I Looked Back

The old cliche says to never look back. Or is it, never look down? Whatever. Either way, I did it.

I'm glad I did though. But there's a small part of me that wishes I'd resorted to my old habits of immersing myself in the Rivers of Denial, and allowing it to wrap me in its caressing waves of "it doesn't apply to me" and "I'll worry about that tomorrow" and "it's not really that important, is it?"

I'm going to be 40 in November.

For once, I'm not having major panic attacks at the impending approach of my birthday, or plotting ways to avoid contact with my family and friends, or people in general for that matter, on that "dreaded" day.

Instead, I'm okay with growing another year older. Really. I'm even planning a kick-ass party with a band. My cousin, who is more like the sister I never had and always yearned for, turns 30 in October. So, we're celebrating together. I'm so blessed to have her, and she will never know the amount of sunshine she brings to my life.

But, with each of the "hills" that I'm cresting, inevitability, comes that reflection everyone has in their life, at one point or another.

In my past 40 years... I've tested boundaries, and set the limits; I've been the student, and the teacher; I've been the tears, and the tissue; I've loved hard, and lost so very much; I've said "I do," and then, "I don't," twice.

I've given life to 3 incredible children, eternally grateful for every blessed-second with them, and I've suffered the loss of 3 lives I'll never know and will forever mourn; I've been Mommy, and an egg donor; I've been my parents, and my children; I've been responsible, and very, very stupid.

I've been a part of my family, and a skeleton in the closet; I've been a sister, a daughter, a niece, a cousin, and the one who's whispered to be "blood related;" I've been the protector, and the harm; I've been the truth, and the lie; I've been the reality, and the beautiful, unforgettable fantasy.

I've tasted success, and swallowed the dirt of defeat; I've been a friend, and the dickhead asshole; I've laughed loud, and I've cried hard; I've been desperately sorry, and I have blatantly accused; I've been right and, oh, so very wrong.

I've been a victim, and the proud survivor; I've given until I bled, and taken until my head hung in shame; I've been sorry, and extremely angry; I've been the bulldozer, and a doormat; I've been in Left-field, and the "catcher" in the Right.

I've been everything in my first 40 years. But I've never been me.

Maybe, it's time....

I Have No Excuses

I haven't post on my blog for a very long, long time.

Shame on me. I have no one to blame, but myself, for that. I've felt as if I've been on a continuous, repeatative trip to the Back of Beyond since my last post.


My problem is that I have, and continue to, let others not only dictate my life, but my reactions and my feelings to the events of my life. I always feel like I'm walking on eggshells and constantly judged if I'm doing it right or wrong...as if there is a right or wrong. Basically, I've become a doormat.


I'm not kidding when I say there for awhile, I just existed. I put a smile on my face, one foot in front of the other and constructed a huge front, a fascade, to show everything was fine and "as it should be."


I agreed, for the sake of agreeing. I hate, absolutely abhore, the idea of conflict. I bent over backwards for those that needed me, and even for those that didn't, and even for those that expected and demanded it.


It never occured to me that those same people that I did the double backbends for, rarely, if ever, returned the favor. And if they did, constantly reminded me of the inconvience I caused.


I didn't think love was supposed to be an inconvience. I didn't think love was supposed to hurt.


I'm turning 40 years old on November 2. For the first time in 35 years, I'm not dreading my birthday. I've not started planning how or where I'm hiding out or how I'm going to dodge birthday wishes and my mother's insistance of a birthday cake, no matter who is there when I blow the candles out.


For the first time, I'm okay with growing another year older.


I don't look forty and I certainly don't act forty. Whether that's a good thing or bad thing, at this point in my life, I don't care.

I will not apologize for my thoughts, actions or behaviors anymore. I've apologized enough in my life.


I can count on one hand, the amount of people that have apologized to me for their thoughts and actions. Not that every wrong deserves another wrong, but damn...enough already.


The "welcome" sign on my forhead is not meant for everyone to wipe their feet on. People could take their shoes off. But no, since I've become accustomed to being walked on and treated like shit, which is no ones fault but my own, I take what's given to me and bite my tongue when it's downright mean, hatefull and uncalled for.


I'm gonna start calling bullshit when I see it.

Bullshit!! And you know who you are!!!


Life is way too short for someone else's shortcomings to backfire because of a person's self-denial, immaturatiy or distrust and, in their sick twisted mind, become my fault.


I was tremendously hurt by someone that I have loved, supported, taken back repeatedly, backed without question when others wouldn't, and always had a shoulder and a kind word when needed.

I thought the love I freely gave them was returned, and they had really changed, and at last, was really serious about building a life together, and making amends for past mistakes.


Boy, was I wrong. Way wrong.


While I agree with the fact that I should have been honest with my family, that was not permisson to scream at me and throw me out of their house. After 6 years, I think an adult conversation, or even a discussion period, was required. Not being yelled at and told to "get the fuck out. I'm done."


Then 2 hours later, a "private number" calls and on the other end, a girl is moaning as if having sex. Granted, it sounded more like a porno on TV than the real thing. As a friend pointed out, if I was called during sex, then it must not have been that good to begin with...

Either way, I agree that my family should have been told, straight-up. That's my bad. But, even if I was just hearing a porno or even the real thing, it is downright sick, twisted and completely done just to hurt me!

That right there changes my whole outlook and feelings on the situation.


I don't want people in my life that hurt me just because they can. How is that love?


It's not.


As much as it kills me...this will not be my loss.