Thursday, August 25, 2016

Crawling Away

There is no shame in going after what you want or so I've heard.


What if you're the thing that's wanted and you have no desire to be pursued?


You're so used to giving in that even though it's rotting your soul to say no,  you do, because that's what will set you free ultimately.

Yet, that no you worked so hard to muster up? Yeah, that falls on self-made deaf ears. They can't hear the no...they simply hear the roar of their narcissistic self-cheerleading to go after what makes them happy.

Because,  well their happiness is all that fucking matters.

So, you say no.  And this game unfolds, one you never intended to play. There's boring banter, sad stupid words and your smile doesn't reach your eyes because you're simply trying to placate this happiness seeker til you can plan your escape.


Escape doesn't come quickly, because they've played this game before. You're just a novice up against a card shark.  And you know what they'll do if you don't give them what they want?

They'll break your legs so you can't walk.

And you realize that this quest for happiness is really just one for control. Your 'no's' are blocked out to fuel their sick version of winning. They use that no that you choked out so fiercely, my love, as a sound track (blared on repeat) so they can get hyped , one to dance that they think they will know all the lyrics to and plan to dominate eventually.


There you are. Still new. Apprehension building. Still learning. Realization dawning.  Still mewing the no on your soft lips.

He laughs.

And you run.

No has never meant anything to him. He's had this planned way before you were in the picture. Because,  he's a winner and he goes after what he wants regardless of if it's a prize up for grabs or not.


You look for that escape and wish to God that you would have paid closer attention to the exits when coming into this maze. You scan every crevice wondering why he is so persistent when pleasure isn't anywhere in his vocabulary, he only knows destruction. You wait with baited breath hoping he doesn't find your hiding spot, your only solace in this cat and mouse game. However,  the moment you let your guard down, he snatches you upright.

He sucks in his breath through his teeth, demanding you straighten your spine. He roughly pulls your shoulders back,  tips your chin up, has you put your legs together and smugly walks away. He wants to see you stand tall...before he makes you fall.

Then, you hear it.

The whistle of his sledge hammer slicing the stagnant air. And with a sickening confirmation in your gut you already know where it's going. You try to brace yourself, but there's never quite been a preparation perfected for having your knees bashed out by a psychopath. The heavy hammer powers through your skin and sinew like you were nothing more than a piece of paper.

You crumble.

Not gracefully,  not artistically,  you shatter and scream, you break and are bent in the most awkward angles, you ugly cry with snot running all over your face and realize that you've never felt this kind of pain before.


You are alive, even if barely so. You survived.  You may not feel victorious in this moment, but you are.

He does not own you.
He cannot control you.
He cannot break you.

There you are. Surviving amidst a pile of ridiculous pain. Here's your opportunity to look for those exits again.

You can't run, you can't walk, but you can still move forward.  You can crawl your way out, in pain, over the jagged rocks and towards a better place for you.

I lied when I said you weren't a prize earlier.

He wanted the flimsy,  shiny Cracker Jack sticker that he could happily wear on his pleather jacket, that he would gleefully show off to people in between ape- like poundings of his chest that clearly proved his strength and prowess

You are a prize love.

But not a prize for him.

You're the best prize out there. A prize he will never get his grubby paws on again. A prize he will never even know the value of- because he only wanted the cheap stuff. He never realized your worth ran deep, your strength was solid and your determination was untouchable. He did not know the minute he tried to break you down was the minute your soul would rear up and remember you were never meant to be  tamed.

Crawl on friend.

Leave that piece of shit behind in a world where he thought he could control a situation and disregard your disengagement and your rejection.

Go slow, as you are a new you, and find your way out to a better day. Go quickly if you can endure the pain,  just....go.

Friday, August 12, 2016

August 12, 2016: Use Your Words

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them.

Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them

I’m using:       

Wonderment ~ Octopus ~ Anyone ~ Organic ~ Cotton

They were submitted by:   The sweet and amazing Jules from The Bergham Chronicles !

Collateral damage.

'Damage inflicted on an unintended target', is what most people associate with it,  but I don't think that's all it pertains to really.

Unintended target makes it seem like there was a sea of people maimed or done wrong by a complete stranger with no forewarning...when in reality many of those who are causing the damage are aware of the hearts and souls they bruising,  twisting and crushing and to put it bluntly, they do not give a shit.

Perhaps they are passing down horrid habits of how they were raised,  maybe they are bullies, maybe they truly think it's okay to treat others like crud, maybe they are strung out on (choose whatever vice you please) to even notice the wreckage that they leave behind,  or maybe they're just apathetic assholes who are so conceited they think the mirror is lucky to show them their reflection.

It almost seems a wonderment that anyone chooses to pursue any kind of relationship when the past has shown us how brutally it can end for us. We can be broken,  we can be left to the wayside with organs ripped out and our soul smashed to bits, we can be left hard, callused and waiting to exact revenge on the next poor mate who crosses our path continuing the jacked up pattern that put us in the first place to begin with...


I promise when I started this I was going a positive direction,  have faith dear reader,  I'll get there...eventually.


The want, (or if you subscribe to Maslow's Hierarchy the "need"), to form loving relationships is organic and fruitful for our lives.  We need them just as much as we need oxygen and coffee to be considered alive and human. The unfortunate thing is that so many of us have been handed so much baggage and heartache that we wouldn't be able to hold it all even if we were an octopus. We become protective of our cotton candy hearts that dissolve quickly from the acid of wicked souls,  we become leary of new people and their unknown intentions and our eyes that once saw shooting stars and magnificent meteor showers only fear getting sucked into a black hole. With each ending to a relationship, with each heartache, each betrayal,  we become a little more jaded, a little more cautious...a little more unsure of ourselves.

We can begin to doubt if we are worthy of love or...even capable of loving. 

There are times that leave us speechless wondering if we are to accept the burning cities around us as our homes. Let it be known, the only time we should accept the acrid smell of burnt out dreams and hopes is when we are getting ready to start a new chapter and are using the shit we've waded through as fertilizer to grow bigger hopes and dreams.

We were never meant to be sidelined in our own lives wondering when the heroine was going to come in and save us...when we are the damn directors of our lives.

So, basically my loves,  what this long winded crappily put together post is saying is:

If you feel broken,
if you feel that you are not good enough,
if you feel like you deserve to be treated like trash,
if you feel that it's better to settle,
if you feel that it's okay to piece your life together constantly from the wreckage of an abusive relationship,
if you think you are unworthy of love,
if you think you are too fucked up to go on or to ever be loved,
I'm here to tell you babe, you're wrong.

So. Damn. Wrong.

You were never collateral damage. You were never broken. You were never something that needed fixing.  You were never something to simply be discarded and thrown away.  

You are strong enough to love yourself to realize you don't take shit from anyone.

You are strong and secure enough to eat alone at restaurants and see a movie alone.

You are strong enough to buy the sparkly too-tall sexy heels and turn your nose up at anyone who 'tsks' you for wearing them.

You are strong enough to realize that even though you've had a minor set back on the path to the most righteous you- you cannot be stopped.

Seriously,  stop. Take a moment. Look at how far you have come.  You've survived heart break, challenges and obstacles you did not ever think you'd face, you have rose above abuse, you have taken the bull by the damn horns and made your own future.

Even while scared shitless, you did the damn thing.

So don't you dare for one freaking moment give into that sad thought that you are broken, that you are what was left behind because it was no longer working, that you are not worthy of rebuilding or starting over.

You are, always, strong enough to move forward my friend.

Because, whether you realize or choose to acknowledge it or not,  you already have overcome some crazy shit like only a queen can do.

Keep rocking and never forget where you were and where you want to go.

Instead, I want you to remember when the world imploded and exploded all around you leaving you shell shocked and scared what you chose to do. That's right,  you fought through it and used it as a rock to build the foundation of your future.

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado             

Southern Belle Charm                                      

Spatulas on Parade                    

The Bergham Chronicles         

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver   

On the Border                        

Confessions of a part time working mom 

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo                 

Never Ever Give Up Hope          


Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                                                                

Friday, August 5, 2016

Secret Subject Swap: August 5th, 2016

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 
Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out.
See you there:
Baking In A Tornado                                  
The Bergham Chronicles   
 Spatulas on Parade      
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 
Southern Belle Charm       
Confessions of a part time working mom
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo        
The Lieber Family Blog      
Never Ever Give Up Hope     
When I Grow Up              
Evil Joy Speaks                          
***MySecret Subjectis:***
Describe a favorite place you had as a child. What made it so special?
After a few shitty weeks, thinking of my favorite place as a child left me more emotional than the first time my eyes had read the prompt.
Reading the prompt again, made me long for simpler days when my biggest concerns were passing a test or cleaning my room. These days seem to drag by and are heavy hearted due to….allthethings.
Favorite place?
There was never just one.
Hanging with my mom on a Saturday night watching Tales from the Crypt eating our trio of olives, cheese and pickles with my cousin was amazing.
Walking into the massive church where I served as an altar girl, prayed the rosary, and spent many days there debating what I wanted to be when I grew up always left me with peace and familiarity.
Spending summer days floating around in my cousin's pool letting the sun kiss my skin while we made memories talking about boys, school and our funny family made me feel home.
That’s what it all boiled down to in the end.
Feeling at home.
Not feeling confused, overwhelmed, lacking,  like these recent days tend to be…but feeling wanted. Feeling loved, feeling at home while eating cheese and watching scary stories, talking and laughing with family, feeling content lighting candles, just being allowed to be myself and being welcome.
My favorite place was feeling loved and at home.
Currently, that is my goal. To feel at home not only in places I visit, volunteer, work or frequent but in my own skin. Until then, I will continue this awkward  dance of pretending I am a functioning adult and muddle through this life until I find that happiness that calls me home to myself.
What about you? What was your favorite place as a child….and what is your favorite place now?

Friday, July 15, 2016

July Use Your Words

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them.
Until now.
At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. 
My words are:: blanket ~ heat ~ hurt ~ leaves ~ hear ~ seem
They were submitted by, the one, the only, the hostess with the mostess Miss Karen from

Lately it seems this world is on fire.
The heat from the palpable pain and hurt is strong enough to burn the compassion right out of our souls. It seems, as every day passes, that when we flip on the news, go on social media, listen to the radio, we see or hear of more atrocities committed in a more vicious way. It leaves us stunned at first....then it just settles into the recesses of our hearts and souls, resonates with sigh as we mutter with a jaded and broken heart, "Again?". 
Times like these, when are hearts are heavy and our minds are weighed down with an inconceivable amount of confusion, leave us wondering what kind of future we are leaving to our children and grandchildren. This world, seemingly has spun just fine on for many years on uncertainty and savagery, so why now does this seem so heartbreaking?
Well, shocker, it has always been heartbreaking, we are just becoming sick of it because we know we can be better than this. How the hell do we fix this? How do we fix this world that is being torn apart at the seams with bigotry, hatred and ignorance? How do we do so without putting ourselves in jeopardy while truly making a change?
I wish I could tell you. I wish I could say some simple sweet words and make everything better. But I can't. Mass shootings, trucks plowing into crowds, bombs, genocides, ignorance, social injustices are not simply fixed by a, 'Let's all be nice to each other' plea. I wish it was, so badly do I wish it was fixed by throwing all the good vibes into the universe...but alas it is not. So what can we do?
We can decide to not pull the blanket over our heads when we are scared. We can decide not to shove our heads in the sand. We can choose to not become jaded but angered instead. We can speak up. We can choose to start a meaningful conversation. We can choose to plant peace and love and not perpetuate the circle of violence by throwing around insults, ignorance and insanity.
We can realize we are all human and deserve to be treated as such. We can love one another and we can call others out on their bullshit when they are being wankers and spewing hate and vitriol at different communities, groups or populations. Accepting the hate and violence as a norm is contributing to the ugly cycle we fear is being left for our future generations.
Break the chain.
By choosing to take the littlest, kindest, possibly dorkiest step of your life, you can help bring about change by bringing love into this world. By choosing to bring kindness and love into the world it helps to battle the apathy and anger. By choosing to stand up to ignorance and challenge archaic and asinine thinking, it helps by putting out a new perspective...even if only to one person. Be a helper. Be a weirdo. Be someone who is not afraid to act like a fool in the face of fear in an attempt to leave this world a better place for those we love. Maybe it won't matter. Maybe people will think you are crazy for being kind to strangers or reaching out to those who are hurting and lashing out in the worst ways possible. Maybe it will do nothing in the end. But it's got to be better than simply letting hatred win.

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:
Baking In A Tornado              
Southern Belle Charm                                 
Not That Sarah Michelle                          
Spatulas on Parade                                     
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy     
My Brain on Kids                 
The Bergham Chronicles        
Never Ever Give Up Hope      
Confessions of a part time working mom   
The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 
Molly Ritterbeck                       
Juicebox Confession               
When I Grow Up                       
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo                
 On the Border                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Friday, July 8, 2016

Questions and Kindness

She asked for another blanket. 

I did not blame her, my mom was lying on the uncomfortable emergency room gurney, with a thin gown that no matter how you tied it-it tended to open in the back welcoming drafts up and down her backside, with the fierce air conditioner blasting on her. Normally we love the air conditioning that combats the heat, but not that day, not when she was feeling crummy and out of it. I wasn't going to buzz the nurse for a blanket, I could see they were beyond busy. I just went to the cabinet, grabbed her another blankie and cuddled her in another one. It is hard to shut off that instinct to help when you know you can, that caretaker mode does not shut off, even when you are in a capable place dedicated to caring for people, that nagging feeling of wanting to help never leaves you.
She was not hurt, she was not in pain or discomfort, she was exhausted and just wanted to sleep. Actually, she was recently discharged from the hospital three days prior for a serious infection and thought she was in the clear. However, after her fluid drain on Tuesday, her doctor called me stating she needed to go back into the hospital because her lab work was abnormal and she needed to be monitored and it had to be corrected.

So, in the emergency room we sat waiting for a room to clear in the critical care unit.

I, myself, had not realized how tired I was.

Normally, no one would ever notice when I was exhausted and at my breaking point. But that night, that night it was hard to hide. Although it is silly and nonsensical, I held on to never wanting to seem to others that I am in need of help or rest. Over the years of being a caretaker, I had mastered the masking of my personal needs and emotions, putting myself on the back burner...forgetting that even though the heat was steady and low that it would not exclude me from getting burned. That night, the heat had finally began to scorch my soul and I was left weary.

Over mom's soft snores, close to midnight amidst the bustling controlled chaos ensuing behind her the nurse peeked her head in the room and let me know that we would be moving mom to the critical care unit within the next hour hopefully. I nodded my head, honestly the only response I could give her.

She hesitated and in that brief moment I saw her make that decision.

That decision is the one where a health worker, caretaker, friend, family member, whoever, sees a person struggling and knows someone should acknowledge it. That decision, when it is clear that the craziness that is coming from all angles can wait for a moment. That decision, when they decide to reach out. 

I sat in the dimness, head reclined against the wall, just waiting to be transferred to the floor. It took me a minute to realize that the nurse had entered the room. Immediately I sat up, apologizing for not noticing her sooner. She shushed me and sat down in the chair across from me. I was scared she was going to tell me that my mom's levels were dropping more or something upsetting, I would deal with it later though, I always did, so I braced myself for whatever she was going to say and was blown away.

"It looks like your mom has been pretty busy. She has been in and out of the hospital quite a bit lately. Are you her primary caretaker?"

"Yes", I said waiting.

"Do you work?", she inquired with a  sweet look on her face.

"Full time", wondering if she was going to say mom needed round the clock care, wondering if she was going to tell me I was doing a bad job of taking care of her, wondering what she was getting at, wondering if I was failing and if she was the one who drew the short straw and was here to tell me.

"I need to ask you something, okay?"

"Okay," came out of my mouth since I was not sure what to say exactly, going over all of moms medications in my head, going over all her procedures, specialists, allergies, past appointments wondering if I had forgotten something, I braced myself for the blow I thought was coming.

"When was the last time you ate?", she looked me dead in the eyes with concern.

There was no way I could brace myself for that....because...well...what the hell? Why was she asking about my eating habits? Because I was obese? Because my mom was sleeping? Because she was nosey? Then I stopped for a moment and thought and realized...I did not know.

Quizzically, I just stared at her. I did not know, it was midnight and I was not sure the last time I ate.

"That's what I thought", she softly declared and got up and left the room.

Five minutes later she came in the room, with chips, 2 small sandwiches, and a Styrofoam cup of ice water. "I hope you like tuna salad and egg salad, it's all I can find", she said while pulling up the bedside tray and placing it front of me.

I was here for my mom and here was this nurse, pulling up the tray table to me, unwrapping the sandwiches, opening the chips and placing it in front of me and who then expectantly stared at me.

"Eat, woman", she said smiling.

And that is when I lost my shit.

I began sobbing, quietly, my chest hurting familiar with holding back emotions and knowing all too well my habit of refusing to acknowledge my need to feel and release my feelings. I sobbed because we were back in the damn hospital a week later. I sobbed because I was not Wonder Woman. I sobbed because I was upset. I sobbed because I felt alone. I sobbed because this nurse thought not only of her patient, but her patient's daughter and went the extra mile to make sure I was taken care of while I was in her sight. I sobbed because I had not allowed myself to for so long. I sobbed because I could. I sobbed because I needed it.

She did not say anything. She crossed the room and brought me a box of tissues and when I looked up she had tears in her eyes as well.

"It's okay to cry, you can't do it all", she murmured while gently rubbing my back.

I cleaned myself up and settled my soul a bit. Knowing I was okay, knowing I was going to be okay, knowing that I was going to have to take be a caretaker of myself more often.

"Thank you", I whispered.

"You're welcome", she said, her sweet smile saturating her words, "now do me a favor? Eat, woman".

So, I did.

That moment she decided to reach out, that moment she chose to invest, that moment she took to be kind and loving, meant more to me than anything else lately. That moment a stranger just did and made me suck it up and realize that I had to take care of myself was astounding.

That kindness thing? I promise you, on all that is holy in this world-first kisses, shooting stars, self-love, purposely mismatched socks, loud laughs and second chances-kindness matters.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Dedicated to the In Between Me's

Recently, I read a snippet of a book dedication that said, "To everyone who thinks I'm writing about you-I am". To me, that line resonated within these weary bones. Maybe it was meant in jest, maybe in love, maybe a wink or inside joke-or maybe...maybe it was the straight up truth. Maybe the author recognized that stranger's could connect and find themselves alive in well written words or maybe it was everyone the writer ever met. Maybe the author realized that every person they ever had an encounter with helped shape them, their being, their essence, their mood, and yes even their writing no matter how small an impact they had.

Currently,I am in between me's. I have one foot shackled to the comfortable, familiar, darkness while the other is toe-tapping in the uncertainty of blinding light. I'm struggling to stay the same and accept the fact that there is a phoenix begging to burst forth from my soul.

'I haven't been writing much lately', is how I would have loved to start today's blog but...that's a lie.

The truth is, I have been writing but most of it is utter rubbish or too 'dark' to share... so I keep it in draft form far away from that dreaded 'publish' button. I wish I could pinpoint why I have been so hesitant to share my struggles with depression and anxiety, but I can't. Or maybe I'm not ready. I don't know.

I do know other people are suffering. They are feeling alone. They mistakenly think they are some freak for shaking uncontrollably while they are anxious or cannot articulate thoughts or think straight, that they're beyond broken for trying to repair themselves with detrimental quick fixes or think they aren't worthy of help or not meant for a happier existence. Hell, not even happier...just tolerable.

But they're wrong.

There are people, like the author recognized, who can find themselves within words, sandwiched between sentences, paused in paragraphs and lost in the literal truth of translation.

So today, today these words are for you...and I hope you find yourself if you've been looking:

You, my dear, are not broken.
You are not lost.
You are not so fucked up that you cannot save yourself, even if that means you have to ask for help from others.

You are worthy of being written about.  People will want to scribble your name with hearts on crumpled papers, stitch a sonnet together seamlessly or dedicate a whole nonsensical blog to you.
You, my dear, are a fighter, even when times get tough, even when your soul gets tired, because you are a survivor.

You have made it this far, you have overcome, you have persevered.

I know, you're tired.

But you got this more than you know.
Because you are in between you's too.

You're so tired from all this crap that's eating your happy memories, that's tearing a hole in your soul, that's making you a sad shell of who you once were.

This is where you are in a confused state, a hot mess, this is where you are halted, stuck in between yourselves. It is where you stare longingly at the past, the mistakes and pain, and cringe at the future, fearful of what it holds, and you find yourself tired.

Just so damn tired that you don't know if you want to keep going.
I'm here to tell you it's alright.
It's alright to not want to keep going.

But you will keep going.

So, take this time and take your time.

This is your time to rest.
This is your time to rejuvenate.
This is your time to make a game plan.

This is where you rise my love.
This is where you brilliantly get to scream at the top of your fucking lungs what you will no longer take, what you want, and how you're going to get it.

And you're not going to take anyone's shit, even your own.

This is dedicated to you, the lost, the confused, the ones who think no one is thinking about them or writing about them-we are. Because we need you, we love you and you matter.

Friday, March 18, 2016

In My Best Friends' Beds

I asked him first if I could sleep in his bed. I didn't want to be weirder...well, weirder than normal. He laughed and told me to go for it. After he went to work, I (still in my foggy tequila haze) dragged my sleeping bag and pillow and crawled into his bed.
The light rudely burst through his bedroom window challenging my ability to sleep in. I, luckily, persevered. I fell back alseep until ten in his comfy bed and before I forced myself up and into a world of overwhelming thoughts and decisions that weighed on my heart-I laid there a couple minutes longer. I traced the wrinkles in his sheets,  allowing myself to get caught up in wondering about his every day routine-musing if he had a set day to wash his sheets, if he always skipped breakfast, and what days he liked to grocery shop. I felt the purr of his cat calmly vibrate my thigh, until of course I tried to pet said cat and he violently hissed at me, such a dick-just like his owner. It was nice to get lost in someone else's world for a moment. I stretched and leisurely looked around his room, his sanctuary, at his books, at a closet that I desperately wanted to organize and all the pieces of his life-some he shared with others...others he kept for only himself, and felt at peace.
All these random things that made up part of his life, made up part of him, if separate meant nothing, but combined created some sanity and balance for him.
I was going to be okay. Even if I didn't know how or when, I at least knew I was going to be okay, and that was a fabulous realization when before that second, all I could find was dark days and an empty existence.
                                                                           -  -  -
Her room did not need organizing. It was full of light and depth and had the energy of a woman on the go. She offered me her house when I told her I needed time to myself, time to think, time to breathe-by firmly pressing the spare key into my hand and telling me she should have given me that key a long time ago. My key.
My key to happiness?  No, not exactly.
But my key to get away from everything, including the stale thought process of me already knowing who I am and who I am not. To be convinced with such certainty in the midst of finding oneself is stupid. Humorous, yet stupid. I am in the middle of a self-evolution, a self-revolution if you will, so the only thing that should be set in stone is that I'm finding out who I am. That should be my only conviction.
I crawled into her bed the first night and the sweet smell of her freshly washed sheets enveloped my senses. The dogs jumped in and nudged me until I lifted the covers so they could burrow in the blankies and cuddle me. Her room was exactly the kind of room I envisioned growing up, wooden worn floors, peaceful energy, comfortable bed, and if I'm being honest-full of love.
She has one of those glowing souls that you are lucky if you hear about in this world, let alone get to love, and I swear she left a bit of her heart behind for me to let me know-my heart would be fine.
                                                              -  -  -
They gave me their beds. Their beds. The very place where they rest, where they love, where they rejuvenate their souls, where they mend when they are sick, where they cuddle, where they writhe and sweat, where they end their nights and start their days.
Make no mistake-they did not just offer me a place to sleep-they offered me refuge for my soul.
                                                              -  -  -
I'll return to my bed in a couple weeks and I wonder if I'll feel the love that I felt in these two beds. I wonder if I will feel the love left for me, if I will feel the acceptance for myself at this point in my journey, if I will feel content with who I am-ugly, emotional breakdowns and all.
I wonder if I will show myself kindness as I would anyone else? I wonder if I will remember kindess...and understanding? I wonder if I will love myself and build up my spirit like I would for anyone else?
I hope so.
I have been shown, by people that love me for reasons I do not know, how to love and accept myself in my darkest times.  
In the meantime, before I return to my bed, I have some work to do. I have to work on not merely accepting love, but raising the standard of love which I accept for myself, from others...and from me too. Until then, I am sleeping in beds that have been made for me with love, adoration and a little firm ass-kicking by people I am simply blessed to know.