure. Sometimes I crave ‘crunch time.’ Sometimes I put things off until the last minute because it feels better that way. Sometimes I feel let down when perfect isn’t perfect enough. And sometimes I just let go. It’s not over yet, I won’t give in. I'll push harder, try harder and strive for more. I am jumping, a leap of faith, and I am falling.

faith.

"When all the dust is settled and all the crowds are gone,
the only things that matter are faith, family and friends,"
-Barbara Bush.
I found this statement in a pocket sized book my sister gave me, and it left me wondering. I know my family, I know my friends, but what about my faith?

I was never a religious person. As a child, I was baptised in a United Christian Church. My parents took me to Sunday school every week. As soon as I was old enough to make the decision, I decided to stop going. I never looked back until now.

I have a lot of respect for other peoples' religions. I have attended many religious services, I have bowed for many prayers. I don't hate God or the idea of a spiritual or holy deity, I just don't have time in my life for that relationship right now.

I started thinking I could find God for myself. Things were going well with my family, my education at university was flourishing, I was eating well, sleeping well, and generally in a good mood. I started looking for God. I started thinking prayers to someone beyond myself. I came close to the leap of believing, and then my world ended. My world ended, and I blamed God.

Why do we turn to God in sadness? Why not in happiness?

I have struggled in my life with many battles. Some were battles against the world, and others were wars I waged upon myself. In the deepest and darkest pits of my depression, I turned to God. I asked how He could do that to me; to make me feel so horrible and worthless. I asked how He could let bad things happen to good people. I asked how He could take people from me when I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I asked, and He never answered. He never answered, and I turned away.

The farthest thing from religion is science. I turned from God to higher education. I filled my life and my mind with textbooks, formulae, research and so on. I became so academic that when school ended for summer, I took more courses just so I would have papers and tests to write. My life slowly turned around and I considered God again. Maybe if I approached Him on a good day, He'd have an answer. I compared this idea to my childhood. I only ever asked for cookies if the jar was open and I saw someone having one. Maybe I should only talk to God when He is ready and listening.

I started to respect myself. I developed confidence and lost any form of modisty I had ever known. Modesty never gained me the respect or recognition I deserved. Once I had deemed myself awesome enough to be happy, I turned back to God:
"Hey God, its me. I just thought I'd say hi and show you how well I've been doing. I want you to be proud of me like I am of myself. Talk to you later."
"Hey God, me again. I got another good mark back, aren't you proud? I tried so hard and did so well. I just thought I'd let you know."
"Hi God, its me. I'm not feeling too well today, I have a cold. Ugh. I thought I'd say hi anyways... Hi."

And then the world crumbled and I didn't understand. If God isn't there on a good day, and He isn't there on a bad day, how do so many people 'find' him?



I've heard people express their 'oneness' with God. I struggle enough finding peace within myself. Sometimes I wonder why I'm going to school. We learn so much about nothing, really. All of these studies are useless. The body of knowledge of any experimental field is useless. Experiments only prove what you found, not that it could be found again. Some studies are replicated time and time again, but the theoretical analysis is still debatable. Causality is still debatable. I wonder sometimes if I care enough about the world to want to change it. Recently all I want is a bigger, more organized closet.

I feel like I might be losing faith; but how can I lose something I never really had? I'll try again. I'll pray again. I'm calling out to You again. I am jumping, a leap of faith, and I am falling.

poop.

everyone poops.
why doesn’t anyone talk about it?

Sometimes I’m afraid of my own bodily functions. I worry if my tummy grumbles in class... Will anyone hear it? What will people think?

My digestive system is a cause of concern for me. I have been diagnosed with a number of issues in my system. Most recently, I was advised to stop eating gluten (the protein found in wheat). Since then, my issues have settled down considerably... but sometimes I still have issues. Sometimes I have pain. This pain puts me in a bad mood, and I get snappy at people. People get upset with me, and I want to explain, but I can’t.

Everyone poops, but why can’t we talk about it?

I worked as a teaching assistant at a Montessori school in a toddler classroom. Every day I had to give updates to parents when they picked their children up:

So-and-so had x many bowel movements today.
S/he really struggled this afternoon with a firm bowel movement.
So-and-so didn’t have a bowel movement today, but was really gassy all morning.
So-and-so had some diarrhoea this morning, and is wearing spare clothing because the diaper leaked.

At that age, parents are so interested about what goes in and out of their children. I pay attention to my diet for the most part, and I pay attention to my ‘bathroom time,’ but why is it so taboo?

Everyone poops. Why can’t we talk about it?

Sometimes I accidentally eat gluten (cross contamination, or in a dressing I thought was gluten-free). It hurts. It makes my stomach turn and I get horrible pains. I want to tell people I’m having a poopy day, but this type of behaviour is not socially acceptable.

Sometimes I sneak it in anyways. Maybe in a one-on-one conversation with a close friend I’ll mention some sort of ‘tummy issue.’ I feel relieved. Sometimes other people have these issues too and we can talk about it and it feels better knowing that I’m not the only one having a poopy experience, knowing that if I say I’m not feeling well they’ll understand and sympathize.

Everyone poops. Why can’t we talk about it?

baggage.

"Life's too short babe, and time is flying
I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine..."
(taken from the musical RENT, particularly here at 5:50)

I feel like I'm attached to people in a way that others might not experience. I feel that I develop a relationship with every person I meet. Not necessarily deep relationships, but a connection nonetheless. And as people walk in and out of my life, those relationships- those connections- they give and take and change pieces of me.

I gave my confidence to my ex boyfriend. I would rather say he took it from me, but years later I realize the role I had in the diminishing of my now beaming self worth. We were together for years and when he left me, I felt he took a piece of me away.

I was angry and I carried this baggage with me. I carried it for days, for weeks, for months, for years. I’m still angry. I feel like he wasted my time. I feel like I wasted my self.

A more recent break up showed me how full of baggage I really am. I decided to do some ‘spring cleaning.’ It may not be spring, but my mind and my heart are cluttered by this nonsense. Screw baggage. I am myself. I am plenty good enough at anything that matters to me. I am worthy. I am awesome. I don’t need this baggage.

I purged my negative thoughts. I purged my negative self worth. I emerged with confidence. I feel lighter, emotionally. Somehow this lightness has transferred to my physical being. I feel I walk lighter without these thoughts and emotions weighing me down.

I am embracing this fresh start. I am equipped with smaller, empty, matching luggage. I will fill my new ‘baggage’ with positivity and amazement. I will embrace new relationships with realistic expectations and open-mindedness. I am lighter, I am flying. I am jumping, a leap of faith, and I am falling.

little things.

Sometimes the littlest things make the biggest difference.

I have three older siblings. I have different relationships with all of them, and all of these relationships are quite dynamic. Times change. People change.

When I was a child, I shared a bedroom with one of my sisters. We were best friends. While we attended public school, she made other friends and I felt replaced. When we were in high school, sometimes she was too cool for me. Sometimes she wasn't. We went to McDonald's most days after school to get Cheese Burger Arteries.

Cheese Burger Arteries: We would order 2 two-cheeseburger meals. Sister would take off the bottom buns and give them to me. She would then stack the cheeseburgers between the top buns. I ate the buns, and she ate the burgers, and we both ate the fries. We called them 'cheeseburgerarteries' because we could practically feel our arteries clogging as we ate.

Sister and I even went to the same College, living in the same apartment for one semester. Then life happened. Times change, people change. We drifted apart. We were 'sisters' but not best friends. And then we were barely sisters. There was a lot of miscommunication, and some horrible things were said. After a long time of awkwardness and a big blow out fight, we finally reconciled.


Sometimes the littlest things make the biggest difference.

My Sister is very special to me. We both try very hard to make our relationship work. She does a lot of really special things for me, and I appreciate them. Last time I came home for a visit, she surprised me with a new kind of Gluten Free cereal. This time I came home to a pocket sized book "a little book of hugs for sisters."

I do special things for her too. I try to text her or call her at least once each day. Sometimes that gets hard when I am busy with school and she is busy with her children. Today I nominated her for a makeover contest when she mentioned how fun it would be to win. Life is too short to hold grudges and be an idiot. Do something special for a loved one today.

posts about Brother and my other Sister to come....

lingering.

'...mhmm I want to linger, mmhmm a little longer, mhmm a little longer here with you...'

We used to sing that song at Camp. I didn't know what lingering was then, but I do now.

Sometimes bad smells or tastes linger. Tastes like that garlicky pasta the other day. It seemed to be stuck to my tongue forever.

Sometimes bad thoughts linger. I get upset and I get angry. I waste my time thinking and re-thinking situations. I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Sometimes bad feelings linger. I get hurt. I get sad. Loved ones pass away and that sense of emptiness lingers on for years. That hallow feeling lingers and dissipates but is never truly gone.

I get caught up in these feelings, as if my mind is on ‘replay,’ cycling through anger, hate, hurting, sadness. It is so easy to get stuck. So easy to linger in this darkness, to hold myself down, to dig a little deeper. I push away from reality. I let go of commitments. I isolate from the world. I linger in nothingness. I hate lingering.

Sometimes good smells or tastes linger. Smells like my mother’s kitchen. Tastes like a sweet kiss from someone special that lasts on your lips until bed time.  

Sometimes good thoughts linger. I get excited and energetic. I find it easy to get thrilled about the littlest things, and that is fine by me. I anticipate awesomeness. I love it I love it I love it I love it!

Sometimes good feelings linger. I smile. I feel warmth in your embrace. I feel special. I float above the world and I am soaring. I coast along this feeling and ride the wave of emotion. You said goodnight and now you’re gone, but you linger here with me. It could be days before we see each other again, but that kiss, that embrace – it lingers. I love lingering.

what if.

I take it back, take it all back
what a waste of time.
You took my hand and filled my heart
with your disease.

Everything in life is an experience. Some things are good, and some things are bad. We learn from everything that we do. I know this, and I know I've grown, but I can't help wondering if my time has been wasted.

So many times I have invested myself into people, into ideas, into anything and felt short-changed. If not for my experiences, I wouldn't be who I am today. I can't help wondering who I would be.

What if he didn't break my heart?
          What if I was strong enough to leave?
                    What if I put my needs first?
                              What if everything worked itself out?

It's this what-if thinking that clouds my brain, the what-if thinking that opens my eyes and screams at me "STOP" as I jump in.

What if this was exactly what I needed and all of my dreams came true?
I am jumping, a leap of faith, and I am falling.

contemplation.

Sometimes I have what I don't need.
Sometimes I need what I don't have.
[the more I read those statements over, the more I am reminded of this song]

I feel like life might be one big mind game. A game where everyone loses and no one wins. This seems a little bitter, but I'm certain it is real. Every moral victory I've had has come at a price. Is it really 'winning' if someone somewhere is hurting?

My heart gets thrown in the mix like any other. With my head pulled one way and my body another, the contemplation begins.


Weighing consequences is somewhat of a sport for me:
            Do I fight for right now or plan for the future?
            Do I follow my head or my heart?

Right now I wish to seek happiness. In the long run I hope to avoid pain. My head tells me it has heard this all before. My heart claims it will be different this time. I am sceptical. I am holding my breath. I close my eyes. I am jumping, a leap of faith, and I am falling.