Category Archives: Prayers

Therapy is not NOT an option

I didn’t go to therapy today. I know I need to but I really just didn’t want to. I surmise that this is for many reasons. Such as…My new antibiotics are making feel I’ll, I’m wicked tired, I know we’re starting to discuss emotional regulation today and my father in law passed away yesterday. All of these are very good reasons (well except one) for not going to group today but what lies under all of them is the fact that I really just didn’t want to go. Now, first of all, I believe it is helping me, more often than not I practice my debt skills to get me through the day. I try to be mindful and shuffle through all the skillfully playing cards they give me in order to cope with the outside world. I do not however like the fact that I have to keep track of what I am doing or follow each class up with himework. It makes me feel like a child and not an adult who is profiting from a group scenario. I think that is one of the reasons I get so snarky about it sometimes. Anyway, I do feel like crap from a third round of antibiotics I’ve been put on and will be going back to sleep for at least a little while.

As I sit here in my dim room with my pumpkin spice frappe (it’s amazing be jealous) I am drawn to the fact that I want so desperately to clean it, yet I can’t find the energy to do it. Granted I haven’t been high on spoons and I use most of them on my kids but there’s more to it than that. You see my room isn’t a mess per say, there are just parts of it that have clutter or need sorted out. There’s a brand new bookshelf that needs to be filled with all the wonderous books that I have. Some whose covers have never yet been opened. I think a lot of this is like my mind, a huge space so full of stuff that only the carefulness can navigate and find there way thtough. Easy to see what’s there but to delve into the hidden spots takes a keen eye and an intelligent mind. Things are hidden away. Locked treasures that you need to find the key for. One of them being my heart. But that box has multiple keys.

Speaking of which, so I was on Whisper the other day, where I received a very nice compliment. I wasn’t sure what part on my post deserved such a compliment but I appreciated it non the less. This is what I wrote.

And in very unhappy news, I am still numb after the phone call I got from the ex husband that his step dad had passed. Now I don’t generally think most people stay close to their ex’s family after a divorce but his mom, step-dad and siblings remained family to me. We exchange cards, pics, calls and whatnot. Living on two different coasts has made it hard on visits and I now feel guilty that he never got to meet my pixie. I am just taken totally aback by the situation. So I will be strong and I will push through. Gotta plan a trip sometime.

My thoughts are churning out endless streams of who knows what at the moment, so I shall  attempt to shut them down and nap. My tip of the day. Self love. Do it!

Sparkle thoughts

Xox

Firework revalations

I cried today. I didn’t mean to, the tears weren’t planned, weren’t really expected at all but they happened…and after it was all said and done I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. 

It was 10pm at the California Grill, on the balcony of the Contemporary resort in Orlando. I was standing there with my best friend just two days away from her wedding. We were watching the fireworks light up the sky over the Magic Kingdom. Jiminey Cricket was talking about wishes and the music flourished as the story unfolding. My cheeks were wet almost immediately.

For the first time in I don’t  know how long I didn’t flinch at the sound of the fireworks, I was just immersed in the beauty. I felt the tears well up and flow. My emotions growing as he talked about wishes and dreams and hopes. I felt the dam inside me bteak. Everything that had been lent up for months came flowing down my cheeks like rivers. Thank heavens for makeup setting spray. 

I clung to my sangria glass like a life boat as I watched the sky light up, I felt her hand on my back. In that m ok mentioned I was of one mind. I knew that it was the release I finally needed.

I am not ashamed that I cried during a magical display in one of the happiest places on earth. In fact, I hope to do it again sometime. It really felt like my soul became thousands of pounds lighter. 

Firework revalations

I cried today. I didn’t mean to, the tears weren’t planned, weren’t really expected at all but they happened…and after it was all said and done I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. 

It was 10pm at the California Grill, on the balcony of the Contemporary resort in Orlando. I was standing there with my best friend just two days away from her wedding. We were watching the fireworks light up the sky over the Magic Kingdom. Jiminey Cricket was talking about wishes and the music flourished as the story unfolding. My cheeks were wet almost immediately.

For the first time in I don’t  know how long I didn’t flinch at the sound of the fireworks, I was just immersed in the beauty. I felt the tears well up and flow. My emotions growing as he talked about wishes and dreams and hopes. I felt the dam inside me bteak. Everything that had been lent up for months came flowing down my cheeks like rivers. Thank heavens for makeup setting spray. 

I clung to my sangria glass like a life boat as I watched the sky light up, I felt her hand on my back. In that m ok mentioned I was of one mind. I knew that it was the release I finally needed.

I am not ashamed that I cried during a magical display in one of the happiest places on earth. In fact, I hope to do it again sometime. It really felt like my soul became thousands of pounds lighter. 

My Girls in Heaven (trigger warning)

If I close my eyes and wish hard enough, dream sweetly enough I can hear your laughter. Soft and sweet giggles on the wind. I can feel your little hands close in mind as we go running through the field of wildflowers into the woods where we play hide and seek. I can see your eyes, bright blue and bright green, your hair in alternate shades of deep and light red, your skin pale as the day is long with those scatter freckles across your cheeks just like your brother and sister. I can hear your soft sweet voices singing on the wind as we tumble to the ground and make daisy crowns for our hair while we play by the water’s edge on our afternoon adventure. I feel the weight of your bodies in my lap as I hold you in my arms not wanting this day to end, this dream to be woken from. Your sweet kisses to my cheeks assure me that you will be there again when I come to visit you, that I don’t belong there to stay, that it’s time for me to go home. And when reality sets back in and I open my eyes to the world with tearstained cheeks, I know that somewhere you are still watching over me.

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I scoop up my babies and hold then tight, whispering to them how much I love them. They ask me why I have tears in my eyes and all I can tell them is that it is because I am so happy to have them with me. It is not a lie, I am happy, I am lucky that I get to hold them in my arms, that I get each and every day with them. The only part I leave out is that part of the reason for the tears is for their siblings who are always watching us and will one day be able to hug us when our souls join with theirs. One day I will tell them about their sisters who will forever be in our hearts. But for today, I will wrap them up in all over my love.

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There is for as long as I have known a stigma around writing about miscarriage, a taboo about the written word of losing a baby before they were born. But my girls were a part of me and I am not ashamed to say that. There is a part of my heart and soul that no matter what anyone says or how much time has passed that won’t stop hurting for the loss of them. They were part of me, I created them, I saw them, I knew they were there in my soul and then they weren’t. And that loss is soul crushing.

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When I found out I was pregnant in 2008 I was beyond the moon, a second baby when I was told I couldn’t have a first. I knew that this pregnancy was going to be different because I couldn’t even stand the smell of sugar, oh it was terrible. I was somewhere between 7-10 weeks along when I lost her that Father’s Day, June 21, 2008. It was confirmed by a test the next day, they took my blood and called me and I remember the phone falling out of my hands and dropping to the ground. I remember feeling crushed. I held my spritely boy that day so tightly as though the heavens would take him from me too. Later than summer I was granted a wish and therein lie the miracle and my Pixie was born 2 months after her sister should have been.

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We thought I was sick in 2015, we thought it was my lap band, we thought it was something with my stomach, I went under surgery twice not knowing. And then the results came in, I was pregnant. I was thrilled, beyond thrilled, I had a wonderful relationship and everything was going well. I was terrified and anxious and excited, I was going to do everything right this time. But everything wasn’t going as planned. The first sonogram showed her smaller than she should have been but that was ok. Then the next one, I saw her heart beating! I saw it, it was slow but it was there and I thought, look at that, this is really happening. I tossed away all the concerned looks that everyone else had because of how small she was still measuring. Then it happened the next week. She was still there, a smudge and actual smudge, I saw her…but her heart had stopped beating and she was gone, just gone. And so was I., This time, it wasn’t just let nature happen, it was medical intervention happens. We didn’t know exactly how far along I was. But June 8th, 2015 was her day, her birthday I suppose but as she had passed while still inside my body I don’t know what t call it. She was about the age as her sister had been, but the whole experience was different. This one included contractions and pain and the whole experience I had with my live births. I was devastated. My life would be forever changed.

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Why am I writing this now? Because it is June, because June for me is a hard month, one of plenty of happiness but one of a lot of pain. One that will bring about the summer and one that will forever remind me of my angel babies. May-June one day be a month of rebirth for me and not hold my heart so heavy, this is what I can wish for. So today I will go and make a flower crown with my faerie kids, we shall run and we shall play and we shall laugh. And our laughter will bring us smiles and I know somewhere our angels are smiling down on us.

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Mommy loves you

Always

Shaye

xoxo

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It’s Not Your Place…But I Appreciate It

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I appreciate the anger and rage. I appreciate the protective wall you have formed around me. I appreciate that you care. But I am ok. I am strong. I am trying to be zen. I have my kids to protect. I have my own part of the blame. But I am strong….I have to be. I want to be. I will be. As for Charming, you don’t know him like I do.

You don’t know him like I do

This is NOT a Love Story

The first of many books I stated, let me know what you think

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This is NOT a love story! And what I mean by that is that this is some mushy gushy story about love triangles, about some guy or girl shaped my world or any of that nonsense. Though if I really think about it those aspects are in there. However, this is NOT a love story. I will not let you categorize it as such, much like Disney categorized Frozen as a sisters story when it WAS a love story. This, at least I think is more of a suspense thriller, but most people would disagree…Granted most people can’t see inside my brain. Hell I can’t even see inside my brain. Ok off track here a little bit. Anyway, now that we are clear what this isn’t, let me tell you what this is.
This is MY story; yeah get your chuckles out now. I know what most of you think of me, even some hell probably some of those who I’ve chatted up in the grocery store line. I know what you’re thinking. And no, I am not a conspiracy theorist or any of that nonsense, I just know what mask I where when and how people judge me in relation t such. Hell, I’ve burned some of those masks years ago and people still remember them. They are seared so hotly into people’s brains that I will never be who I am today but always who I used to be. So, this is a story without the mask, or at least I hope I can be brilliant honest and make it through. This is the story I should have typed a thousand times in a thousand different ways and I didn’t…
I have a lot of good excuses why I didn’t, but nothing that really gets me out of it. I have 5 fucking stories on my computer, 5! And they each have at least 2 chapters…One of them even had a PROLIGUE! And they are genuine stories that I hope to finish someday, but I can’t put my heart back in the place it was when I was writing them, does that make sense? Ok so by now you know that in person I have many masks, I make a lot of excuses and totally judge books (and movies) by their cover (and tag lines…see first paragraph). Let’s add to the stack shall we? I often go off on tangents that no one can follow (be prepared), I can be very sexual and potty mouthed, and sometimes I just out and out lie…Granted I think it’s more of a retelling of the story in a more fanciful fashion but when push comes to shove, I lie. If you have to ask why at this point I would tell you because I like to. See I told you a suspense thriller would be more my story.
So here I am baring my soul, to the world. Or at least I hope to. In this story that is not about love, though there is love in it. A story full of stories, full of unheard truths and confessions. Maybe I’m repenting for some bad shit I did in a past life, but all I got from all the oogie boogies down in New Orleans where that something really bad happened in a past life but they couldn’t tell me. I think I am writing my story because it is time, or that I am running out of time. No I am not suicidal, I am literally running out of time, I was supposed to write 50,000 words by the month of December and as of right now my word count is 607. I think if I can pound out 50,000 words in two days I would be incredible proud of myself but incredibly worn out. But I made a promise to someone in New Orleans that I would finish a book by the beginning of this year and I broke that promise. I hate breaking promises. So now it’s time to promise myself I will finally finish what I have started. For once in my life have something to look back on and say hey you…look at that, not only do you make beautiful kids, bake a mean apple pies and have a gay harem that puts the world to shame…but you wrote a fucken book. Go team you.
Now that I have gotten a minor introduction out of the way I guess we should start with my childhood right? I don’t have a lot of memories as a kid, but I have flashes of them, if that makes sense. I look through photo albums and I know faces and names and not a lot of details. Every once in a while a very clear memory will pop up in there and I will blurt it out, but those memories are so sporadic, sometimes I wish they would either stay or go away completely.
©S.R.Gray 2016

The Answer You Didn’t Want

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You sat there in the chair shifting. The cushion was not comfortable but it wasn’t the worst you’d ever deal with. You waited as the papers shuffled on the desk and he turned to face you. Quietly the little boy with the big brown eyes was playing with the blocks. The noises made the silence worse. Shuffle shuffle, click click, unidentified sounds from that beautiful boy. Finally he turned, you dug your fingers into your legs to keep from shaking. You already knew the answer but you needed to hear it from someone who could tell you that you weren’t crazy. He had a PhD, he knew crazy.  Autism, Aspergers to be exact. Along with Sensory Processing Disorder and anxiety. You lips pressed together so you don’t cry. You knew what they were going to say, but hearing it was a slap in the face. But 4 years later you’re still ok.

Tap, tap, tap….fancy pen on a fancy leather shoe. Your under a microscope. He won’t tell you what’s wrong. Claims he doesn’t know. But you already heard the answer, because you’ve been living with it for years. But you needed to hear him say it. Say that you were bipolar and borderline. And he refused. So you broke his mug. And when you were finally ready to hear the answer, it was still a stinging mark across your face, because it wasn’t supposed to be right. 3 years later, you’re still alive.

Over and over this happens. It feels good and bad at the same time. Vindicated but what the fuck are you supposed to do now?

Now…When you need answers. When the bloods come back highly abnormal, you get nervous. And it’s not nervous that they will find something but more nervous that they wont. You are tired, swollen and drained. So they had scheduled another test. And you pray something pops up. Because in all your years …Nothing has. It’s hard to fight an invisible disease when you can’t find it. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. So you hope they find something. So that you won’t  have to suffer without reasons…

But you realize in this moment that this may be the one answer that you don’t want to have already answered.

Food for thought
Shaye xoxo

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Another Fallen Star

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What do you say when someone you has never met, but has touched your life so profoundly. Do you weep freely or hide your tears from the world. When we lose those that shaped our lives through their words and talent; We sit in stunned silence as if a lover has passed. When the tears finally come and your body convulsed with solve, you curse the universe for trying to shatter dreams.

“What are you going to do next? Hit me with that fiiish”

Thank you for bring my awakening, helping me go after my dreams and just being one helluvah guy.

RIP Alan Rickman

Your star will never stop shining.

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I Love You Forever

I love you forever
I like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be

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I remember life before I was a Mom. I can tell you some tales that are outlandish but true. But those are in days long past, in a memory box, on a shelf not yet forgotten.

Jayson and Kaylin showed me how pure and divine love is. That there can be tears and scrapes along the way but nothing will bounce back quicker, fight harder or grow stronger than the soul of a Mother. 

Now I know that you can eat oreos dipped in orange juice and that boogers are nutrious. I know that when push comes to shove you can and will use anything to clean up spills, that magic eraser doesn’t work on all paint and stains on beige carpet are harder to get out than one would think.

But I also know a tutu goes with everything (so does a Batman mask). I know the satisfaction of being read to. And how important having medicinal peas in the freezer are.

Today is one of those days I am counting my blessing as I can hold my babies tightly. My thoughts are with those whose time was cut short. May they shine brighter than the rest of all the stars. And may we know that they are ever by our side, waiting patiently, till we can take them in our arms again.

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Maybe Dumbledore Isn’t Always Right – Rebecca Ethington

One of my favorite authors and closest friends posted this on Facebook a few days ago. I found it so profound, and you don’t usually find stuff like that on FB anymore. It summed up so many things, what ifs and lonliness, bullying, and just not knowing when to reach out and help someone or when to ask for help for yourself.

Never be afraid to reach out and help those in need, never be quick to judge because you never know what that woman behind that mask or the man behind the curtain are really like. Sometimes it isn’t east to click your heels together three times, sometimes their is no faerie godmothers. But there is always you, and that is good enough for me.

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“There is a scene in the final Harry Potter where Harry and Dumbledore meet at a place between life and death, and in that space they see a piece of Voldemort’s soul – this quivering, whimpering, ugly child, shoved underneath a bench.
And Harry, tries to go to it, convinced it needs help. And Dumbledore tells him not too.
I’ve always hated Dumbledore for that. Yes, Voldemort is evil, did he probably deserve what’s coming to him – yes. And I am in no way comparing myself to that quivering whimpering child, hidden away in pain.
But we have all been there.
We have all been so full of loss and heartbreak, and agonizing defeat, and sadness, and rejection. That we have all been there.
We have been that forgotten child in the corner, a deep part of us just shaking and crying and desperately hoping that someone would just come over and pull us out of the dark and hold us while we cry and comfort us until it all goes away.
I know I have.
And chances are, when you are there, you don’t know how to ask, or maybe you don’t have anyone to turn to anymore. You are alone, and you can hear people talking on a bench and your crying out for help, but they don’t come to find you.
So take this with a grain of salt. But you know those “whiny” posts everyone complains about on Facebook? Yes, some of them are just negative people. But what if some of them… just maybe… where people so lost and alone and scared and so desperate for help that they are asking for help the only way they know how. That maybe they just need that hug, or that phone call with a real voice.
I can’t believe I’m going to say this… but maybe sometimes we shouldn’t listen to Dumbledore. Because maybe sometimes they need our help, our compassion, our empathy and our love. Don’t be afraid to reach out – because people are people – but they are also human. And in this crazy world, we can’t do it all on our own.” – Rebecca Ethington

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