Category Archives: loss

View from the inside

I wouldn’t say I worry about my writing. No worry isn’t the word I would use at all. I don’t worry about who reads my work, it is up to them if they continue to read it after they have realized it was written by me. I don’t worry about my content, because once again if you continue to keep reading after you’ve glimpsed what I am writing about, it is more of a proceed at your own risk. I don’t worry about the points that I try to make, I try to articulate everything I have to say as clear as I can. Granted I know they may come off as wacky, convoluted, snarky, sass and *insert your own adjective here* but I think I get my words out eventually. I will tell you what I “worry” about. My biggest “thing” I guess you would call it is wondering if I am touching anyone out there. I want to know that what I have to say is relevant to someone else and not just this big point that I have made in my mind. I want to know that in my manic phases and my borderline withdrawals I have not overstimulated my ego enough to think that my writing is SO GOOD that I am touching people’s lives when I am merely performing a literary masturbatory dance on a platform for the world to see. I mean some of you may be into that sort of kink and if that’s the case, go ahead and watch but I mean to affect the world.

I remember being younger, younger by days, months, years and just wanting something to touch me in a moment so that I would know that I wasn’t so very alone. That is how I took to the written word in the first place. I would crank up the music (much like the very 90’s playlist I have pumped in the background) and sit down and just write. I could write and write and write and cry or laugh or snicker bitterly at what they would never read and that would be my haven. I remember the first time someone read what I had to say, they told me that I wrote well and that I should think about writing for a living. I remember thinking that they needed to mind their own business and keep their fucking hands off my stuff. But in my mind’s eye (I hate that phrase) I dreamed of what it would be like to write for a living. I dreamed of an open-air studio, a hammock, scarves around my head, a typewriter (yes I had one as a kid and I would love to have one again) and just chronicling my life. I dreamed of taking people on adventures of the soul on journies through the mind and spirit. I wanted to touch people with my words.

Then that harsh hand of reality struck, as it always does, and I was forced to think about the future. About how writing held no real money and how I should focus on what I really wanted to do. But I REALLY wanted to write. OBVIOUSLY, I didn’t know better. So my writing went into journals and random blogs online. My poems went to those whom I loved and lost, who may or may not have deserved them at the time. Who knows, maybe pieces of me are still out there, in memory boxes of those who I wrote them to, little pieces of my soul scattered around the world, or maybe people aren’t as sentimental as I am. I still wrote as much as I could, I was still told that I should keep writing, but my words had taken a different tone, a darker one and as my mental health turned inward it continued to reach toward the light from a very dark place. It became a cry for help and when it wasn’t a cry for help, it was undauntingly the whispers of a soul crying for the loss of those she loved, used in eulogies of all who had passed from her life.

Journals upon journals, half empty pages, torn out half written scribbles, they fell out of the boxes I had packed them in when I finally moved into a place that could hold them all. It had been years since I wrote anything of substance. I had shifted my mental focus on the two lives I had grown within and given up all hope of touching anything but their lives. Through my struggles to become a better mom and a better person I was starting a journey to figure out exactly who that person was. As I came across the whisperings of yesteryear everything clicked back into place. I remembered how desperately I needed that someone to take my hand and pull me through my darkest hour. I felt that tug again because it wasn’t too long ago that I once again needed that person. It had only been a few years since I almost lost myself to a diagnosis I did not understand. I felt as if no one could understand me. I did not know how to be a single mommy, let alone one that had this undeniable feeling of being alone all the time. I needed a shoulder, a hand, a heart to open to mine and show me the light. I found what I needed to pull me through and though there are still days I yearn for the caress of words to make the struggle so much better; What I want for more is to reach through that void and grab the hands of someone else faltering, even if only to tell them that they are not alone.

I feel sometimes that my words as not enough, that they will come of convoluted or even superior to the struggles that the demons inside take you through on a daily basis. And to that I have no words other than I am here, feel me with you, I have been there, hold on tight, I promise I get it. I do not think myself above even the lowest of days, the days of mascara streaked cheeks, of blanket nests, of the desperation that looks like a razors edge. I know the bleakest of grays and blacks but I know the glimmer of yellows and pinks, the glitter of the snow as it falls over the scars that have long since healed. And if it is only for a moment that I can hold you in my arms and let you see the world, see the hope, see yourself through my eyes;Let me show you the way.

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It Takes a Village

They say that it takes a village to raise children, but what about when you don’t have a village. What about when it’s only you? What about when you think you have done something right and then you realize that you may have made a mistake, screwed it all up and it not only breaks your heart but it breaks the hearts of your children too.

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My kiddos were too young to know when their father and I split up. They never grew up with them until my oldest was four and my youngest two. Even then he wasn’t a constant in their lives. My Wolf was the constant from the ages of 3 and 1 to just about 7 and 5. They knew him, they trusted him but I was comfortable and I knew that the relationship wasn’t going to come to any sort of fruition. Then there was the Demon, for lack of a better name for him. I was sure, totally sure about him, he helped take care of me when I was a sick 17-year-old for fucks sake, but his alcoholic and cocaine fueled rages at me when the kids took to bed proved too harsh on me and I had to let him. The next day Charming rode into my life, and he was home. He was everything I knew about home. He was the first man I ever truly gave my whole self to. That self-was whole in the least, it was broken fragments and I wasn’t ready to be the woman he needed me to be. I lied…A lot. To protect me from hm and to protect him from me. Because I was scared. He took to my family quite quickly and made promises of forever, but forever wasn’t as long as it turned out to be. A year and a month later and it’s over and he’s gone.

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I wrote this to a friend today and I think it is quite pertinent to my situation –

The hardest part about being a single mom is the fact that unless somebody’s ready to be in a relationship with you and your children there can never be a clean break. It sucks to think that every person that I’ve had in mind and the kids live excluding friends has been able to walk away with the peace of mind and the children’s hearts and they don’t realize what can be causing it. It sucks to think that somebody can put that much damage and that much heartbreak on my kids lives. I love all of my friends for sticking around and all of my friends for taking all of the roles they have in the kids lives because we’ve basically spent nine years alone. But I think I just want to find someone eventually one day that’ll be able to keep the promises they made for the kids and not leave them as broken as they’ve tried to leave me. Is that ridiculous or does that sound like something I can be Wishing on a Star for because honestly I don’t know at this point?

It’s the truth….It takes a village, even if that village is spread over the internet community.

Shaye

xoxo

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You can’t kill all the players…

…just because they are dumb. Granted, he didn’t want to kill all the players, he usually just wanted to let them die for being dumb. Steve was the man, the myth and the legend. His stories were classic and if you even think about them you can hear him laughing in your head. He usually made you feel like the king of the world and the biggest mook of your entire life. This gif is something he said to me once at a party and I laugh because I am sure he said it to more than one person before he broke into a grin and clapped them on the back with his big hands.
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I knew him from 2002 and we weren’t the best of friends, hell he wasn’t even someone I kept in touch with other than at game, but he was part of my family. When I saw him there was a hug, a laugh, a lewd comment and an actual curiosity on how I was doing. He always asked about my life, my sex life, my kids and we usually fell back into conversations about the old days. You just had to give him one topic and he could talk for hours. He was one of the kindest dirtiest old men I knew. I only call him a Dirty Old Man because well he was older than me.

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Steve was too young to leave this earth, but I guess that he was shooting for the head of world plot again. Now he and Keith are sitting up there and Keith is talking and Steve is shaking his fist at us and Keith. And if there is humor up there where ever he is, then he is stuck with cardboard wings cursing the fact that he took the name Glacier.

You are love Steve Franks. You are and will always be in our hearts and minds.

Sparkle Thoughts

Shaye

xoxo

“Wood elves, they taste like chicken nuggets.” –Steven Franks

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Driving Away from Me

A title that has two very different meanings doesn’t it. It holds both my fondest memories and my most solemn ones.

In fact the reason I am writing this is because of both happening in the span of a year, both happening in the span of yet an evening. Not this evening, but maybe it was.

Let’s go with free thinking since wordplay is hard after an afternoon in the ER. (not long story just a rough day and remarkably last year today was a rough day too. today was less painful, though…ish)

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I remember

I remember the day you came into my life

Well into my life again

I remember the scent of your clothes

Warmth of your arms

Even the taste of your mouth on mine

But the most I remember about that day was you driving away

It was early or late depending on how you looked at it

It was time for work and I couldn’t convince you to stay

so with a promise of soon and one last kiss you walked to your car and I watched

I watched you as you looked up at me and waved

I watched you pull the corner and turn

I watched you drive away

the promise of tomorrow bestowed upon my skin in your scent

that had marked my body in the most peaceful sleep I had had in so long

I always watched, always waited, learned the tire sounds, the sound of your alarm beep

I always knew when you were here or when you had to leave

My heart always skipped a beat, though maybe I didn’t tell you enough times

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and now

and now those days are a bittersweet memory

I still watch you leave

I watch you pull off in that same car

And sometimes I wave until you ar out of sight

But these days your scent doesn’t linger

And instead of a smile left on my cheek, there is a tear

Because I know not yet of promises that are waiting

If there are any left at all

Because I am not sure what tomorrow brings

Though I know I am strong enough to face it

I know I don’t want to watch you drive away

one last time

 

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