Emotions – do I really need them?

At some point in my early development as a human, I deemed it prudent to hide away my emotional self.  I carefully wrapped it up in brown packing paper, taped it up, put it in a box, taped the box shut with packing tape, then taped it again with duct tape (just in case), wrapped it in some newspaper (and more tape) and hid it away behind my pancreas.

Some dust that was touching my emotional self may have filtered out over the years but ultimately, it’s stayed packed tightly away. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t hidden away and I’m not even sure it’s still alive.

Maybe it’s outdated, like a VHS and it won’t even be compatible with the current version of myself. So, what’s the point of going to all the trouble to unpack a box full of VHS tapes when you don’t have a player for them?

Maybe I need to unpack a bit more because I’m trying to make a new movie and keep tripping over all these boxes in my studio. Or maybe that old footage would be really helpful to look at while I plan the sequel….

Or maybe I should stop this stupid analogy and realize that a smart person on this podcast was right when he said, “I think we just don’t want to face the realization that the pain is as huge as it is and that we were as vulnerable as we were.” Bam. 



Well, isn’t this fun

What the fuck… I was so depressed the last few months. But when I was in it, I didn’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed either or maybe you would have… Regardless, I finally took more meds and felt much better.

But it was like a four day rest stop in stability on the way to another shitty place. My therapist says that today sounds like a “mixed episode”. (not to be confused with a ‘mixed drink’, which is something you may enjoy but I cannot.)

So, now I’m feeling like a useless wet towel that people I love have to drag around with them. AND I’m aware of how stupid that is.

Here’s an annotated screenshot of where I’m at today. Fun times.


I actually have no patience to write anything else. Sorry.

Hugs and Kisses.



ps. my moon flux is also upon me.

Quiet the mind

At some point before I completely stopped talking to my mother, I realized that I needed to stop listening to her. I mean that I had to completely ignore every word that came out of her mouth.

She just didn’t make any sense. She didn’t keep her word. She was manipulative. Her reactions were too intense and too urgent. And she always changed her mind anyway. There was just no point listening to her words.

Lately, I’ve started feeling the same way about my own thoughts. They are always coming and going, with varying intensity. They change and then they change again. What seemed so right one moment, is clearly so wrong the next. It seems there’s just no point in giving my own thoughts any consideration.

They say, “Quiet the mind and the soul will speak.” But I don’t want to hear my soul either. I can’t trust anything I tell myself. Hmmm… I have a new goal to take “quiet your mind” to a whole new level. If I sense a new idea coming, I’ll try to snuff it out before it peaks my interest. (Oh shit. Not listening to ideas is really just another idea that I’ll probably render useless tomorrow, if not by the time I finish writing this.)

I’ll stop writing quickly (idea) lest I change my mind (idea) about not having ideas. This really isn’t working. I guess I can’t actually ignore all those words in my head. I’m doomed to dance with them forever. Breathe in. Breathe out.

flower heads

I am… still here

I am a mother trying to do her best
I wonder if my mother felt this way too
I hear people tell me that I’m not her- that I won’t hurt them like she hurt me
I see my happiness but I can’t always feel it
I want to do right for my children
I am trying so hard every single day.

I pretend that I am not always hurting
I feel like a liar and a fake
I touch their cheeks while they sleep
I worry- of course
I cry and hate myself too often
I am a woman trying to be a person

I understand how lucky I truly am
I say that I will keep myself safe
I dream of what quiet could feel like
I try to stop thinking and follow the rules that I set for myself
I hope that my children don’t hurt like I do
I am proud of each day I live to give them a mother

spirit driftwood


This “I am” poem is the third iteration I’ve written.
The first two were in 2013. You can read them here and here

Linking up again for Old School Blogging. Thanks to Kim @ makemommygosomethingsomething.com for the inspiration.