tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65186933192225513402024-03-13T08:00:05.705-04:00The Stage is Yours.....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-64939245888779206632015-11-04T15:09:00.001-05:002015-11-04T15:09:07.405-05:00Through my Eyes<div>
Some days are a lot harder than others. This isn't anything
different than anyone else would say but it's unique from person to
person. We all handle our issues in our own way. Maybe you go for a
walk, play a video game or put on an album and let it take you away. The
important thing is that you have some kind of outlet that works for
you. The real kick in the ribs is when your outlets don't work like they
used to or you simply lose touch with what made them work to begin
with.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I'm 37 years old, married with two awesome kids
and when it comes right down to it, I don't really like myself all that
much. I deal with severe body image issues and on more days than I'd
care to admit, I feel like a failure. So, let's try and break this down
and see if we can figure it out. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Body issues. Well,
here's a hot button issue if I've ever heard one. It's everywhere you
look. Mostly it's aimed at women. Making them feel as if they have to
fit this societal mold of what a woman is supposed to look like. It's
total crap and I think most people would agree with that. Critics hide
it under the guise off "wanting people to be healthy." However they
overlook wanting people to be happy. Let me tell you right now that it
isn't just women who deal with this. Look at any magazine and the
pictures you'll find of men will depict them as fit and trim, six pack
abs and given the latest trends, probably bearded and tattooed. There's
nothing wrong with that at all. But what about the guys that look like
me? I'm bald and heavy. I'd probably have to starve myself for a few
months to ever come close to six pack abs. I have hair on my body. I
have no tattoos because I've never found anything I was willing to
permanently put on my body and also because I really don't want any. But
in this day and age you can be looked down on for not having any. The
very people who cried foul because they were looked down on for having
tattoos and piercings are now the ones who judge those of us who
appreciate the art of it but have none. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I know deep down
I'm always going to be that shy and unsure 15 year old kid who used his
sense of humor to hide the fact that he dealt with self doubt and just
wanted people to like him. Who used it to make the people around him
feel happier because he didn't want anyone to feel the way he felt
inside. The saying that the funniest people are often the saddest and
loneliest, it's true. Tears of a clown and all that jazz. I will do
anything to make a person smile because I hope that one of these times
it'll make me smile as well. Smile and really mean it. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Now let's be clear about something. I love my wife and kids and I enjoy
the life that I have with them. But that doesn't mean that the nagging
voices in your head ever really shut up. That takes change, real change.
You have to make them stop. You have to believe that whatever they're
telling you isn't reality anymore. That's a tall order sometimes. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I wish I knew what to say to any of you out there who feel this
way. I can say that you're not as awful as you paint yourself to be. But
I can't make you believe it. I can say that one day it stops bothering
you. But I can't tell you when that day is. I'm still waiting for mine. I
could say that there are a wealth of people out there who love you and
there are, that much is true. But you have to love you first and the
most. You can't find it in other people and it's not fair to put that
kind of responsibility on anyone else. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
So in closing
I'll say this. Life can really suck sometimes. People will let you down
and break your heart. They're only human and that's kind of what they
do. No one is perfect. But there's a lot of beauty out there and you can
find it in the most surprising of places. Don't judge by what you see.
Don't be afraid to look beyond what's right in front of you. Don't stand
for people who do that to you. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-70301442543368311052015-10-14T15:17:00.000-04:002015-10-14T16:07:18.312-04:00Never Give Up<div>
The other day my son was at the kitchen table drawing pictures of
horror icons because he loves horror movies. While in the middle of one
he stopped and looked at me and said "Dad, I'm drawing Michael Myers. Do
you think I'll be successful?" My first thought was "who the hell talks
like that?!", then I thought "he wants my approval. He wants to know
he's doing a good job so that he can keep on doing it with confidence." I
didn't hesitate to tell him that his drawings were awesome and he'd be
successful. Maybe he'll be an artist one day. Maybe he'll make special
effects for movies. What he won't ever do is tell himself that his dad
didn't believe in him. The same goes for my daughter. She's about to
turn 16 and has her whole life planned out. She knows where she's going
to school and what she wants to do with her life. I don't think I could
be more proud of her and how much she's matured and pulled herself
together over the last couple years. </div>
<div>
You might wonder
where I'm going with this. For a little while, I did too. Parenting
isn't an easy job and there's no rule book. You play it by ear and do
what you hope is the best. When I was little I didn't get a lot push to
live my dreams and reach for the stars. I got told no and that I
couldn't do things, a lot. I wanted to play the piano. I was told I
wouldn't stick with it. I wanted to use chop sticks once at an Asian
restaurant. My dad told the waitress that I would fail. I didn't. Now,
before anyone goes thinking that my parents are assholes or anything
like that, please understand that my parents are great people. My dad is
my best friend and my mom is still who I go to when I need some
realistic advice. But what they also are is too realistic. There was no
dream I had that wasn't in some way worn down due to it being a little
outlandish. They loved me. But they didn't push me. And it's that fact
that has held me back in a lot of ways over the years. I've given up on
the vast majority of my dreams because they aren't "realistic." I'll
come up with reasons that whatever it is I want to do, will ultimately
fail. I wanted to be a wrestler, a musician, a writer. All things that I
feel like I would have been pretty good at. I even gave up on this blog
for a while. It was hard to open myself up to people and not
immediately see the rewards from it that I felt I'd see. What were those
rewards? I haven't got a clue. But they weren't there and I walked away
from it. </div>
<div>
The irony in all of this is that I'm the
first person to push people to be what they want to be, to root for the
underdog. But I can't take that same advice for myself. Someone once
told me that in a crisis, I'd be the guy that ran into danger to save
other people. Because deep down inside I want to be the superhero. </div>
<div>
I guess what I'm getting at is this. Please don't ever give up.
Please don't stop fighting. I know there are moments when you can't take
another step or give another breath or shed another tear. I know it
because I've been there and still live there. Some of you know me and
some of you may not. But I believe in you. I believe that if you want
something badly enough, you can make it a reality. Stop listening to
those venomous voices in your head and keep fighting. I promise you that
it's worth it. Maybe not today, but one day you'll wake up and look
back on your journey and realize that you made your life important
because you never gave up. And on that day, you take that feeling of
pride and you pass it on to the world around you. You stand up for every
person that was where you used to be and you give them hope. </div>
<div>
Yeah, I think you'll be successful. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-5038710131232858822014-05-15T17:00:00.003-04:002014-05-15T17:00:32.887-04:00Clarity
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve spent the better part of a couple years being
relatively uncertain as to who I am or what I want out of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While this may come across like sour grapes
to some, I assure you that it isn’t. The choice to hide my head in the sand and
wait for everything to fix itself was very much my own. So when you read this,
if you read this, please understand that this little bit of a rant is really
more of my way of letting go of some pent up animosity that I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That being said, enjoy, and I hope that this
makes even the tiniest bit of sense in then end.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you went back about twelve years ago you’d have found me
a very different man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone without an
ego, but someone who had a very quiet confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t defined by my career, my
relationships or anything other than what I allowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said what was on my mind and never second
guessed any decisions that I made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somewhere along the line that all stopped. I became the exact opposite.
I was nothing but my own list of inadequacies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It made me all bitter and hard to be around. It affected me both
mentally and physically in some ways. The other day in the middle of a phone
call, someone said the wrong thing and pushed and belittled me just a little
too far. It was like a switch went on in my head. But instead of yelling and
raging about it, I made them suffer through a long and awkward pause and then
calmly showed them that speaking to me like I was beneath them was a very bad
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt amazing. It was in that
moment that I knew that I was back.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This journey is mine and mine alone. In the end I have only
myself to answer to. My decisions, good or bad, are mine. Anyone who feels like
walking with me is more than welcome to. But I won’t stop moving because someone
is asking me to. You can keep up or catch up to me later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve spent a lot of time standing still,
hoping that the things that I want would be handed to me. It has never once
worked. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I used to worry that was too fat or too hairy or
inadequate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m none of those things. I’m
me from head to toe. I will never be a model with six pack abs or a vision of “perfection.”
I have a strange beard and I wear the clothes I want to wear. I eat what I want
and drink what I want. Maybe it’s time we stopped letting photoshopped images
of secretly flawed people dictate who we are. Ladies, stop worrying about the
size of your ass and your stomach and be happy with yourselves. Curves are
awesome. Start owning that shit and be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you want to work out to make yourself feel better, do it. But do it
because it’s what you want. Not because someone told you it’s the only path to
happiness. And if you’d rather have another slice of cake and a beer, enjoy it.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t have a career. I’m 36 years old and I don’t have
anything even remotely resembling one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What I do have is a string of kind of interesting jobs. I’ve sold
kaleidoscopes, worked security, been an accountant, sold gun parts, been a stay
at home dad, a baker and a home health aid. I throw myself completely into
whatever it is I’m doing and at times allowed myself to feel like none of these
things were fulfilling. What they are is interesting, and I’ll take an
interesting job over a boring career any day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I let people’s opinions of what I was doing become fact in my mind.
Because of that I stopped doing things that I really loved doing. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Live your life. You only get one go around and if you spend
it wasting seconds because someone might think you’re weird or stupid, you’re
missing the point. Be weird, do what makes you happy, just be yourself in every
way you know how. People will love you or hate you because of it. But what
matters most is if you love yourself because of it. And maybe they hate you because
they see something they wish they could be. Maybe it’ll inspire them to let go
just a little. Seriously, if I did it, so can you.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-72422484202985428012014-01-21T12:33:00.003-05:002014-01-21T12:33:46.980-05:00The Anniversary<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
On January 19<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, 2009, I woke up not feeling so well. I was still tired, my muscles were achy and I just felt, well, blah.<span> </span>Considering it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I had the day off, so I went back to sleep. I awoke at some point later, still not feeling well and noticing that I had just a tiny bit of pain when breathing. I hadn’t wanted to waste my extra day off sleeping but I had no desire or energy to do much else, so I just loafed on the couch. My then fiancé, “J”, who works second shift and therefore sleeps during the day, woke up at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_468263310" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">2pm</span></span></span>. By the time he left for work at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_468263311" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">3:30</span></span></span>, my complaints had grown to having a little more pain and just not wanting to move. I continued to rest but I noticed that if I got up to get a drink or climbed the stairs to use the bathroom, I got somewhat winded but would feel better after resting for a while. I began a ranting monologue in my head, mentally checking off my list of symptoms. <span> </span>Muscle aches? Check. Fever? Low-grade. Stomach trouble, headache, any other flu-like symptoms? No.<span> </span>Ok, well, that’s not much to go on. But then, why do I feel so crappy and why do I have shortness of breath? I had so much going on at work that I just couldn’t afford to be sick, especially if this was going to turn out to be pneumonia. Or how about pleurisy? No way! I can’t have that. I am just going to rest and if I still feel this way in the morning, I’ll go to the walk-in clinic early and go to work from there. </div>
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<u></u><u></u> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Then things went from bad to worse. I had stopped hiking upstairs to the bathroom. It just wasn’t worth the exhaustion, the twinge of pain behind my shoulder that felt like someone was stabbing me with a hot poker, and the dizziness. The last time I went up there, I had started to feel a little disoriented. Things weren’t making much sense in the way that every little thing, every thought, every idea, every bit of logic was all scrambled in a hazy patch of fog in my brain. I had to sit at the top of the stairs for what seemed like a good 15 minutes or so before making the long journey back down those steps, back to my pillow and blanket on the couch. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
For those reading this that are thinking to themselves, “Excuse me, big dummy, shouldn’t you sending yourself off to the hospital?” I say this: denial is a powerful thing. And I am a ridiculously stubborn gal sometimes. I was determined not to let this get the best of me.<span> </span>I had a pile of things to do at work and a manager who would find some way of making you question your judgment in taking a day off, needed or not. <span> </span>She had a way of making you feel disappointed in yourself that was hard to overcome and yet, not a word would be said to you about it. After all, I had just been out sick for 2 days 3 weeks before when I went to the ER with pain in my left calf. Since then, I had been hobbling around with an orthopedic cam walker (boot) and had physical therapy 2 time a week for what the ER had said was an Achilles tendon tear, though the pain in my leg hadn’t been as sharp lately. <span> </span>Besides, feeling this bad, not only could I have not driven myself anywhere at this point, if I could have dialed 9-1-1, I don’t think I would have had the breath to say “hello.” Also having just visited the ER, I hadn’t wanted to seem like a hypochondriac.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<u></u><u></u> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span> </span>At this point in the night, I had decided that I may actually have to give up the idea of work the next day altogether and just hold on until I could get to the walk-in clinic in the morning. Disappointed Manager would have to just deal with it and I would just have to get over whatever disappointment I felt within myself. “J” got home around <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_468263312" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ"><span style="color: #222222;">2 am</span></span></span>, I believe. <span> </span>I hadn’t moved from the couch in at least an hour, was a little less disoriented, but still didn’t feel fully in control. The pain seemed to be getting worse, and the breathing was the same. He came and talked to me for a bit, trying to help me decide what to do. I decided to get up and go to the kitchen. The distance from my couch to my island counter in the kitchen is roughly 12 feet. In those 12 feet, I realized just how short of breath I still was. And I was absolutely exhausted from having moved that short of a distance. I somehow managed to communicate to “J” in fits and gasps, that I thought it was time for the ER. “J” pulled the car around and managed to get me settled in. The hospital is about 15 minutes away and in that time, even through the fog in my brain, I realized how dumb I had been to let both work and my pride let it get this far. Oh dear hindsight, I adore thee.<u></u><u></u></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
I was immediately taken in and given oxygen. When the attending ER doctor saw my boot, he decided to order a few tests, including an ultrasound for my leg and a CAT scan for my chest. He said he was just checking for blood clots in my leg and lungs, but it was just precautionary. The nurse who came to escort me to the CAT scan (oxygen and all) was less than pleased to be saddled with me. I’m sure she thought I was just another victim of the flu using the ER as a walk-in clinic. I didn’t expect roses and songs, but she was very short with me and rather rude. She prepared me for the CAT scan and then left the room to begin the test. </div>
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<u></u><u></u> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
I firmly believe to this day that she read the results while she was out of the room. <span> </span>The time had come to collect me and escort me back to my bed back at the ER. Suddenly, her whole demeanor had changed. “How are you doing, sweetie? Are you comfortable enough? Would you like another blanket? Is there anything I can do?” Someone felt guilty, for sure. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. The once Nurse Ratched wheeled me back quickly, but with great care, speaking gently to me along the way. She settled me back in place and left, wishing me well. I was scared silly.<u></u><u></u></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
A while later, the doctor came back with the news: the Achilles tendon tear was really Deep Vein Thrombosis and it had broken apart and had lodged in my lungs. A pulmonary specialist was called in and after more testing, it was determined that I was lucky in that the blood clots in my lungs, bi-lateral pulmonary emboli, had first passed through my heart and though one chamber of my heart was damaged, the damage was minimal. In time it would heal, but the important part was that the blood clot didn’t lodge there.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
I guess I still didn’t realize how sick I was. My mind had created a scenario in which they would give me medication, I stay home for a day or two and go right back to work. I expressed my hesitation about not returning to work. <span> </span>Her next words I remember so clearly that they still haunt me, “If you leave, you will die.” She then went on to explain everything, how she blamed birth control pills, how I would walk out of there if I did everything they said and just let them take care of me. She informed me that I was mere hours from death’s door and to consider myself lucky I got there in time. I was hospitalized for one week and on continued medical leave for another two. By then, I had improved enough in her eyes to allow me to go back to work as my administrative position would allow me to sit. </div>
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<u></u><u></u> </div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Since then, so much has happened. I was on blood thinners for one year. Eventually, that one chamber of my heart caught up and is now in time with the rest of the beats. My lungs healed for the most part, although bending over for longer than a couple of seconds makes me feel like my body will explode….and humidity? Forget it. <span> </span>I have since been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, have had multiple surgeries resulting in a hysterectomy in order to correct reproductive issues, and arthritis, which is almost disabling on the worst days and still painful even on the best. <span> </span>I tell you these things because it seems to be that a decent amount those afflicted with DVT’s/PE’s have all been diagnosed with many of the same issues within a couple of years.</div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
There are decent days. There are really bad days. I am in some sort of pain most of the time. Even when I am having fun, the reminders are still there. And even though the cause of the DVT’s and PE’s has been removed from my life, the fear of what happened and it recurring is still there – and may always be.<u></u><u></u></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
But I survived. Many don’t. I have learned from this. I have learned to listen to my body and to trust it. I have learned to not care what others think about my need for a day off, if my body calls for it. I have learned to not let my need to not disappoint others take over. I now know there is nothing more important than how I feel about me, though I still do tend to forget that from time to time. One of the hardest things to fix is yourself.</div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
It has been and continues to be a long road for me. But the point is, five years later, I’m still on it. Good days and bad, I’m still here. <span> </span>I. Am. Still. Here. I looked death in the eye and flipped him off.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
So, Happy 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> Anniversary to me. <span> </span>Pain or not, I’m still looking up. It can only get better.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-67570500476544573972013-12-11T09:09:00.000-05:002013-12-11T09:09:00.403-05:00The Policy
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a blog that I should’ve written in the very
beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only to show the people
reading it the purpose of what I’m trying to do, but to remind myself why I started
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called it The Stage is Yours as
a way of giving people an outlet to anonymously remove those things in their
lives that were holding them back. Free of judgment and prying eyes. But upon
doing that, I stepped aside and took it away from myself. I stopped putting in
effort to remove the things that were holding ME back. That isn’t fair to
myself and it certainly isn’t fair to those of you that have so beautifully
shared yourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’d like to take
this opportunity to pull the curtain back and do what all of you have
done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take charge of my life and attempt
to pick up the pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am a liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
made up stories about myself and my life in an attempt to make myself seem
better than I am. Lying to me is a compulsion. I am addicted to it. Small
things and large things have all been effected by this addiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so caught up wanting everyone to like me
that I modify who I am to suit individual needs. Or what I thought they would
need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has left a giant hole in me.
A hole that I tried to fill with alcohol and drugs and the attention of people
that I didn’t truly know. I used people to make myself feel better. And for a
time it would work, but it never lasted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a wonderful woman in my life. Someone who never
looked at me with judging eyes and never wanted me to be anything more than who
I am. But I’ve lied to her as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
still sought out the attention of others. I still filled that hole inside me
with drugs and alcohol. And now I stand here and could potentially lose
everything. My wife, my family, all of it. This is what lying has done. This is
what it will do to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told me to
put up or shut up. She told me that she doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m afraid, I’m
terrified. More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life. This is what lying
has done to me and the people I care about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe it’s time I told myself to put up or shut up. Lying shouldn’t be this
easy. We teach our children that it’s wrong to lie. I was raised to believe
that the truth was the most important thing. So put up or shut up. I don’t want
to wake up a year from now and not have her here, not hear the laughter of my
child. I don’t want to die with regrets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like any addict, this isn’t going to be easy. I’ll have to
force myself on a daily basis to live the way I know I should live. To be
honest, both with myself and with her. I’m going to have to attempt to rebuild
her trust in me. I don’t know if I can do it. But I know for the first time in
my life I have to try. I give up too easily on everything. And after a while,
when you live like that, people and things will give up on you. I know that it’ll
take time for the truth to be believed as well. When all you spew are lies, the
truth sounds exactly the same. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Put up or shut up. Stop talking about who you want to be and
be it. Stop standing on the side lines and waiting for things to happen. Make
them happen. Stop lying and tell the truth to yourself and to those you love
the most. Stop giving yourself to people that you don’t really know. Stop
hurting people. Stop making excuses and fucking change. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-87586590017214264852013-12-09T06:18:00.002-05:002013-12-09T06:18:42.800-05:00Every Day<div style="-ms-word-wrap: break-word;">
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">I've never been able to talk about what has happened to me. A few times I have tried to reach out but chickened out at the last second. My family doesn't know. My friends don't know. They may never know...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">When I was 15 I met a boy who thought I was amazing. We met in January and the following month was my sweet 16. At my sweet sixteen party he decided to give me his present. He wanted sex. I wouldn't do it and he punched me in the stomach. He abused me in some way shape or form every time we saw each other after that. He was rough with me in every way possible. His father even verbally abused me. Nobody ever knew what happened and its still hard to talk about. When he finally dumped me I was truly broken. I was scared and ashamed. Worst of all I thought it was all my fault. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">A year later I was looking to feel something. Anything. I got involved with this guy and his friend took us behind the cemetery so we could be alone. I was in the backseat when his friend jumped in the car and started to kiss me. I tried to fight him off and yelled for help. I heard the guy I was supposed to be with laughing. When they were both done with me they took me home. I showered till the water was ice cold. I told my best friend and she said I was lying. She liked one of the guys and told me that "he wouldn't do that". A part of me died. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">There are 2 years of my life that I don't remember after that day. I was depressed, defiant. The one time I asked for help I was rejected. I had been destroyed. Slowly I was able to bury the memories of what happened and I tried to join the world again.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">Some years later when all of my memories were buried deep and I was out in the world acting like I could function, I went out to a local bar with some co-workers. One of them invited their brother and we seemed to really hit it off. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">I only remember bits and pieces of that night. I don't know how we got to my car. I don't know how it happened. I tried to stop him but I was in a fog. I couldn't move. I was pinned down. I was half naked. I was saying no. It was the only thing I could say. I started to shake my head back and forth. He stopped because I started to throw up. After he left two girls were walking through the parking lot and saw me hanging out of the car half naked. The police were called. I was taken to the hospital. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">The detective who took me, because I refused an ambulance, was so supportive and tried to help me. He knew what happened even if I couldn't talk about it. There was a counselor from the VAP (Victim Assistance Program) that tried to help me work through it but I just wasn't able to talk about what happened in my car. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">I felt like I failed. I thought I deserved it. I was ashamed. I didn't know how to tell anybody that I had been drunk, probably drugged, and that my friend's brother had attacked me in my own car. I had to drive that car. The counselor told me to get rid of it but I couldn't afford to. I couldn't look at my co-worker so I transferred to a different branch. I buried it deep. It took me almost 7 years to get my life back.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">Today I am with a man that knows nothing of my past. If he asks me, I will do my best to tell him about it. We have been together for a year and a half and he has never raised a hand to me. He has never even raised his voice to me. He talks to me. He is affectionate and makes me happy. He talks about a future. He talks about our wedding. He talks about our children. For the first time in my life I feel safe. My boyfriend may not know about my past but he is the one person that has helped me heal. I love him. He's not perfect but he makes me laugh. He is supportive and makes me want to be a better person.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">Even though I'm in a good place right now...I'm still scared. I'm still ashamed. I feel like I may have deserved it. All of it. I hate myself. How can he love me? How can anybody love me? I'm safe if they don't know. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">I'm still working through everything that has happened. BUT...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Geneva;">Every day I wake up. Every day I take a deep breath before I start my day. Every day I ask for the strength to make it through. Every day I tell my boyfriend that I love him. Every day he tells me he loves me. Every day I heal a little bit...</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-49519777043853725642013-11-21T18:45:00.000-05:002013-11-21T18:45:06.021-05:00To All of You
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is generally the time of year that people will start
talking about how thankful they are for all the good things they have in their
lives. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’ve always been one of those
people that believed that if you’re only openly thankful on one day a year or
around one time of year, you’re missing the point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, every fiber of my being is rebelling
against the idea of droning on about how thankful I am. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll try and avoid the laundry list of
blessings but forgive me if a stick my toes in the water from time to time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyone who is privy to my life outside of this computer
might say to me, “Hey man, are you thankful for second chances this year?” The
answer to that is no, I’m not. What I am thankful for is clarity. Which is
something that for far too long I didn’t have. Not even in the slightest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also thankful for perspective and finally
having the sense to look at the life that’s right in front of me and enjoy it
for what it is. An always evolving adventure that is often far too short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my life I have lost friends, some at a
fork in the road and others in the blink of an eye. A year ago I’d have thought
about this and lamented over the times we never got to spend together. Now I
tell myself that the time spent together was more important than the times
never spent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only waste in life is
not learning what those people were there to teach you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow marks kind
of an important day for me. My oldest turns 14. If I stop and think about that
for too long, my ears start to ring and I get the cold shakes. I still vividly
recall her swinging from my arms and climbing all over me. It must mean I’m
getting older or something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son, who
just turned 6, now sits and watches monster movies with me just like she did
when she was that age. The cycle continues. So to the both of them, in the off
chance that they read this someday, I love you both very much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I learned that somewhere along the line I gave up on myself.
It was just easier to sit back and let other people make decisions for me. It
happens, everyone does it at some point in their life. Problem was, I was
allowing people who were no longer a part of my life make decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like annoying voices from beyond the grave. I
used to spend my nights locked up in my dark apartment, waiting for someone to
come in and shine a light for me. All the while the light switch was right
beside me. But I’m good now, certainly not about to shoulder the burden of the
world anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels really good to
take a deep breath and just live. Enjoy the little things, Like the way the sky
looks early in the morning when I’m walking the dog. Or the way the house
smells when I feel inclined to play in the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So if I’m thankful for anything, it’s the ability
to be thankful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My life isn’t as bad as I
imagined it to be. I’ve got some great friends and an amazing family. When I
started this blog, my goal was to “change the world.” I did. I changed my
world. So thank you to all of you who have submitted or simply just hopped on
here and read what others have written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve
made this into a reality.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-66559935386490076662013-10-17T18:22:00.000-04:002013-10-17T18:23:43.721-04:00That Light at the End of the Tunnel<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I’ve spent much of my life feeling
angry. I’ve been angry about things that have happened to me and mine
that were under no one’s control, that were unfortunate circumstance. I
could never find a way to process the anger or sadness or other feelings and
put them behind me. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">Days innumerable have been spent in
the fog of anger, of rage. Of absolute negativity. Of the inability
to believe or hope good things would come my way – or if they had, to see or
appreciate them. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I’ve been too busy being angry, being
determined to be angry to realize that continuing that path has kept the bad in
a beeline for me. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">While it’s a hard habit to break, I’m
determined to do it. And I <i>am</i> doing it. Baby steps are still
progress, no matter how little. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I’ve spoken of hope before, but I
spoke of it in a meaningless way, sort of the way you’d talk about unicorns.
It’s a lovely thought, but you don’t <i>really</i> believe they exist.
</span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I’m beginning to believe. Not
in unicorns, mind you, but of hope. That it does exist, that it is real,
that having it can make life change. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">This year has held many dark days for
me but they were days I had to convince myself would end. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">Without the dark, you’d never be able
to see the stars. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">If the bad hadn’t happened to me, I
wouldn’t be here now. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I’ve changed my mindset, changed my
perspective. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">While I certainly didn’t enjoy the
bad, without it, the good that’s present now wouldn’t be here. The bad
has led me to the good. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">I can choose to worry about the
things I cannot control, or I can accept them and move on. I can choose
to be a slave to anxiety, or I can count my blessings and be grateful. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">Life isn’t perfect. It never
is. But this life is about acknowledging what you have – good or bad –
and doing what you can with it. And we only get one chance. I don’t
want to live the way I’d been living anymore. I want good things, I want
happiness, I want hope, I want love and family. You have to believe in
them, fervently believe they are possible and that you deserve them. And,
I’m finding out, if you believe, if you repeat over and over, they will come to
you. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">We must choose happiness over the
anger every day. Every morning we wake up, we must make a choice to let
fear or happiness reign. We must choose to believe. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeece1; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-themecolor: background2;">And
maybe I believe in unicorns too. But only a little. </span><span style="color: #eeece1; mso-themecolor: background2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-25013309527887734292013-10-15T20:30:00.001-04:002013-10-15T20:30:23.885-04:00Ignorance Shaming Week
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m one of those people that tend to arrive late to the
party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s probably on purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do love to make an entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So earlier today I read something about this
little movement called “Fat Shaming Week”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seemed a little absurd to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Had I also missed “Pedophile Shaming Week”? How about “Bestiality
Shaming Week”? Did we take care of all those groups and we’re now moving on to
fat people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After some reading and research it seemed that there was one
main egg responsible for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d call
them a person, but you see, this internet warrior decided to leave his face far
off of his Twitter account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only
guess that this is to make sure they are safe from any critique or ridicule
that they might in fact receive. But what’s a bully without a heap of fear and
repression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe they used to be fat?
Maybe they needed a hug from Mom and Dad?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, I read through this shriveled nutsack’s tweets and
fund them to be not only basic and misogynistic, but completely devoid of any
real thought process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things like “If
you’re fat, no one will love you”, or “Put down the fork”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clever, so clever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly you’re proof of how great our
educational system is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If these were
written out prior to shitting them onto the internet, I’m guessing it was in
crayon, with a lot of misspellings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
of his brilliant insights even said, “I just had sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m laying here while the girl cleans
herself in the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or whatever
women do.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The answer to what they do,
is masturbate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because you’ve never
satisfied one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my life, I’ve had the privilege of knowing a lot of great
women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each one beautiful in their own
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve been of all shapes, sizes
and colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all have something they
should be proud of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all deserve to
be loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They deserve to live in a
world free of narrow minded asshats like you and the embarrassing army of
gerbils who thought your opinion had merit.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, in summation, I’d like to say this: If you so deeply
believe in what you’re preaching, show your face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand up and let the world see you, since you
think you’re so much better than others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hell, Mike Jeffries of Abercrombie & Fitch put his face out there
and he looks like what would happen if Eric Stoltz in Mask spent a day getting
stung by bees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d gladly invite you to
suck my dick, but guys who wear Ed Hardy and smell like Axe Body Spray just
don’t get my blood flowing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ladies, be proud of who you are and what you look like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be happy in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confidence is the sexiest thing on a
woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go check out the hashtag
#effyourbeautystandards on Instagram.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Take a picture, post it and give a giant middle finger to anyone who
tries to hold you down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, fuck
those people and everyone like them.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-92038732079808499042013-08-24T08:20:00.002-04:002013-08-24T08:20:24.517-04:00Rainbows and Darkness
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When your memories hold you hostage, how do you begin to
take your life back?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you’re held prisoner to a constant movie reel of past
pain and heartbreak, how do you break free?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How do you emancipate yourself from your own mind?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my life, I’ve experienced joy and misery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happiness and depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rainbows and darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s the dark, the bad memories that are the ones that
repeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ones where I can remember
each detail in Technicolor, the sights, the smells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good memories are more faded like an old
photograph, the edges dog-eared and the images not as clear as they once
were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m the one that bestows that power upon them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the one that went willingly, head hung
low in defeat, into my cell of sadness inside my own mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I condemned myself to this life, to putting
my focus on the negative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve spent a lifetime drowning in the awful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s high time I started to kick to the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But how?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do we
begin to wrest ourselves from the self latched chains of our memories, our
pasts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What defining event will open the
door?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What beautiful things have happened to me that I’ve shoved
to the recesses of my mind and forgotten and replaced with something shameful,
embarrassing, hurtful or sad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What have
I missed out on because of my frightening ability to see only the
terrible?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many smiles, hugs,
encouraging words, beautiful scenes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
many compliments?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many breathtaking
sunsets?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many moments of just love,
be it friend, family, significant other?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How many lost memories are running adrift in my mind because
I’ve refused to see them?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is setting yourself free as simple as telling yourself
that’s what you’re going to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Resolving to no longer give it the power it held before?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can it be that easy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suppose that it can’t hurt to try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can’t hurt any more than I’ve already hurt
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So then today, now, right this minute, with fear and hope in
my heart, I vow to stop it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m taking
away the power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m taking away the
power I’ve given to the bad memories, to the darkness, to the fear, to the
hopelessness, to the anger, to the people who’ve hurt me, to the people who
enjoyed my suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m done letting memories, emotions, and people control my
life, my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m taking back my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Too long I’ve spent wishing to be happy, to be free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, I’m moving in a different direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m shedding those chains; I’m losing my
prisoner number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to know joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Know it fully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Know it like we
have a secret handshake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fear and hate and anger can go right back to the hell that
spawned them all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m done with
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want my goddamn life back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it starts today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-13662008035245508322013-08-09T11:22:00.000-04:002013-08-09T11:22:23.205-04:00Tired
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">You’re going to need to take a long and potentially
painful look at yourself in the mirror and demand that you recognize the good
in yourself. It’s not going to be easy. I tell myself this exact thing every
single day. And every day I find some reason, big or small, to ignore even the
slightest bit of good in myself. It’s silly and I know it. I’m human, just like
everybody else. And part of being human is making mistakes, learning from them
and then not repeating them. But rather than looking at the mistakes I’ve made
and putting them behind me, I carry them around like some form of penance. The
wrongs that have been done to me? Well, I make sure to plant those deep so they
never go away. So, I can’t tell you what my best qualities are, where my
strengths lay. But I can tell you every single ill word that has ever been said
to me. It’s an awful way to live and after doing it for a very long time, I can
say that I’ve grown really tired of it. Tired of being the person who shoulders
burden that isn’t mine. Tired of holding on to everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">It’ll kill you in the end. Maybe not literally, I would
hope not literally. But it’ll carve you out inside and make you nothing more than
a giant empty shell. Let it go, all of it. Even if it has to be a tiny piece at
a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">So I’m making a list in my head of everything good
about me. I’m much more accustomed to listing my flaws but that hasn’t gotten
me anywhere. I’m kind of tired of being stuck in one place. It’s boring and the
view is old now. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life
dwelling on things that don’t matter anymore. Or let the opinions of fools tell
me who I am and who I’m going to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-66045753428252594972013-08-07T06:45:00.000-04:002013-08-07T06:49:20.446-04:00Perfect<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Calibri;">I was perfect. Good grades, good schools, good
friends, extracurricular activities. By the time I was 27 I’d gone to graduate
school, had a house built, had a lavish wedding – even gave out communion at Saturday
night Mass. Perfect, perfect, perfect.<o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Until I wasn’t. It’s been years now, but I’m not even sure
how I snapped. I remember making muffins for a Bake Sale and completely losing
it. I said I was too young to be making muffins. I should be abroad, or in a
city, looking at art, trying new foods. I didn’t know how to change my
life. I had an affair. I snuck around. I let someone else be
the reason I left. Until he left me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Even though I felt sadness and resentment in my marriage,
I’d felt powerless to change my situation. I took those feelings and
buried them in a secret – in an act of defiance. Did that help me?
Of course not. Was it selfish? Absolutely. But it made me
take a really cold, hard look at myself and ask myself that when these
relationships were over, what did I want? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;">Fast forward several years, through that toxic divorce, that
new toxic relationship, moving four times, and I finally got it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #eeeeee;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;">I moved out of state. I took myself abroad on vacation. I
visited friends I hadn’t seen in years. I relished my freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #eeeeee;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;">If I could go back and give myself advice – if I could go
out and give every young adult advice – I’d say, Don’t try to be perfect.
It really doesn’t matter. Change your surroundings even if you
don’t have the time or money. Don’t ever let a relationship define you.</span>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-22644409467370876642013-08-03T15:33:00.000-04:002013-08-03T15:33:07.450-04:00The Site Trailer<iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/UkAe-qmHbtg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-69956730990924250682013-08-02T15:43:00.000-04:002013-08-02T15:43:43.555-04:00I Am Enough From as early as I can remember I never felt I was good enough. Not for anybody, and not at anything I achieved or attempted. I went through life a perfectionist (later to be diagnosed as OCD)- always obtaining high grades and high honor roll status, performing well at multiple sports, and maintaining a decent group of friends. From the outside my life was exactly what I wanted everybody to think it was, perfect. But I was miserable. My grades were good, but they could have been better. I was captain of the soccer team, but I could have dedicated more of time to practicing... etc. I never felt I was giving my best effort. I was anxious and high strung and depressed. I felt I had more than I deserved, yet I always wanted more than I had. I developed an eating disorder when I was 16, shortly after being raped by a boyfriend. I began drinking heavily on the weekends. I began using sex just like I used alcohol. My world was crashing down around me and I needed find balance and control. For a long time, all the way through college, I continued on this way, pretending everything was perfect while using my eating disorder, alcohol, and sex to numb out the reality that was my life.<br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>The summer after college I relapsed with my eating disorder pretty badly. I was lower than I had been in years. I was depressed, scared, my life was at a turning point, and yet it was a stand still. I managed to come back from the depths of the disorder only to find alcohol waiting for me at the other end. That is where my life took a turn for the worst. I went from a functioning human being to a useless wreck over the course a few months. I didn't want to live. I was living to drink, hurting myself and the people I love the most. I hated myself more than ever and I honestly could not see a way out. In my mind my only choices were to keep going on that way making things worse and worse until I had nothing left, or to just end everything. So that is what I decided to do, after one last day of drinking. On June 4, 2013 I called out of work without telling any of my family or my significant other. I spent the morning at the beach and the afternoon and evening at the bar. When it came time to go through my plan to "accidentally" crash my car into a tree on my way home, around <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_831851907" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">7 pm</span></span>, I was already blackout drunk. So I don't remember the conversation I had with my parents when I got to my car and saw them standing there about how they found me, and I'm not sure that matters. What matters is that they found me. I am here. That was the last drink I took. I went inpatient for twelve days and detoxed. While I was in the hospital I learned a lot about myself. Since I have been out of the hospital a lot of amazing people have entered my life that have made me feel like these past sixty days have not all been for nothing. </div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Every day is a struggle to stay sober, to eat right, to think positively, to get out of bed... But I look at where I was sixty days ago and where I am today and it makes me want to keep fighting. I have grown so much in the past two months, more than I ever thought was possible. For the first time I am actually looking forward to the future.</div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>I don't look at myself and think I am the smartest or the prettiest or the best at anything, I am not there yet and I may never be.. But I can finally look at myself and truly know, I am enough. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-48002682318563680512013-08-02T12:10:00.002-04:002013-08-02T12:10:52.391-04:00Love, Lasting
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I marvel at any couple who manages to stay together past the
50 year mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you ask them the
secret to a lasting marriage, they all pretty much say the same thing: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The secret is love, laughter and facing
problems together.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth is: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the secret</i> isn’t shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s witnessed. I’ve spent the last 5 days
playing witness to what it takes to make a lasting love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents retired to North Carolina when my eldest son was
just 2 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They returned home
last week to attend 2 weddings, one of which is my eldest son’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had their 12 day stay all mapped out.
They would spend time with family members and hit local favorite dining and
shopping spots in between weddings and rehearsal dinners. Then, adversity
reared its ugly head and their plans changed, putting love to the test….one
more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital and admitted
with an acute gallbladder attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
surgeon was reluctant to operate because she was considered high risk, due to
chronic health issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her surgery was
cancelled 3 times due to complications. On day 4, she finally had her diseased,
infected gallbladder removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I
witnessed, in those 4 days, is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the reason
</i>only some marriages stand the test of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My father never left her side, during visiting hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was reluctant to leave her and worried
endlessly until he was able to return to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held her hand in one of his hands and a
basin in the other, as she dry-heaved and vomited for days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat by her side while she slept and fed
her ice chips when her mouth was dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
helped her to bathroom, when the nurses weren’t able to answer the call bell
quickly enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kissed her forehead
every time he left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom had always done the same for him. Over the years, Dad
was the one with the major health issues. Mom was his diligent caretaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She always put his needs ahead of her
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did so, lovingly and without
hesitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the tables were turned,
he returned the favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did
so…..without hesitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just before she was wheeled into the operating room she
revealed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the secret</i> to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She squeezed my hand and whispered to me
“take care of your father, for me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had struggled in my own marriages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first ended in divorce and my second – my
fairytale marriage – came dangerously close to suffering the same fate. I still
struggle with trust issues. Every relationship I’ve been in pales in comparison
to my parents’ marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I
understand the secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, on the eve
of my son’s wedding, I am prepared to share it with the bride and the groom at
their rehearsal dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, love is patient and kind. It is a give and take. But
there is so much more to love. Love cares more about others, than it does about
itself. Love places other’s needs over their own; willingly and lovingly. However,
love is not always <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lovely</i>. The
reason: but people are flawed. People say and do regrettable things especially
under stress; things that cannot be undone, unsaid, unheard or forgotten. This
is when love is tested the most. When adversity strikes in the home, only a
lasting love can survive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lasting love <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">understands, </i>because it longs to be
understood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lasting love is forgiving,
because it hopes to be forgiven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lasting love says <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m sorry</i>,
as often as it says <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I forgive you.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love may hold your hand when you’re at your
best, but lasting love; lasting love holds your hand when you’re at your worst.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, love can be far from ideal. For better and for worse…..adversity
lurks around every corner, waiting to rear its ugly head. It tests love’s
courage beyond measure. Love will be infected by diseases of the body and the
mind. Lasting love is the cure; a cure more powerful than any medication on the
market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lasting love is hope set on fire.
It gives us courage to not just hold on, but to fight; fight for what makes
this life worth living. What makes this life worth living is love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is why we take vows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We promise to love for better and for worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be joy and there will be pain, of
this I am sure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all learn a hard lesson, when we love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we fight <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">against</i> each other, love does suffer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end, we learn an even greater lesson. We learn that
when we fight <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">together</i>, love not only
lasts, it is an unstoppable force. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The secret to a love, lasting comes down to this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It takes two – courageous, caring souls who are
not only willing to love, but are willing to suffer and fight for each
other….for better and for worse…..until death they do part.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-36949857902677262222013-08-02T12:02:00.002-04:002013-08-02T12:02:33.898-04:00Unbroken<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">A broken soul. That's all I can remember being. Surrounded by addicts my entire life. I lost the only person who ever made me feel loved at the age of ten. He was my father. Although, he was broken himself because of wars he had fought for a country he loved, he understood me. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">I was alone. Surrounded by people, but never feeling a part of anything. I had a family, a great family, but felt like an outsider. I used to cut myself just to feel. </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">At the age of 14, I was raped. He was 32 years old. I never told a soul. I hated men. Then I met a boy who I thought hung the moon. He was 20 and I was 17. My mother and stepfather hated him, so I moved out and into his house. Over the next few months I learned more about this man. He was evil. There were broken ribs, black eyes and cigarette burns from this man. His apologies kept me there. The night he picked me up by my neck and threw me across the hood of my car was the last straw. I know he could have killed me. I could see it in his eyes.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">My college years were filled with dozens of men. All whom I used to get what I wanted. They paid my rent, bought me things and took care of me. I was a user. I never loved these men nor did I give them anything in return. I was starting to believe I would never love anyone and this was my lot in life; loveless relationships. I had been broken by the last man who I thought I loved. Then I met a man who I thought would change everything. It wasn't until our honeymoon I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was. Over the years he became an addict. I guess the addictive personality was there, but I didn't see it. I was blinded by my love for him. After 9 years of emotional and psychological abuse that sometimes manifested into physical due to his cocaine and alcohol addiction, I left this man. For a moment, I returned to cutting myself. I was 31 years old, what was I thinking!!!!</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">One night, I was out alone. I met a man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen. That very night he stole my heart. He took every piece of my broken heart and healed it one piece at a time. Finally, I found someone with whom I could allow myself to be me around, someone who never judged me, someone who never allowed me to feel alone and who I felt a part of. Finally a family! One that I could call my own. But sadly, I once again found myself in a relationship that was another destructive one. He couldn't stay faithful. I forgave him, but in the end, trust had been broken and sometimes that just can't be repaired.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">For months, I cried and wallowed in my own self pity until one day it hit me: I'm not broken! I never was. I carefully laid out everything that happened from my childhood to my life then. These men, they were the broken ones. I thought they needed me to save them....my father, my step-father and on down the line. All the addicts and abusers in my life. All these betrayals by men who I had given everything to. My love was not to be used and tossed aside like that. I allowed them to make me feel undeserving, unwanted and broken. I allowed them to make me build these walls up and allowed them to change me from the little girl who only knew good and saw beauty in everything, to a bitter woman who thought she was unworthy of being loved.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">All I can do now is thank these men. These men all taught me a valuable lesson....I'm not broken. I can never be broken. I am in control of my life. I deserve the best. I will get the best. I am worthy.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 13.33px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">To all these men, thank you! Thank you for reminding me that love isn't something with conditions. It's something beautiful, amazing and unconditional. I will never again allow anyone that makes me feel as though I have to fight for their love in my life again. <span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: tahoma,new york,times,serif;">I remain unbroken.<br /><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-36010790705679283592013-08-02T11:54:00.001-04:002013-08-02T11:54:51.827-04:00Surviving vs. LivingI was the average child, average grades, with good friends. My mother and father were separated, and we lived with my grandparents. When I was 13 in 1991, my life changed. My father, whom I didn't get to see as often as I wanted, was killed in a car accident. To cope, I was turned on to music in a different way. I was given a Bass. I learned and practiced constantly. Then, I got a guitar. And I taught myself how to play. Was in a few bands, played a few shows, and really enjoyed every minute. <br />
<br />
Then I turned 18. Went to community college for a few classes, but realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the working world, and had a few jobs that I worked in to survive. I got a job working as a sales rep. for a large organization and I was making great money. It is difficult to find a job in my area where you can make $60,000 a year. I got married, had my first child at 30, and survived.<br />
Skip ahead to my 32 birthday. The day started like all others. I went to work, made good money, and was enjoying my day. Everything was going right. Making my stops at the best possible times, red lights were green for me. And the <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1817762212" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Sunday</span></span> prior, my wife and I found we were expecting our second child. On my way home for some birthday festivities, I decided to make an out of the way stop at a supermarket. There was a car in the left lane waiting for traffic to clear. I was 5 feet from her when a tractor trailer hit her car, and pushed her in front of me at 55 mph. All of the damage and force was transferred to my car. <br />
<br />
It took them 10 min to get me out of the car. After cutting away the car to get me out, they informed me that I was going to be going to the hospital. The first hospital I was taken to was not capable of treating, so I sat in the ER waiting to go to Westchester Medical Centers Trauma ICU. My wife was called, and came in crying, where I told her I was going to be just fine, because I didn't cause the accident. This would become my litany as time went on, because at least I have that. The next day, I spent 17 hrs in surgery to have 4 pounds of metal inserted into my lower body to try and correct the 18 breaks I had. The next day, another 4 as the placed 6 pins in my wrist. Two days later, I would go back in for another 3 hours to close up the wounds because the swelling was preventing the Doctors from stapling the wounds closed. All this time, and heavily medicated, I kept repeating, it is alright. It was not my fault. When I went back 4 months later, it took 2 people 20 minutes to take the 350 staples out.<br />
<br />
As they were stepping down my meds over the next 2 weeks in the hospital, I got to really think about what I was going to do. My jobs have always been very physical, and that was no longer an option. So I started thinking, I was always saying I was surviving.....but was that living. I realized that I lost the dream chasing the dollar. No more. Not going to happen. I am going back to my dream. I am going back to making, and working with, music. It is really that simple. Do what makes you happy, and be with the ones who love you. <br />
<br />
I went to my in-laws while I was recovering so I can be with my wife and kid. 4 months of therapy, and I walk pretty damn good. Just a small limp, depending on the weather. I finished my online college courses, and have started to plan my life. We welcomed our 2nd child on St. Patrick's day. I live every day in some kind of pain. Not horrible pain, but dull throbbing pains that will always tell me what I have been through. The only medication I use is Ibuprofen. I don't need harder drugs to further change me or my life. And yet, I still wait here for some kind of word....from the Doctors, from the lawyers, from the disability companies, that I can start my life again....<br />
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At least now, I have a plan, and with the help of some good friends, I think I am going to be just fine. I don't need to have a rich bank account to be rich in life. But I also don't want to miss out on the things I love, or miss time with my loved ones because the dollar commands it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-68848085861565294602013-08-02T07:23:00.001-04:002013-08-02T07:23:37.330-04:00Feeling Proud<div style="background-color: transparent; color: #37404e; font-family: "lucida grande",tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #37404e; font-family: "lucida grande",tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I've been thinking so much lately, about everything. From being bullied for 6+ years, personal reasons and to losing all my friends in high school. I can't believe how far I've come in just a few years. I was the senior in high school who wasn't excited to graduate, who didn't care about anything anymore, who just pretty much gave up with life. I stuck it through, and look at me now. Less then a y<span style="display: inline;">ear away from having my Associates and moving on to my Bachelors. Met an amazing friend who reminds me every day that I have a reason to be alive and proves it to me every day, and I couldn't thank her enough. I guess I just can't believe how far i've actually come in my short life so far. I feel proud of myself in a way.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-84816493968182318662013-08-02T07:18:00.000-04:002013-08-02T07:18:00.793-04:00The Guy Who Met His Girlfriend on Twitter
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some may find it absurd to say that a social networking site
could change your life, especially one that limits your interactions to 140
characters or less. Well, I am here to tell you that it isn’t absurd at all. It
happened to me and for the first time in years I have joy and the ability to
actually look forward to me future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It all started April 27<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> 2009. That is the date,
after months of ridiculing the basis of the site, that I joined Twitter. Once I
joined my account remained pretty much dormant for nearly a year. Jump ahead to
February of 2010. At this point I decide to begin finding people based on one
specific, and not widely shared, common interest. What was this interest? It
was Mystery Science Theater 3000. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you are not familiar Mystery Science Theater 3000, or
MST3K for short, was a television series based on the premise of a man and his
robots stuck in space, watching and making fun of horrible movies. It is simply
the greatest thing ever to grace cable television…but I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the first people I came across who shared a common
love for MST3K was witty, kind, thought provoking, and very funny. You know,
just my kind of person. Through her posts I met and followed several more
people who loved MST3K, and had other things in common with me. Some of these
were through something on Twitter known as Follow Friday or better known by the
“hashtag” #FF.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was sometime in late March or early April of 2009 that I
was surprised and honored to see that I had been added to one of her <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#FF Tweets. I didn’t think a lot of it at the
time, other than it was cool that she thought enough of me to include me. It
would be sometime before I would find out just how import that mention was. It
would be nearly two years before I, and others would realize that Tweet had set
in motion events that would forever change my life for the better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometime later that Friday I was followed by another fellow
“MSTie”. I looked at the profile and instantly noticed how beautiful she was.
(I am a guy after all!) I also was quick to notice that other than MST3K we
also shared a lot of other common interests. I was quick to follow back and add
her to the small but ever growing list of people I was following on Twitter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right from the onset she became one of the people I most
looked forward to reading tweets from each day. Her quick wit and great sense
of humor always had me looking forward to what she may post next. We would
reply here and there to each other’s Tweets and generally have some random
laughs together. When one was sick, the other would send a wish of “get well
soon”. It was a very relaxed friendship. That being said, the more I got to
know about her online, the more intrigued I became. Something told me there was
something special about this person. There was something about her that made me
want to know her more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over the months we spoke more and more. Through each other’s
ups and downs a friendship was formed, a relationship was growing. Outside of
all the pop culture and media interests we shared, there were more personal
similarities in our lives. Things we hadn’t been able to speak of with other
people. Sharing these similar threads in our personal lives just helped to
bring us ever closer. We knew that neither of us was happy in our current
lives. We also both felt like that wasn’t going to change at any point
soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was much being hidden from
the online community that we were only sharing with each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then came March 23, 2011. She and I were talking about any
number of things through DM, when I happened to mention that I had been
“crushing on her for some time now.” To my surprise she said that she had been
feeling the same and had wanted to talk to me on the phone to hear my voice.
That one phone call was all it took to send things spiraling out of control…in
the best possible way!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within 3 months I had moved from Idaho to Iowa, for a woman
I had to that point never met in person. We knew we were crazy, but we also
knew we had never been so certain of anything in our entire lives. Nearly seven
months have passed, and you have never seen two people so in love. Every day is
better for having her in my life. I now have a love that I had never even
dreamed was possible. A life forever changed for the better, all thanks to a
140 character or less social network known as Twitter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-14174941774480278112013-07-31T13:35:00.002-04:002013-07-31T13:35:30.996-04:00Changes<div style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman","new york",times,serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;">
Change is always a good thing, and like most good things for you, we don't always take to them because we don't know how good for us it can be. Change is what keeps you on your toes, it keeps your mind awake and allows you to evolve. Comfort is a good thing, but change is a necessary thing. I have always steered clear of change for a good portion of my life. Like the feeling of a warm blanket, knowing something new and possibly difficult wasn't about to jump in my way and cause upheaval in my life, was comforting. So that's how I spent 27 years of my life. In a never-changing cycle of events that I liked and felt comfortable in. Little did I know the misery that was waiting in the wings because of a static life. I hung out with all the same people, and did all the same things. As a result, I gained weight, learned nothing new, and just got angrier and more jealous that everything was happening to everyone else.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wasn't until change forced its way into my life in the form of my father's passing, that a series of events that would completely change everything was set in motion. When I was young my parents kept me sheltered, I wasn't allowed to take many risks, and I was provided with everything I needed. So I just lived with them until my father passed away, and then I stayed with my mother until she decided to sell my childhood home and move to Puerto Rico a few years later. It was around then that I realized what I was becoming. I really couldn't imagine living with her for the rest of her life, only to have nothing when all those comforts I was used to were gone. That's when I decided to search, for who I am, and who I would become. I began by leaving behind all the things I knew and grew comfortable having. I decided to throw myself into a new situation completely unfamiliar to me, so I moved to England to live with a friend and see a new country. I lived there for as long as my visa allowed, surviving on my inheritance left to me by my father. My dear friend there was the first to really make me think about the future, and a bit of tough love got me moving, in some direction at least. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After living in England for six months, the maximum allowed time without some change in national status, I returned to the States determined to start my own life. I moved to Connecticut with some friends and after a few months I noticed I was just going back to the same old habits. Now having help from your friends is a great thing, and I will always appreciate them for all they've done for me, but too much help can hinder you rather than help you. It's like that "too big to fail" concept. No matter how much I mess up, I'll always have help to avoid falling on my face. Sometimes the fear of falling is the only thing that will make you pay attention enough to avoid it. So secretly I hatched a plan to disappear. I figured if I just left one day and no one knew where I was, I wouldn't have the help I'd always relied on before. One night I came up with a plan, and the next day I implemented it. Looking back it was fairly drastic, and a little dramatic. I literally got in my car with all my things and left for Ohio where I only knew two people. I figured it was few enough friends to force me to do things on my own, but just enough that I wouldn't be completely alone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I first arrived in Ohio I had no home, no place to stay and very limited funds. I stayed at an extended stay hotel for a month while I found a job, and through a little networking, a roommate in the form of a friend of a friend. I won't say it was at all easy; I met new friends, lost some friends, and was faced with possibly failing several times. But through it all I remembered my father, he was always my hero, he did everything to make sure he did what an honorable man is supposed to do. So I had to succeed, not only for me, but for him. A couple of years, a couple of jobs, and a couple of roommates later and I was finally tasting a bit of success. I was living on my own, I had a good job, and I was meeting new people I was proud to call friends. Another year or so later and I finally met the person that would really change everything for me. Sitting at work one day I was asked to train a woman who transferred over from another department. Normally I hate having to train new people, but after taking one look at her I knew she would somehow change the core of who I was. I call her my wife now, and I will always remember how I once said I'd never be married. Not because I didn't want to, but more so because I didn't even consider that kind of change coming into my life. Now I laugh at the thoughts I once had. I remember some one asking me how I knew she was "the one," I answered, "because I couldn't imagine her not being there, she IS home to me." So change isn't so bad, life's still not easy, but change has become a lot easier to deal with, because I learned to change with it instead of fighting against it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-45586343261428289372013-07-31T11:33:00.000-04:002013-07-31T11:33:21.072-04:00I Got What I WantedI was 36 when I got the news that I had Stage 3 Breast Cancer. A chance visit to the doctor for a diagnosis of bronchitis, and a check-up on some fibroids that were always present in my left breast, that turned into an ultrasound and my first mammogram that bore the bad news. Hearing that cancer was invading my lymph nodes and that I was going to lose my breast was devastating in more ways than the obvious. Among my first thoughts was would I be able to watch my 2 boys grow up and maybe even have kids of their own? How would my family cope without me? The look on my mom's face when I told her what was happening was heart-breaking. She was faced with losing her first born...I could only imagine her pain and fear.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
I went through almost 18 months of treatment and procedures, to be declared in remission in August of 2002. A celebration party with my friends and family that had been there the whole time supporting me. I had a smile on my face and was happy. I was a warrior who fought with all her strength through endless nausea, hair loss, painful healing from surgeries, devastating bouts of exhaustion, and trying to stay positive in front of those who were cheering me on. Yet, deep inside, when the house was asleep and all I had to listen to was my own breathing, I was truly scared to death. Of death. It whispered in my ear on a constant loop how it was going to sneak up on me when I least expected it. Pushing those thoughts away was mentally exhausting. Each visit to my oncologist for checkups, Death would tap me on the shoulder, while the Doctor was telling me that my tests came back fine, and wink. "I'm still here." it would chuckle. I never let on that I was anything but confident that I'd beaten cancer. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
July of 2010 I found pea sized lumps in my right breast. I immediately made an appointment to see if Cancer was back. They turned out to be benign, but with careful consideration, I decided to have my right breast removed to eliminate the possibility of any return. Healing was brutal and had to have another surgery to close the skin when the wound reopened. All I could think was that I no longer had to worry about the cancer coming back and having to go through treatment again. I was willing to do anything it took. I was so close to the 10 year remission mark, that was my goal. I'd moved to another city, had a really good job that I enjoyed and my boys were grown and living successful lives of their own. Remembering that it had been one of my worries that I'd never see them grow up and now one was married and talking about having a child, filled me with hope. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fast forward to June of 2012, I was newly married, had a grandson and was living a good life. The thought of cancer rarely made its way into my mind. I was looking forward to celebrating 10 years cancer free. I'd been experiencing pain while sitting for long periods of time and being so tired after doing mundane things, but brushed them off to being just a woman in her mid 40s. I went for my regular check-up and blood work at the oncologist's, and he came back into the room, sat down and began to tell me and my husband that my cancer was back. It had spread to my bones and was now considered terminal. Numbness. Static noises in my head. Bewilderment, anger, fear, sadness, feeling betrayed by my body once again. Death poked me in the chest and said, "See? You thought I forgot about you, didn't you?" I walked out of the Doctor's office on auto-pilot. Where was I going to find the strength to go through this again? And for what result? Just to die? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I've gone through radiation, more chemo and will be facing more chemo in the future to control the growth of the lesions that have invaded my pelvis, ribs, femur, and spine. I am uplifted daily by family, friends--both old and new, and by a husband who refuses to allow this cancer to steal his wife. I am strong. I am weak. I am determined to live the time I left to the absolute fullest. I do the things I want without apology. No one gets to live it for me or tell me what I can or cannot do with the time allotted to me. My outlook on life hasn't changed all that much because of the cancer. I've had no epiphanies, I've always lived the way I wanted to. What I do want to leave to this small world I've created for myself is the encouragement to do what you love. Do what excites your mind, do what makes you wipe tears of joy. Do what makes a difference to others. I can leave this world knowing I made someone's life better or easier. That's the only thing I ever wanted. </div>
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I</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-11225982964699991412013-07-30T16:24:00.003-04:002013-07-30T16:24:39.806-04:00Live Your Moments
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but
by the moments that take our breath away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">~ Hilary Cooper<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A trite phrase, often overused, like “I Hope You Dance”
played at a wedding reception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Trite doesn’t make it any less true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A baser explanation would be quality, not quantity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s where so many get lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fill our days but we fill them with
nonsense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fill them with meaningless
text messages, many of them acronyms for words we are far, far too busy to
spell out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fill them with staring at
the screens of our cell phones or computers instead of enjoying our
surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many complain of having an empty life, a boring life, a
meaningless life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All while surrounded
by people who could add to that life – significant others, family, friends,
strangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this age of electronics,
of instant gratification, we’ve forgotten how to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite capturing every moment on a camera
phone, we’ve stopped living those moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We watch them through a screen – not as they’re happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had this same struggle, feeling at times that my life
is empty, or rather, not full enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That there are too few bright spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to make those bright spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to live them as they’re happening or
they’ll escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In thinking about all of this, there are moments in my life
that have taken my breath away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
are the moments I need to huddle close around me in those times when I feel the
dark creeping in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the things I
must remember, that I need to be present in my own life and be in the moments
that are yet to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There have been a million moments in my life where I felt
full, where I felt happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are like
fireflies dancing in the yard during a summer night; each little light carrying
a piece of my past where I was happy, where I threw back my head and laughed,
where my laughter probably turned into a snort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then…then there are moments that cannot ever be
replicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The night I met my husband was one of those moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met him during a dark time for me, one
where I was unsure of what the future would hold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat down across from me with a slow smile
and that was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart stopped, my
breath caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I barely remember what we
talked about that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do remember
driving home with a smile on my face that refused to disappear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve never been described as a giddy woman, but I was then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was done for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first time I saw my son’s face is another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time those little eyes opened and
stared at me, little button nose and rosebud mouth peering out at me from the
blanket burrito he was swaddled in melted every hard edge of me that existed
for a little while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We need to remember - *I*need to remember to hold onto
happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grasp it with both hands and
don’t let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cling to those memories
when life seems at its darkest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live
those moments, be present in them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put
the camera down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turn off the computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raise the blinds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remove your blinders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Live these moments we’re given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we only get to live this life once. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-58248237493658819682013-07-30T11:21:00.001-04:002013-07-30T11:21:27.960-04:00Saying Goodbye
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m in eighth grade and I’m sitting in my last class of
the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My seat is to the front of the
room near the wall, so I can lean back and look out the windows into the
courtyard when I’m supposed to be paying attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Summer is starting to get close and there’s
an air of restlessness creeping into everyone around me. Maybe I’m dozing off,
maybe I’m about to have one of those moments that make you rethink how you see
the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">In the middle of the courtyard I see him, just standing
there with that warm and infectious smile on his face. It’s my grandfather, and
he’s waving at me. I sit up in my seat and he fades away. The whole thing took
maybe 15 seconds and then was over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I finish the day and spend the bus ride home quietly.
Somewhere before I reach my house a thought enters my mind. “I’ve never been to
the funeral of a relative and I wonder how I’d handle that.” It’s a strange and
morose thought that I immediately push to the back of my head. Who wants to
think about stuff like that? I get off of the bus and make my way up the
driveway. As I round the turn, I see that my mom is home. This is completely
out of the norm. I get this sense of unease, something has to be wrong. I walk
into the house and both of my parents are sitting in the living room. Mom looks
upset, this doesn’t faze me right away. I look over at dad, he’s been crying,
now I understand what’s going on. She tells me to sit down, that they have
something to tell me. I shake my head no and tell them to just go ahead and say
it. “Your grandfather died this morning.” The air leaves the room for a minute
and I do what can only be described as maybe the strangest thing I’ve ever
done. I smile and let out a half laugh. It didn’t dawn on me for a few minutes
why exactly I had that reaction. He’d come to say goodbye to me. He stood in
that courtyard and waved goodbye to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The next couple of days are filled with somber family get
togethers. I haven’t cried yet, not a single drop. You’d think I was about
ready to burst, but I held it together for my mom and dad. I needed to be
strong for them. I sat in the funeral home, in the back, by myself. I’m still
holding it together, but the whole concept of a wake is foreign to me and to be
honest, I hate them. A good friend of my dad’s comes over and sits by me. He
looks at me and very plainly says, “I know he didn’t say it very often, but
your grandfather always spoke very highly of you and he loved you with all his
heart,” Ladies and gentlemen, Niagara Falls. There was no holding back any
more. I got it out and sat in the back collecting myself again. My best friend’s
father comes and sits down by me. He’s not an overly demonstrative man but he’s
always felt like a second father to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and
said, “He may not be here anymore, but you can always talk to him. He’s always
listening and he’s always with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">In the years since then, and there have been many, I haven’t
seen my grandfather again. I’ve talked to him plenty, but there hasn’t been a
response. At least not one that I’ve noticed. I’m going to see a medium in a
couple weeks for the first time. Skeptically. If there’s any legitimacy to it, I’m
hoping to hear from him again. Even if it’s just another wave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">-A</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-38970690881934588972013-07-29T15:31:00.001-04:002013-07-29T15:32:56.097-04:00Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes<br />
<u><span style="color: white;">Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes</span></u><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: white;">When a dear friend of mine wrote and asked me to be a part of this, the first thing I did was question whether or not he had been hacked. I know my dear friend to be a man of few words. Not that he doesn’t speak at all or lacks any sort of social skills, but he, for as long as I’ve known him, has always tended to be more of an observer. Not that he wouldn’t converse; we have had several great discussions. I just have never known him as being very verbose. When I explained the reasons behind my questioning of this blog’s authenticity, he simply stated, “<span lang="EN">I decided I was tired of being quiet</span>.” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">It occurred to me that this simple action of being quiet is the same action I have been trying to fight my way through for years, it seems. I have been called everything from introverted to anti-social all because I do not share my life easily. Not one person, outside of my significant other, knows a lot about me, knows my daily routine, or knows my ins and outs. People may say that that’s normal; in a relationship, partners generally know more about one another than anyone else would. It’s all true. However, it has been pointed out to me that I have a problem sharing the smallest detail, even with those closest to me. For example, I don’t just randomly call a friend and tell them about my day or that I got my hair done or where I went for dinner the previous evening. If I do end up sharing those details, it’s only because I am already on the phone with a friend and I have a story related to whatever my friend is speaking of or the friend has asked for specifics of my day. Even then, nine times out of ten, if someone asks me what I’ve been up to, they are usually treated to the big reveal of, “Nothing.” I, of course, am great at turning this back around on someone.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">A typical conversation with me often goes like this:<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Friend: “How are you?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Me: “Good. How are you?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Friend: “Good.” (Friend quickly gives me a brief synopsis of what “good” entails.) <u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Friend follows up with, “What have you been up to?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Me: “Nothing. You?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">I have now been successful in throwing the responsibility of the conversation back on said friend and have completely diverted the attention away from myself. So, then why do I feel so alone sometimes?<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">I don’t really wonder why I am this way. Between living in a household where, with one parent, no secret was sacred and another parent who taught me when I was young that no one really cared what I had to say; that I shouldn’t talk about my life because people aren’t truly interested in the details, I get why I am so closed off. Alas, those stories of my youth are best left for another time. The point to this rant is that, over the years, I have become notoriously private. This is sometimes why friends may not hear from me for days or weeks at a time. It’s not that I don’t love them. I would be there in a second for any one of them if they needed me. I hope they know that. I would spend hours on the phone with them if they needed me to, and I have done just that when the occasion has arisen. I just don’t feel like anything I have to say is worthy of saying. And maybe I just feel like the person on the other end wouldn’t be interested, or even more so that they are busy and I don’t want my troubles to be a bother to them.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">I have been trying, though. I recently got back in touch with a friend from Junior High. We have been chatting here and there and meeting up for the occasional lunch, movie or visit. I truly enjoy her company and I am trying very hard to open up, but sometimes when I do, I feel like a stumbling, mumbling idiot and that my story should have stayed in my head, where it sounded 10x better.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Answering someone’s question of, “What have you been up to” with “Oh, I painted my toenails blue” just seems so silly to me. But it was also recently pointed out to me that that’s what sharing your life is; keeping people in the loop as to your activities, even the most mundane ones. I’m still figuring it out, I guess.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">I agree with my friend, who originated this blog, though. I am tired of being quiet and I am attempting to ready myself for the vulnerable feeling of opening up. Will my friends still love me when they see that the friend, who is usually their rock in their times of need, actually has a gooey marshmallow-y center? Will they still think I’m an awesome person when I’m crying on their shoulder or will they be bored when I haven’t had much going on in my day where the most fantastic thing I’ve done is re-organize my kitchen pantry?<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN"><span style="color: white;">Maybe it’s just that the quiet people such as me just need to feel that the person we want to reveal ourselves to, honestly and truly wants to hear what we have to say. Perhaps once we can trust that our words are wanted to be heard, we’ll feel like saying them. <u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333;"><span style="color: white;">The point to all this, I guess, is that next time you notice someone you might suspect of being anti-social, maybe make it more of a point to let them know that you’re open to whatever they have to say, regardless of how menial it may seem. It might be a bigger deal to them than you think</span>.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11101372806087483851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6518693319222551340.post-57924750346453582512013-07-29T15:22:00.000-04:002013-07-29T15:24:07.347-04:00Positive Breeds Positive<br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><o:p></o:p> </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Positive Breeds
Positive: </b>Make your life what you want it to be<o:p></o:p></div>
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A little over twelve years ago, my life was forever changed,
when I was stricken with the first of the chronic health problems, which were
destined to define a large part of my life. At that point, the athlete that I
had been for most of my life was taken from me. The continually active person
that I had been, ceased to exist, never to return to the level of the past.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The following five years would be mired by diagnosis after
diagnosis of new condition or disease. At one point I actually vowed to not see
doctors anymore, just so they would not be able to diagnose me with anything
further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each day became harder and
harder to manage, both mentally, and because of the chronic pain I had to
endure. I did less and less, until finally the only time I was leaving the
house was for appointments and medical tests. The medications I was taking
were, in some cases, causing just as severe of problems as the illness’s
themselves. I was in my late 20’s, yet I was quickly ending up with the body
and health of an 80 year old.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point came the night that would change everything,
and eventually be responsible for all the happiness I have today. It was both
the worst and best night of my life. The pain had built and built for so long,
as had the depression. I had reached the point at which I did not want to
continue. I did not want to go on. I literally spent the night wishing to die.
Verbally crying out, for someone, somewhere to just let me die! Encompassed in
agony, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I did not have the strength; I did not
have reason, or desire to fight any longer. Somehow, at some point in the night,
a switch was flipped. Everything changed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mind went from thoughts of fading into oblivion, to a
determination to make my life as good as it could possibly be, with what I had
been given to deal with. Right then and there I decided to take the positive
out of anything and everything that would ever be presented to me. I was going
to remain fun, fun loving, cheerful, and witty. I was going to be…ME!<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the short term, this meant that I had an overall more
positive outlook on life. Through all the difficult things I was dealing with
in my life, I kept a smiling face, and a light heart. I concentrated on my
friends, both near, and online. I realized how many great people I had
surrounded myself with, and that I had many people who truly cared about me. I
was doing it. I was dictating my life, and how it made me feel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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