Long Time Coming

This is going to be my 7th Rara #Somethingist post. (to understand what this challenge is, check this post out and join in!)

Something Displaced.

To displace can mean to move something from its usual place. To shift or to re-position.

Today, I cut my hair!

 

The last time I did anything with my hair was 8 years ago. That? Me keeping bangs for about a year before growing them out. Before that? I haven’t done anything with my hair since I was 9 years old.

So I cut it all off today.

 

It feels immensely symbolic.

I’ve cut off the unhealthy parts of me. I’m changing.

I have changed!

The all amazing gal who cut my hair said that typically when a woman drastically changes her hair, there’s a motivating change in her life that’s behind it.

No different for me.

She also said that women’s hair is important. It’s an important part of us, our identity. Attached to how we feel about ourselves.

She proves my point exactly.

I haven’t cared about myself or so much as given myself a first thought (throw the second thought out the window) in I can’t even remember how long.

 

No more of that.

I feel great!

I feel like I’ve chopped off all that I’ve allowed to hold me down, hold me back.

I can do something for me and enjoy it. I’m allowed to care about me.

Cutting my hair off equates to freeing myself.

 

My hair was so unhealthy!

Its so thin because of how stressed out I am. Anxiety. Depression. Gut disease. Sleep problems. Pain that I’ve hidden or run from, pretended wasn’t there. Smiled to cater to others.

No more.

I’ve worked on this for a year now and I feel I’ve dug a good staircase out of this pit.

So, I’m breathing.

I’m going to act like I exist.

Taking vitamins (biotin in particular, as the hair goddess who styled my hair suggested) and paying attention to my needs.

 

I believe we look at change as a bad thing, always.

Sometimes, I think a little displacement is exactly what we need.

What do you think?

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

Daphne Shadows

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Why Depression is Startling

When you’re feeling it – it isn’t startling.

Nothing is startling.

 

Ha! I finally know and understand the definition of apathy.

Unrelated to apathy –

 

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I feel like some invisible disease has punctured my skin, slithered in, and has found a way to live inside me, parasitically changing me, holding me in a strange in-between, a madness, a muted, a roaring duality of pain and nothingness.

Trapping me from within, trying to squeeze the breath out of me.

It’s like a living entity is sitting on my chest; squeezing my heart in a fist of silver and hardness, harshness, imbuing it with sharpened flecks of poison; languishing in my gut, knotting me into coils and pressured twists; cracks breaking through the veneer.

And how am I still alive?

Am I?

If I barely swim to the surface of myself.

Sometimes this is all I have to give.

 

The madness has to come out sometime.

And how blessed am I? Writing gives me a way to breathe.

If only I’ll stop trying to control it. It isn’t always going to be pretty; it’s coming from within me. Sometimes giving the disease swarming inside me, leaching to my bones, and scratching at my soul with metallic nails – words, a voice, helps me.

Instead of leaching inwards, only swirling inside my rib cage, I can spill it onto the page and let it live there.

It may be a little worrisome to those who have never dealt with depression (depression and feeling sad are not the same thing, by the way). Perhaps it’s a little depressing to read for some.

But for me, it’s like expelling poison.

A saving grace.

That, is why I write.

How maddeningly beautiful, how simply poised I find it that both poison and the cure live inside me.

 

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Valentine’s Day: History and Different Kinds of Love

We’re going to jump around a lot.

Prepare yourself.

 

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I like Valentine’s Day! It’s a celebration of love. You don’t have to be dating or married to celebrate it. Do you love anyone? Well there you go.

There are many kinds of love. You love your friends, don’t you? I know I do. Do you love your family? Your animals? Yourself?

I never understood why people complained about being single on Valentine’s Day. I never understood complaining about being single in the first place. You don’t always have to be in a relationship. Wait for what’s real, don’t desperately pine for a lover.

We all deserve love in our lives, whether it be friends or lovers, family or pets. During Valentine’s Day, I like to celebrate all the love in my life, regardless of society’s strict focus on romantic relationships.

 

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Some Strange History

Muddled would be more accurate. It’s a murky pool of educated guesses. If I had to give the history an accuracy level, I’d give it “most likely”. Unless someone can pop out a time machine and travel through the times with a notepad and a camera on record, there’s no way to one-hundred percent tell.

(If you do have a time machine, I hope a meteor falls out of the sky destroying you, your time machine, and anyone else that knows of how you made it. Because time travel would be a terrible mistake. Just saying.)

It began as a pagan celebration. Men would sacrifice animals, strip the hide into pieces, dip them in blood, and slap women with them. Women would line up for this, believing it would make them more fertile. Then young woman would put their names in a hat (okay, I doubt it was a hat), the single men would pick a name, and that’s who they’d pair with for the coming year.

Then there’s a confusion of three different Valentine saints according to the Catholic church. I think they all died. I’m not too sure about that. I know one of them did. But no one knows why for certain.

…Somehow this turned into Valentine’s Day. If you want a more in depth detail, check out the link at the bottom.

 

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Something else that irks me during this holiday, is how everyone just files off, buys a card, and that’s that.

WHAT?!

Do something personalized.

You don’t have to break the bank. The point is to know the person you love and get them or make them something small that you know will show them you really see them and find them important in your life.

This Valentine’s Day, I got an adorable little stuffed animal – an animal I like. I made little clay figurines for the people I love.

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I’m relatively new to making clay anything, so no judging.

I’m not saying I don’t want to see any elaborate romantic gestures, I’m saying don’t let it be about buying a card and that’s it. It’s become way too commercialized for my taste.

So by all means, buy flowers and throw all the chocolate at me! But find a way to make it meaningful. It’s about love. Not money.

And if you’re all alone – buy something nice for yourself and enjoy it. No shame. New rule: love thyself. Life is always changing. Love what you have now.

 

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What’s your favorite flower?

Flowers are a huge thing during Valentine’s Day. I always wonder at the flowers in the store. Who’s going to get what? Why? Does anyone know what kind of flowers the people they’re buying them for actually prefer? Or are the people who don’t care, just love flowers or appreciate the gesture regardless?

My favorite flowers are black roses, white roses, orange roses, and dark colored carnations.

And another thing, do men get upset when their significant other brings them flowers? I so want to be able to do that in the future. But I hear some men don’t like it.

Illuminate me, would ya?

 

I hope you guys and gals all had a lovely Valentine’s Day!

 

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More Valentine’s Day info:

http://www.history.com/topics/valentines-day/history-of-valentines-day

 

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How My Brain Works

…when I’m on twitter.

One thing leads to another. And typically it makes no sense how I ended up there. *shrug*

Actually, I think that’s how my brain just works in general.

This is what happened when I tried promoting a blog post of mine on twitter… I kinda got lost. Mentally.

 

 

 

 

I say “then” A LOT when I’m on Twitter. Blech! So terrible!

Also, don’t judge me on my lack of grammar on twitter. EVERYONE DOES IT! (did I just say that?) It’s so hard to squeeze it all into 140 characters.

…well that sounded potentially wrong. Ignoring that.

Does anyone else freak out when they misspell something in a tweet, delete it, and re type it? Yeah I do that sometimes.

 

…Now there’s probably a bunch of people on twitter who think I got published. Oops.

 

Oh and this happened.

Because that couldn’t mean a zillion things. =D

*you’ll never know*

*waves hands mystically in front of the screen*

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5 Things Blogging Has Taught Me

  1. Kitsune is pronounced in a Japanese like way that I totally love and don’t know how to type up phonetically. Because that’s the kind of goofy writer I am. *head desk*

If you’d like to hear it, you can check it out here.

I blogged on the kitsune originally, by the way, because there’s a kitsune in one of my current novels.

If I hadn’t blogged on it, I never would have recognized it in a tv show my sister fell in love with, realized I’d been pronouncing it incorrectly this entire time, and found out how to properly pronounce it.

I now realize I want to google every single creature’s title that comes from a different country and see if there’s a cooler way to pronounce it (you know, the actual way).

But doesn’t that just sound so cool?

 

  1. I love lotus flowers!

Love, love, love them. They look so peaceful and calm. Beautiful and serene. They look like they capture every harmonious vibe there is and hold it, suspending reality into nothing but possibilities of joy and comfort.

I originally found a photo of a lotus flower when searching for a photo for a post and fell in love. It’s now on the sidebar of my blog.

From what I understand, the Egyptians associated the lotus flower with life and rebirth.

In Buddhism, each different color of lotus has a different meaning. Overall though, it represents purity and spiritual enlightenment.

 

 

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a kitsune is a fox by the way

 

 

  1. The internet is a dangerous place.

I’m constantly afraid that I’m going to put a photo in a post that required attribution, forget, and get sued for the zillions of dollars I don’t have. So I stick to sites that feature photos that don’t require attribution.

I don’t even make any Pinterest boards public because blogging scared the living fuzz out of me.

I remember when I had a Myspace page – ha, do you guys remember that? – and I had a picture of Garfield on there. The actual Garfield creators contacted me and told me to take it down or I’d have to pay a fine.

I put that out of my mind until a blogger I followed talked about how she actually got sued and has to pay thousands of dollars for photos she put on her blog.

 

  1. I am not alone.

If there is something blogging (and twitter) has taught me, its that there are others out there who understand me. Who struggle like me, love like me, hurt like me, smile like me, are passionate like me.

There are people out there who think like me.

There are people out there who feel like me.

I don’t need to explain myself.

I can simply work on being myself.

So can you.

 

  1. People really like arguing over Celtic symbolism.

I’m not kidding.

Check out the comments section of these two posts.

triquetra. moon.

I still get comments on them – which is totally freaking awesome! But sometimes people are just downright snooty.

The definition of Celtic seems to change from time to time, from archaeologist to archaeologist, historian to historian, etc., etc., etc. No one seems to be able to agree on who exactly is Celtic.

And then there’s me yelling like a psycho, “oh my gosh this thing can shoot lightning out of its toes!”, all excited like.

Yeah, I’m not much on the arguing bit, but I love all the interest.

But it simply mystifies me. So many minds in this world, all thinking in difference directions.

Well, not always. We often bump into each other, collide, imbue one another.

It’s a crazy world.

But that’s a good thing. 😉

 

What has blogging taught you?

What has reading others’ blogs taught you?

 

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Something Damaged and Something Possible

I am damaged because I damage myself.

I adopted misery born in my infancy, grabbed it from around me, and imbued it.

I am damaged because I damage myself.

Passive aggressive or active, it makes no difference. End result is the same.

Damage done.

 

Who isn’t damaged?

What don’t we damage?

 

But this is boring.

If everything and everyone is damaged why go on about it?

I have a fake skull with a hole blasted in the back of it on a pile of books sitting on my desk – bought it that way. Bought it damaged. We don’t mind damaged because we all are. We all want acceptance and knowing, love and meaning, yet we shun the damage we don’t personally understand.

I’m talking in circles but it makes sense to me.

 

Butterflies – the symbol of change, success over pain and struggle, of breaking free from bonds and flying into potential.

They sometimes eat blood.

They sometimes eat tears.

 

What about the possible?

What is possible?

 

Everything.

Isn’t that exhilarating?

Isn’t that terrifying?

 

 

This is post #5 and #6 in Rara’s #Somethingist challenge. For my original post (which explains things), click here. And then join the challenge!

 

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The First Thing You Need to Know Before Running

I ran every weekday for a month, months ago.

It felt great!

Then I decided I liked sleep more than running and somehow I haven’t run a day since then.

I learned how to ride a bike.

Rode my bike to work until I got a different job too far to ride a bike, got sicker, got sickerer, and laid on my couch for a week like a dying sloth.

It’s safe to say, I haven’t exercised much *ahem* at all in the past month.

 

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I got back to it today.

Feels great!

*falls over dead*

But seriously, I love running. And I’ve gotta say, working construction really bolstered my stamina and confidence in myself. Too bad my health sabotaged that job. *all the grumbling*

One of the main reasons, in reality, that I stopped running was because my knee, ankle, and foot would ache so crazily bad while I ran that I wanted to die in a hole.

So yesterday I was looking up some stuff on running and ran into some great advice. I’ll totally share, because sharing is caring and I love you crazy people… but first… I have to share the most ludicrous advice I found.

 

Don’t look at your feet while running.

No, really? Who is doing this, where, and how are they still alive? I’d be dead somewhere in a ditch with tire marks from a big rig on my back. I can barely walk without falling on a daily basis. Without heels. On a flat surface.

I mean, I just imagine someone running and looking down, like caving in their freaking body, and falling face first and rolling.

You’re not supposed to look at your feet because it strains your neck and your posture gets messed up. Not because you’ll trip, fly into a tree, get eaten by your creepy neighbor’s violent thirty-pound cat, and die. Huh.

Let me just say, I knew this one already.

Yay me!

 

This would be me if I tried looking at my feet while running.

This would be me if I tried looking at my feet while running.

 

However, I do suggest you look at the ground ahead of you so you don’t trip and die or break your ankle. That doesn’t sound fun. Plus I’m sure you’re running to feel more fit. Sitting in a hospital bed with your leg wrapped… not so good for your physical health. Or mental health. They check your blood pressure every freaking 15 minutes – no wonder people go crazy in hospitals. You never sleep!

Anywho, that was off track.

 

I feel great!

Do you run? Bike?

Are you one of these people who can run and stare at their feet and still survive?

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