Tag Archives: life

Co-Existing

There’s a hard place inside me

Nothing cruel

Or cold.

A void

Where none can hurt me.

Not warmth

This is a solitary place.

These moments settle into me

With a velvety grace

Lace against bare skin.

Moments

Where I’m lost.

Not a haze

Nothing stings

Perhaps I do hurt

But I can’t find my way.

Life becomes

A thick paste

I do not understand.

 

 

By Daphne Shadows

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Arrogance

Arrogance frightens me. Not the arrogance of others. The idea that one day I could become arrogant. What horrid atrocities would that wreak in my life? Which disgusting tributes to pride would I commit? I don’t want to know.

 

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I Am Not Apologizing

I am not apologizing for feeling fragile.

I am not apologizing for where I am at in life right now.

I am not apologizing for how I’ve grown up and for how it helped shape me into someone who has to learn how to walk, so to speak, now, in her early twenties.

I am not going to apologize for not telling the full story.

 

I am not going to apologize.

 

I am so tired of people getting their panties in a bunch because I’m not someone I’m not.

I’m feeling vulnerable, I’m learning new things, I’m building up strength I should’ve been building as a child. I am speaking truthfully sometimes instead of sugar coating.

 

People don’t understand.

They don’t want to.

People, for instance, who don’t understand things they’ve never experienced. Like depression. They just want people to suck it up, get out of bed, knock it off, and change their lives, stop moping. Some people can’t understand.

I’m tired of feeling I have to justify what I feel.

 

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I am not apologizing for someone else’s issues.

For saying no.

 

I am not going to apologize.

For having to learn to allow myself to cry.

For not being fearless.

I think a little courage is what we all need, not to be fearless. Fearless is the toddler that touches the burner even though she’s been warned it will burn her. Fearless is jumping into unneeded danger. Fearless is a lack of common sense. A little fear for the right reasons is healthy.

Courage is being afraid but doing what one must anyway. Working through the fear, the terror, the paralyzing panic that tells me I can’t do this, can’t get through this, can’t muster up.

What I want is courage. And I won’t apologize for only having discovered this.

 

I am not going to apologize for not having a clear direction.

Not understanding what I feel half the time.

I am not apologizing for making mistakes.

I am not apologizing for being different than you.

For learning slower than you.

For having experienced less than you.

 

I am not apologizing for caring about the things I do.

For feeling the ways I do, all at the same time, feeling like my head and heart are spinning madly out of control, spending all my energy on trying to keep my head up.

I am not apologizing for taking baby steps.

For being emotional.

For being unemotional on the outside.

 

I guess I am not going to apologize for being stuck.

For feeling trapped inside my own skin. Inside this cage I no longer recognize but call home. Inside this never ending sadness, feeling so alone, so overwhelmed, overcrowded, helpless.

I am not going to apologize for having weakness.

I am most certainly not going to apologize for just now learning to find my own strength.

 

I am realizing that I don’t need to apologize.

Scratch that. I get it now.

I don’t need to justify myself to others.

I don’t need someone to understand me if it means sacrificing who I am. I want to be understood, to be accepted, yes. Most everyone does. And I don’t need to apologize for that either.

 

I’m not apologizing for changing my mind.

For taking forever to make decisions because its difficult for me to find out what I want, what I feel, what I actually think.

I am not apologizing for being a little lost.

I am not apologizing for needing space.

I am not apologizing for being angry.

Feeling confused.

Being jaded.

Naïve.

 

I am not apologizing for being unfinished.

Conflicted.

I am not apologizing for my honesty.

For needing my own identity.

I deserve my own thoughts, emotions, desires. My own freedom to live and breathe inside my own skin and not to doubt that I’m justified in doing so.

 

 

I am not apologizing for clomping through the muck until I find healthy perspective in the middle somewhere.

Life is messy. Personalities, reasons, ideals, actions -it all collides and mixes together, clashes or matches, whirls past one other. No one has this thing figured out. We’ve all got questions and insecurities and wonderments, confidence and common sense, bad days and magnificent days.

Not apologizing for that.

 

I am going to sit here and quite happily, quite painfully, be.

I am not apologizing.

 

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Something is Missing

This post is mainly going to center around me being a writer. If that irritates or bores you, skedaddle. However, you can simply get rid of the word “writer/writing” and add in your passion. Then it’d relate to just about anyone. 😉

 

Do you ever doubt that you’re a good writer?

I don’t mean do you doubt that you are a writer.

I simply mean, publishing material?

Do you doubt that it’s what you’re meant for, what you’re good at, what you’re in love with, what you want to spend the rest of your life doing? Do you ever wonder, would it be better if I gave up on writing as a career path and went for something else? It would certainly be easier. People wouldn’t say I was wasting my life or taking too long to get to where I want to be.

I wonder that sometimes lately.

It comes in these flashes, at the bottom of some terrible episode of me realizing that I’m miserable because I keep forgetting that I’m allowed to enjoy life. That I’m allowed to tailor my life into something I want, the rest of the world’s opinion of me be damned.

It comes when I realize I’m exhausted and bottomed out. Burned out. Tired of fighting against chains I allowed other people to put on me, simply by giving into their mentality. Thinking I should be someone better than I am.

 

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It only lasts a few moments, literally.

That’s the length of time I can even imagine spending my life not being a writer.

And then it’s gone and I see how ridiculous it was.

Because something will remind me.

I’ll finish a really good book and look up the author’s website and get that rush. That unbelievable urge to live life that way. To dive into writing, dive into all that it entails. And I’ll remember the heady craziness that writing is, this lovely terrifying beautiful monster that comforts and loves me and doesn’t let anyone else hurt me.

Maybe this doesn’t make any sense to you. But it does to me.

 

I keep “forgetting” to write. To schedule it in because it’s important to me. Writing is my passion.

And yet, I keep “forgetting” about it.

How does one forget part of themselves?

It’s pretty damn easy, actually.

I took a year off from writing, to get my head straight. (Life has the effect of screwing one’s head on backwards and upside down.) The year is over.

I regained my passion for writing, the urge to write, the desire to write.

I even started working on my novel a few times over the past few months.

But I’m still missing some key ingredient.

I haven’t quite connected all the dots.

At least I’ve wrapped my heart, mind, and soul around writing authentically. So taking the year off worked its magic.

However, I keep having these false starts. I’m steadily (via the false starts) getting through a list of edits, answering questions, and deciding on some changes. Perhaps they’re not false starts. Maybe I’m just starting back to writing really, really slowly.

The key ingredient seems to be finding time to focus on things I’d like to focus on. Easier said than done.

I’ll find that dot eventually, right?

 

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What is your passion? Do you have a problem with fitting it in? Do you ever “forget” part of yourself? Any missing dots?

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Personal Neglect (and the Writer)

Do you ever get tired?

Tired of non-stop to-do lists on paper and playing over and over again in your head. Constantly on the move. And when you are home and have some time, you’re using it to do something else you’re responsible for or have become responsible for or feel you’re responsible for doing right this very moment (usually the latter). Never a moment to sit and relax. And I mean fully relax. As in, not thinking/worrying about something you could be doing, should be doing, need to be doing, etc. instead of sitting down and breathing.

I do.

I get exhausted.

I go and go and go and go until I start dragging my feet and feeling sick and start wondering, once again, why I’m not enjoying life.

I think I forget to breathe.

I forget I’m allowed to enjoy life.

 

Getting one's ducks in order...

Getting one’s ducks in a row…

 

I feel like I should have some obligations to myself too.

I mean, it’s my life. I exist, right?

And not just to make others happy, help others with their business ventures, help others with their lives.

I matter, too, right? Following that train of thought, my life matters too.

So I believe actively deciding some responsibilities to myself is healthy, needed. And I think often times we forget this.

And not to nitpick or be sexist or whatever, but I believe women especially suffer themselves under this way of life.

Men go to work, come home, and have some down time. Even if they hang around with their children or take some time to help out around the house or spend time with their partner. Regardless, they know they worked hard and they deserve some down time, some time to relax.

I’m sure there are men that do this too (keep going, no down time), especially those who have taken on the “mothering” role or whatever. (I’m not big on labels or strict societal rules of “men – grrr, women – squeak”.)

But I feel like the more nurturing the person, the more compassionate and concerned with the affairs of others they are, the more likely they are to neglect themselves.

As if I have to validate my very existence by constantly doing something for someone else or actively working on something the world deems work. (As in, not writing.)

I’m allowed that time to relax. I work at work, I work from home, I help with my family, I have other obligations with time restraints. But dammit, after that, I deserve, have the right, to relax. To enjoy. To do something for fun. Something only for fun. To have an identity based on my own self rather than only the percentage of myself which does for others.

 

I’m not sure if I’ve shared this or not, but there’s a phrase I like.

You are a human being, not a human doing.

The point is, sometimes I can just breathe, and be.

Misery is optional.

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Moments

Hi everyone!

So, I’m not dead.

I haven’t blogged in a month, but hey – life. It catches you, holds you captive, and only lets you look out the bars of your cage at the shiny bright outside world here and there, all the while charging you for your time and draining you of your soul.

Okay, so perhaps that’s not what’s been happening literally, but you get my point.

So – what to talk to you guys about?

 

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Well, I do like this quote.

“Time passes in moments… moments which, rushing past, define the path of a life, just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen, to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making, or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed. But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life? And, seeing those choices, choose another path?”

That’s Scully, in Season 7, Episode 17 of the X-Files.

 

What if we had brains like a computer and could pause and click on each moment, as a separate screen. Watch and re-watch the path of our lives, the decisions that brought us to each next step.

I think I’d be most alarmed by the amount of time my eyes were closed. How things began to change when I opened up to reality and the harsh but healing truth.

I’m glad I can’t do that. For many reasons. Looking back and freezing all those moments would be too much, I believe. For me anyway.

What about you? What would you find?

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Are there moments, moments you can track and firmly say, ‘this is where I messed up’ or, ‘this is where I began to succeed’? Can you look back into your life and honestly say you were present for the part where you looked at the choices you had before you and then stepped onto your chosen path? Or were you led blindly by life’s, society’s, your parents’, your siblings’, your idolized friend’s, anyone’s – opinions, rules, and ‘because I said so’s? Did you follow the “shoulds”, instead of what was right for you? Did you allow the whirlwind of the world, the cacophony of voices, so many voices, drown you out until you weren’t even aware that your eyes were closed? Or that you had your own voice?

I hope not.

But if you did, you could always start now, you know.

I love stories where someone has been victimized or stories where someone has screwed up royally with no one else to blame but themselves, and then at age 30, age 40, age 50 – when the world tells them their life is practically over because they’re sooooo old (yet, life tells you you’re too young to do or know anything correctly and you’re basically just a joke if you’re 28… so apparently the only time life feels your life is validated and worthwhile is the whole year of 29….not sound reasoning here people) – they pick themselves up and begin.

Literally.

Their life begins there.

Why do I love stories like that?

Because it doesn’t bloody matter how old you are. If you have life in you still – then that’s just it! You have life in you still. So start now and start your own life.

 

What’ve you guys been up to the past month while I neglected the blog-o-sphere?

I’ve recently been checking out pepper sprays, healthy dog foods, and lunch containers. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a decent lunch container that will survive the fridge at my work and still keep my food un-squished? Freaking mind boggling. But I finally found one today! Yay! It’s stainless steel, so now it can beat everything else in the fridge up. Success!

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Selling My Soul

I think becoming fake is too easy.
It’s falling down a hill, rolling off the side of a cliff. You build speed and keep going and going and going until *WHAM* you realize you just hit a solid rock floor and split into a zillion pieces of glass.
Or plastic. Whichever.
I think of fake and I think of plastic.
Anywho.
Dangle a bit of money in front of a person and we have a tendency to run head first in whichever direction it’s floating down, without realizing we let our brains bounce into the redzone. Autopilot.
We stop thinking, just start doing.
Granted, there should always be a bit of doing and not thinking in life – but that’s a very different sort of reasoning. Whole other bucket of worms.
We have a tendency to sell out.
To sell our souls.

Without giving it a single thought. Without stopping to analyze our own behaviors. We see a desired result and leap into action, without realizing that we can get that same desired result with our heads and hearts still intact.
It’s just easier if we shut them off, I suppose. Quicker to get what we want.
We shut off so easily.
And the evil cloud of bad mojo zinging through the universe (or whatever you believe) doesn’t even have to do much. We do.
We.
Stop.
Paying.
Attention.
We give in.

We run when we should first examine the path we’re on. If we did, we’d see the huge cliff we’re about to run off instead of the pots of gold leading up to it.
I don’t get it. It’s been on my mind lately. But I just can’t peg the piece of the puzzle I’m not seeing yet. Awareness happens in stages. Very slow stages.

(We’re also redundant and have to learn things over and over before they stick. But that’s a whole different story. I think. Everything is connected at some point, right?)

What is this mind numbing? This sudden anesthetic we give ourselves or allow to kick in when we’re not watching ourselves?
I think we aren’t aware of much. How often do we ask ourselves what we really value? What we want? How often do we examine our lives and ask ourselves if we like what we see, what we feel? How often do we look for our own soul and get in touch with who we really are? Do we notice when we begin to lose ourselves, even if whatever it is we’re doing started out right? Do we take into account that people change and that includes us and what we want/value/expect/desire/plan on achieving?
Or do most of us turn into a mindless zombie (and not the cool kind)? Seeing a desired outcome and stomping through life in a blind haze to get to it, when we could instead be genuinely living and still acquiring it? Can we tell when we’ve lost ourselves – before it’s too late?

I believe we can.
It’s all about choices. Awareness. Whether or not we’re ready to live genuinely and take scary risks, or remain safe and blind.
(but come on, who is really safe if they’re blind?)
I won’t be selling my soul any time soon. But the scary part – the really scary part is: taking a look at my life, becoming aware of things, realize how much I’ve been in the dark because of the abuse I’ve lived with. And then wondering, just wondering, as that sinks in, it sinks in that denial has ruled my life… will I notice if I sell my soul? Or can I pay attention to the person living inside my skin well enough to first learn who I am. And then watch myself well enough to stop myself from going numb – the numb that eats away at your heart and mind – and tumbling down the rabbit hole of doom?

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