Tomorrow will be a joyous day for me.  My husband and babies have been planning some sort of surprise that, so far, according to my loose lipped 4-year-old, includes fresh squeezed orange juice, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with “special sauce,” and a surprisingly good rendering of Doc McStuffins.

Tomorrow will be a joyous day for me.  I will check on the lilac bushes Chris and the girls planted for me a few years ago.  The ones that never grow because the deer pluck the buds.  Every.  Year. 

Tomorrow will be a joyous day, for as I wait to hear a small voice say, “Mommy, is it wake up time yet?” and smile, ever so eternally grateful to be blessed with those small voices that echo in my home.

Tomorrow will be a sad day for me.  I will recall the countless years I didn’t get a carnation as I left church.  The years I couldn’t stand up to be “honored” for being a mother.  The year I was in the choir singing a Mother’s Day special and left the stage sobbing.  

Tomorrow will be a sad day for me as I remember the pain in my heart while I watched people in pastels filing in for a Mother’s Day brunch. Those days I spent in bed longing for the pair of heartbeats that once beat under my own; silenced by miscarriage.

Tomorrow will be a sad day for me as I pray for my sisters. The ones whose bellies and arms are empty.  The ones who long for a day of life in a silent house.  The ones who envy the spit up on your shoulder, who would give anything for an endless night punctuated by the hourly calling of a cranky baby.  These women mourn in silence on this day, unsure of their place.  They stay away from social media knowing that Instagram will stab them in the heart.  They lay their heads on the pillow that was handmade for the baby whose last breath was taken before their first. 

I pray for solace, for peace, for wholeness for my fellow mothers whose children aren’t here.  I pray for a heart of gratefulness for my abundant blessings.  I pray for a sensitivity, a break in my own joy to share the burden of unimaginable sorrow.  Most of all, I pray that you know you are honored, you are loved, you are a mother.

Sex talk 2 of 2

As promised here is the follow up to the first post about the need for safe sex education for everyone across the board but my focus is on students. To be responsible I must include that there has been an increase in STIs in the older adult population. For instance in 2000 older adults presented with roughly 7000 cases of chlamydia and in 2012 the number jumped to 19,000. More info in the link at the bottom on this and theories about the increase.
Back to students; here are some facts I hope you find just as alarming as I did (all information is cited in the website links at the end).

*Young people age 15 to 24 account for 50 percent of all new STIs, although they represent just 25 percent of the sexually experienced population.
*HPV (human papillomavirus) accounts for the majority of prevalent STIs in the U.S
*1 in 4 teens contracts an STD/STI every year
*33.7% had had sexual intercourse during the previous 3 months, and, of these
    39.8% did not use a condom the last time they had sex 
    76.7% did not use birth control pills or Depo-Provera to prevent pregnancy 
Just take a minute to read those numbers again and let them sink in. With all this technology, knowledge and the tools for protection there is something very very wrong when we have this to show. What a lot of people don't know is that there are plenty of infections that have no outward signs and for some reason people still subscribe to the belief that if someone looks clean they are ok. I could go on and on about the different infections and what they look like but I don't want to get so wordy and clinical for fear I will turn you off. Just please learn something, even if it is one new fact and pass it on to someone you are responsible for. You can save someone's life. 

http://www.dosomething.org/tipsandtools/11-facts-about-teens-and-stds

http://www.cdc.gov/HealthyYouth/sexualbehaviors/

http://www.everydayhealth.com/erectile-dysfunction/0203/why-stds-are-skyrocketing-among-older-adults.aspx

Uncomfortable topic 2: sex

I've been trying to figure out how to do justice to this issue that is crazy important to me and really should be to you too. Keeping with the theme of speaking openly about uncomfortable topics we have no choice but to find a way to get comfortable about this....it's life or death.
We are WAY too far advanced as a society to still have so many new cases of STI (sexually transmitted infections, bc nobody says VD anymore thank god) and unplanned pregnancy. Although I was raised in a very conservative home and taught that sex without being married is a no no this post will have nothing to do with religiosity or morality. I feel like that's where a lot of us go wrong when trying to reconcile sex v. safe sex. It matters not the parameters of a sexual relationship when talking about safety.
Just as an aside I do believe that young people should not have sex until they are able to understand that it means more than just something physical and also understand the idea of consequences; emotionally and practically (this is a tall order as most adults are still grappling with this). I also believe that having sex with many people leaves you less than whole as an individual. So many people believe that sex is just physical and no matter how hard you try to convince yourself I don't think anyone really really thinks this especially late at night when the world is quiet and you are alone. In the spirit of full disclosure I was a virgin when I got married and I never even kissed a boy before chris. This was probably bc of a lack of opportunity rather than some extreme practice in self control but I truly believe had I been with other people I would have left pieces of myself with those guys leaving me less than....well, me. I don't deserve any praise for this bc it's just the way it worked out since I was way too awkward and had such little confidence that no one dated me. I thought this was the end of my young and small world but now I thank my god for keeping me from heartbreak that would've changed me in bad ways.
Please don't see this at preachy or stuck up, I'm a modern and progressive woman who owns her sexuality and is not sorry for it, for knowing what I like and want and asking for it. I realize there is something to be said for equality it sexuality....women seeking what they want should not be labeled sluts while men doing the same are excused bc "that's just how guys are". That's not what this blog is about. What it is about is being safe.
Teaching kids about safety in sex does not make them have sex. I'd like for everyone to just read that line again.....and again. This is an especially hard concept for people governed heavily by religion. I'm not at all against abstinence but we should always be teaching a why; kids (and thoughtful adults for that matter) are very rarely moved to the core by rules with no explanation other than fear for not obeying. Abstinence is like a dirty word among progressives but it doesn't have to be. If you are not ready or not sure you are ready for sex then don't do it bc you can't take it back. That's a perfectly good reason to teach the A word. What about it being the only fool proof way of preventing pregnancy and STI? Another great reason. Above all lets give kids and adults some credit; give them all the information and let them make an informed choice. If you think that telling your kids not to have sex before they are married bc the bible says so is an acceptable sex ed speech you will have a kid who is learning from the Internet, their more experienced friends (most likely bad information) and experimenting dangerously on their own to learn about what you should have taught them. They will probably seem like "good kids" and you will think you did a great job until they become pregnant or worse get HIV (don't roll your eyes I am far from being dramatic) bc no one explained the reality of sex and consequences of ignorance.
We have the tools; there is access to more testing, so many more options for birth control and STI protection than ever that there is no excuse....seriously no excuse.
I going to make this a 2 part blog bc it's so important and there's too much information and I don't want to wear out my welcome all at once. Next time I'm going to talk about the icky details of STI and give you some startling statistics.

Mommy, how are babies made?

Oh, it has been too long and my pen is rusty but we need to get moving again...let it flow.
I want to start a new series and really encourage free dialogue not just here but in my interpersonal life, I hope it helps some of you feel more at ease discussing things we don't feel so comfortable talking about.  The thing is we miss out on so much when we stick to what's benign; sometimes we need to squirm to really get to know each other and more importantly ourselves maybe MOST importantly advance our collective emotional maturity.
First I want to speak frankly about pregnancy and I get to do that because I happen to be 5 months into growing a human myself.  Please know I understand this does not make me an expert but the good thing about being here is this is my blog and my pregnancy and my feelings and observations, none of which are wrong..they just are.
This baby has been a VERY long time coming, just about 10 years we have been waiting for her.  It seems important to give enough of the back story so you can understand the appreciation we have for this miracle.  When I was 16 I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and the doctor told me I most likely would have fertility issues.  PCOS in simplistic terms is a collection of symptoms caused by hormonal imbalance driven by insulin resistance.  It's more of an annoyance than anything else and at 16 I wasn't phased by the prediction of infertility.  Chris and I have been married for almost 12 years and about 2 years into things we started casually trying to get pregnant.  After a year and a half I started to ask for help because it wasn't working out like we planned.  We had all the tests done and it came down to PCOS causing infrequent and unreliable ovulation.  In 2006, a month after my doctor told me we would most likely never conceive on my own, I was pregnant.  10 weeks later her heart stopped.  I found out later 60% of pregnancies in women with PCOS end in miscarriage because of hormonal irregularities.  3 years and many doctor visits and fertility medications later I got pregnant on the first try at IUI (artificial insemination) and 10 weeks later she went to be with her sister in heaven.  Other attempts at IUI and procedures done by fertility doctors failed and I was beginning to accept that it wasn't meant to be for me to ever get pregnant again.  Fast forward another 3 years, a failed adoption attempt and a couple of hearts broken more times than we thought we could survive and we are in the middle of becoming foster parents and I found out I was pregnant.  I was in shock for a good 2 months because I had prayed for so long that I would just get the opportunity to give my husband a baby, to never watch him go through another fathers day with such emptiness, to feel the indescribable wonder of another heart beating under my own.
With both my other pregnancies I threw up but it was cute, a novelty, a welcomed rite of passage.  A few times a week I would get sick and Chris would cheer because we knew it meant things were still ok.  This time it wasn't cute.  I didn't have morning sickness I had 24 hour a day, wake up in the middle of the night to throw up, couldn't keep even liquids down for days at a time, spending day after day on the couch with never ending nausea, losing 25 pounds in 8 weeks sickness.  It's called hyperemesis gravidarium and if affects a very small percentage of pregnant women.  Now, just shy of 5 months I have relief enough that I can eat and function pretty well most days .  I still weigh less than I did when I got pregnant which definitely isn't bad for a chubby girl and I still get sick almost every day but this is manageable and allows me to enjoy being pregnant.
It became a struggle for me explaining exactly how sick I was.  I stopped making plans with people because I was never well enough to be anywhere but near the bathroom.  I couldn't clean my house, make dinner, be around food, take a trip in the car, work, talk on the phone, feed my dog or live a normal life.  When I tried to explain this I got a lot of advice about crackers, ginger ale and sour patch kids but I tried EVERYTHING and even the medication the doctor put me on wasn't working.  I became upset when people kept telling me to be happy I was so sick because it means everything is good or that it's all worth it because of what comes at the end.  I stopped explaining after a while because I kept getting the feeling that just because I was miserable and yes I was totally miserable, that I was not entirely grateful and understanding of the blessing and miracle that is this baby.  Please know that I thank God for this gift everyday and I would go through much worse if it meant I would have a child at the end but it is also ok to not enjoy feeling like you have the worst stomach bug you ever had for 4 months straight.
In other news I would like to report that pregnancy causes some other interesting issues...breakouts, crazy tiredness, even crazier dreams, constipation (that is no joke man), insomnia, intense mood changes, baby brain, a beautiful new view of the world, a deep love for my husband that I never knew before, a fierceness for protecting my family, a gratefulness that just doesn't quit and so many more things I am so excited to still discover.
Thanks for reading please share your thoughts with me!!

my first publication

A Sludge Story

MAR 6, 2011 » BY Michael Barata

We always enjoy sharing ROWE stories with you. However, we also receive stories from non-ROWErs, which are often oozing with Sludge. Following is a Sludgey story with an optimistic ending.Kat Coolbaugh-Steiner, from Drums, PA, shares her story about Sludge, timing, and moving on….

Sludge. What a spectacular term for what I have been swimming in for the last few years at work. It wasn’t until I started reading “Why Work Sucks and How to Fix it”, that I realized there was a name and a face for this monster.

Over 10 years ago in a college lecture, a guest speaker’s words resonated so strongly with me; I still recall them vividly. He explained that the way we work in this nation is tiresome, inefficient, almost barbaric and the opposite of family friendly. He spoke of siestas in South America, shorter work days and weeks in Europe and a high focus on family time with lengthy paid maternity and paternity time in the Netherlands. This lit a fire in me, but as I entered the real world, I quickly understood the way to get noticed was to be fake, care more about work than family and be willing to be anywhere at anytime. Work was life. When I voiced my concerns about the erosion of family and self worth because of high demand low control professions, I was criticized and called lazy. I was swimming upstream, which is cool with me, but I also realized I needed to buy into this “work myself to death” mentality to make any money.

The last 7 years of my life I was a social worker in a nursing home. I was really good at my job and had 4 promotions in 6 years. I loved my job, my clients, my coworkers but mostly my boss. She never micromanaged me, I didn’t have to punch a clock and she told me as long as my work gets done I could be wherever I wanted to be. Of course I never took advantage of this, it would have been stupid to do that. I worked hard, and most weeks, more than 40 hours, but it was because things needed to be done. I had even negotiated a 4-10 hour day work week when gas prices were astronomical.

Two years ago, another social worker was hired as our clientele was growing. She was nice and a fast, efficient learner which helps me – since I was the one training her. We became friends and enjoyed working together. About a year later she completed her Masters degree and because of this piece of paper, my boss decided she would make the women I trained…..my supervisor. I voiced my concerns saying that things were great as they were and I just didn’t feel the change in dynamic would work. I warned her of what would come. Sure enough as soon as my coworker I trained became my supervisor – everything changed.

I was told I would need to punch the clock and have a set schedule with a set time for lunch. My office was moved from a bright space with a window to the middle of the medical records room without a phone. And then the menial tasks were thrown my way. I was given the work she felt too superior to do. I could go on, but in short, she was enjoying breaking me. Being a stubborn, optimistic and overall good hearted person, I did the best I could to have a good attitude.

Things became unbearable about 8 months into this arrangement. She was a miserable person and her bad attitude spread like a cancer throughout my coworkers. Instead of shunning this behavior, it became like a mob mentality, a pack of wolves who would discard the weak or non conforming ones. If there is anything I am not, its a conformist.

These people made it their jobs and took pleasure in tearing people down, spending hours at a time gossiping and forming alliances to shun people. When I refused to take part and even numerous times voiced my concern, I was ostracized and in the end my job was sabotaged. I am not attempting to make this sound dramatic, it literally was like watching an animal hunt on National Geographic. I ended up being fired because my supervisor lied and I had no recourse. I had never been fired and it was a blow to my ego, but now I see it as the best thing that could have happened.

Without knowing my circumstances, Michael Barata and I got to talking about ROWE and he sent me “Why Work Sucks and How To Fix It” the very same week I was fired, which I believe to be serendipity. This book not only validated feelings I have had for years, but lit a fire in me to pass this on to as many people that will hear me. I am thankful for the book, Cali & Jody, the people willing to give this a try and all of us who choose to think and live in ways that make our hearts and spirits grow.

set to open

We are all the same
shoot for love but tire after we take aim
our skin becomes an armor
we want to connect but heavy feet refuse to walk any further

take some time and set the mind to open
choosing to know another heart, do better than just coping
i look you in the eye now and give you power
maybe 1 and a half seconds will turn into an hour

see me for who i am, see me
let's be honest and fragile and break together
living without walls is my choice, love and rocks hurling
let me be the sister and you be my brother

i will move my feet no matter
to get a different view and avoid the chatter
your doing your best i trust this
i will still love you if you miss


see me for who i am, see me
let's be honest, fragile and break together
living without walls is my choice, love and rocks hurling
let me be the sister and you be my brother

dont find reasons to be gone, stay present
the hurt is real, its so real
before long i promise you will heal

Still life; bowl

Did you ever get so sick of things?  Sick of water boiling, clocks ticking, lights shining, air moving? Quite morose don't you think?
This picture of me with a bowl has become my favorite.  I make the same far away, stubborn, tantrum look to outsiders that I have now, just way cuter.  I think I was writing my book even then and thinking about how I could fix things if they would just fit inside the bowl or my hand.
Little Kat; I should tell you not to worry so much but I won't.  I refuse to take one pound away from your heavy little shoulders or one wrinkle from your already furrowed brow.  I would just remind you to start saving earlier for botox.

Eternal Sunshine jr.: Rad Random

Eternal Sunshine jr.: Rad Random

Rad Random

Random thoughts, totally self satisfying:

- i dont believe there is such a thing as falling in love, there are no walls to this giant pit.  one minute you are alone and the next your heart has made room for an invader. you are in love or you are not.
- i know way more than i let on.
- just because i strive to love unconditionally, forgive a lot, dont speak unless i am pretty sure it wont hurt your feelings and hold mine in less esteem than yours doesnt mean i am broken, stupid or need saving.  i am comfortable with my kindness and will foster it.
- sometimes days go by and i dont think about my babies; this makes me happy and sad and realize that my mourning was just right for me.
- i dont capitalize or add proper punctuation bc its my style not because i dont know better.
- rules pretty much suck and im way more rebellious than is good for me.
- my husband is literally the best man i ever met followed by my dad, brother and grandfather...and my grandmother is the best person anyone will ever meet.
- would rather eat appetizers than meals.
- i DO believe people do their best at any given time.  it may not be your best or your idea of their best but it is their best.
- i may actually finally be getting that when people reject an idea they are not necessarily rejecting me (my getting it will probably not occur for several years)
- we can all do better at taking care of each other...we should.
- accepting people for who they are, including yourself is totally liberating and way more peaceful than criticizing and piling their "faults" on the resentment heap.

in progress...

i read an article in 'psychology today' that really clinched the other NEW BLOG i have been working on about the constant need to RUN on the hamster wheel, our futile attempt to find TRUE individuality and how mass communication is the LIFE and DEATH of the human race.  basically self- aggrandizing is what is causing most of us to feel entitled all the time, apps to serve us, MTO at sheetz, pandora and spoty play only what we like.  the few times we feel uncomfortable or not amazing we cannot handle it and juvenile HUBRIS comes back around full force.

The love shepherd (NOVEL TEASER)

I don't know what else to do.  So I'm just going to write what is true.  Let it flow from my heart through my fingers and finally let these baby birds fly. 

My name is Lennon Sivan and I collect hearts.  Now some may think this is mighty simple of a thing but if you're going to leave it won't be on account of that.  You may even linger, if just out of plain curiosity, when I tell you my job is making people fall in love with me.  But for sure, on principle and such, you will spin on your heels when I tell you about my soul mates.
I was closed for business for a long time.  In fact I am not sure I was ever even open.  My kind just serves to family.  I spent the first 19 years watching, waiting and assimilating.  There was no practicing, I was too awkward even for that.  I studied human behavior so quietly that my very existence could be argued.  Once I came out of this immersion study my plays were clumsy but calculated.  If I were to survive this metamorphosis the butterfly would burn with jealousy.

Liberty v. Sarcasm

Attempting to be witty and sarcastic by poking fun at what I assumed was a flaw in our fundamental belief in liberty, our cracked liberty bell; I was humbled, quiet and in the end downright patriotic and hopeful.

I began to think about how fitting it was for this broken country with a severe identity crisis to proudly display a liberty bell with a crack.  Millions have shuffled by after waiting in line to see an object that can't even perform its inherent function due to its large character flaw.  As we bob along agreeable to almost anything because it's popular our pack mentality takes over and we become one glassy, wide eyed pair of peepers, a giant hand holding a fancy camera and two giants pair of legs marching in unity where only those with questionable choice in shoes are tossed out oblivious that they should be thankful for this rare 2nd chance at individuality.

Suddenly I realized every angle and weapon I chose to deliver a sting of sarcasm at the bell was met by thick and quiet resolve; rebuffing my attack with reasoning, of all things.  For hours I searched for the weak spot; a place to finally land my haughty opinion into its dense side and kill the notion of universal blind acceptance of something fundamentally flawed.  Even its painfully obvious crack was impenetrable and as the bell stood stoic I found myself exhausted and out of breath; slowly and finally giving up to settle on the truth that this bell not only has no flaws but the crack is exactly reflective of who we are.  It was true then and now timeless in its realism. Our liberty, even as we allow for the pursuit of it (on paper anyway) still accepts anyone as long as you are pretty, fair skinned, smart (the kind evidenced by arbitrary numbers like IQ and SAT scores), homegrown and pesticide free (** preservatives are still OK).

We are born into captivity but even in this are as close to freedom as we will ever be.  Even as we rely on others for mere sustenance and cannot command our bodies into autonomy; our minds, souls and hearts are fresh from the purest liberty we will ever know.

Getting older we avail ourselves less and less to liberty because even though we use it as our nations slogan we continue to compel our citizens that liberty is to be earned; preferably after retirement and with a healthy 401k.  If we happen to partake early liberty looks like lazy.  Work as much as you can; yes, in one week.  Please make sure your kids and lawn are well manicured which happens to also pass as good parenting and works for the neighbors next door who have the slightly bigger, newer house with the slightly smarter shinier kids who absolutely adore soccer and ballet while your 2.5 loath it and wear black lipstick.  Don't forget your car is big but the neighbors just traded the Escalade for a hybrid, as I recall, the same week they started wearing Tom's shoes and buying certified organic.  Somehow you missed that memo; ask Tom Tom to recalculate your route and put you back on course with the Smiths (who, as I am sure you know, started yoga which has them pulling out ahead of the Joneses)

The absence of time is liberty.  We constantly battle the clock and would have been ahead of it once if it hadn't been for the line at Starbucks; some people just don't know how to properly order a latte.  Large?  Skim milk?  How pedestrian.  Now I am late and the time looms over me like an anvil; work, practice, bedtime, last call, expiration dates, the hour my wife finally decided to go to bed so I can have some alone time-with my computer, and work deadlines so I can squash that incompetent douche bag next to me who leaves early to get his kids from school, never misses dinner at home and likes to see the sunrise before punching in.  Someone should really tell him he will never get anywhere with that lazy slacker attitude.

The only time we slow down is when we walk our daughter down the aisle and wonder why the last time she curled her tiny fingers around yours they felt impossibly smaller, are medicated enough to have no choice, put the phone and subsequently your knees down after that dreaded call or when we blessedly and luckily start to see that liberty and time are given not earned and not to be taken for granted.  Work, love, relationships and enjoyment of all things beautiful are about quality not quantity.

Death is perceived by the astute as the final and most grand liberty as the rest try to potion, medicate and treadmill away from it. &F why hi I had my x-rays and MRI read by 12345 I think six people and only one person diahreed witj at the radiologist a guy finger disagreed that there was a compression compression fracture so I'll take the 5 to 1 and nine I guess it's therenbsp;Give me liberty or give me death; it's all the same to me as long as I am free.

Man down epidose #3...the one where the sun shines again

I won!!
I finally started to feel more and more alive and one day I just felt like my coal shovel-er came back and he brought me some chocolates to apologize for taking an unplanned vacation.
I also had an anniversary in the midst of all this that is always difficult.  My first daughter Madison, who left me at 10 weeks, would have been 5.  My littlest girl Johanna, who also left at 10 weeks would have been 2 in May and my life would be so different.  I miss knowing them, I wish I knew how beautiful they were.  I miss planning birthday parties for them, letting them wear whatever they want, teaching them how to eat whipped cream right from the can and watch them jump in puddles.
I am working on spending more time around positive loving people, loving the people who choose to spend time around me and doing things that makes my confidence continue to grow.  I am getting together with some sweet souls to help create some change in this sad, negative, closed minded, scared, hard town and working on finding the lucky publisher who wants to let my book fly.
Seems as if the financial aide for school will not happen and you know what...I am fine with that, other things will come along and fulfill me, we may again attempt to pursue foster care or maybe I will be on book tour ;)
Thanks for reading, and if anyone wants to talk about depression, miscarriage or just feeling washed over my the tsunamis of life, I don't judge and I am a pretty amazing listener.  It's ok to talk about things that hurt.

man down episode #2..the one where she's reminded to see things differently

Phew, it only went totally dark for a few days.  No flashlights just black, hopeless darkness.  All those who know and love me stand outside doing what makes them feel better thinking it makes me feel better and occasionally they are right.  It's not their fault just as much as it's not mine that they can't get it or fix it; that I can't feel my soul or even anything besides an empty shell of Kat...the cardboard cut out version.  

Kind of interesting to watch how they stand outside trying to raise me up.  Some yell and wave their arms, get frustrated  that they don't have the special mix to put me back together, some stand by quietly awkwardly shuffling feet and hands trying to think of something funny to say but not sure if it will make things worse.."will I make her crawl further into the darkness?"  Some insist on busyness, or eating or being "around", routine, getting out of bed, showering, making the bed, some live on the prayer of constant stroking...."way to go honey, you are still choosing to breath!!" and some rely on my promise to stay in the game, to fight, to stay here, to be me...for you.  

Any way they do it, they are always outside and their voices are always muted sounds coming out of exaggerated, cartoon like, open, slow mo mouths.  They feel bad they can't find the glue, i always have the glue...people should have glue for each other but there is no glue for me....there is time and sheer will.   Typing that sounds like a load of crap bc in the middle i feel i have no will but coming out the other side i see the dirt under my broken, bloodied fingernails from crawling out, that's the will i never give myself credit for.

So, I feel alive but muted and sort of slow and withdrawn but there is life inside.  

You want to know when I can really tell, THE actual moment??  When I'm on the toilet.  Just think about it, when you are in the BR on the toilet and it's just you (pretend you all don't take books or ipods in with you) and i evaluate if i feel alive yet, if i feel real yet, if I'm still cardboard, if there's still just emptiness.  

I was happy, no i was proud of my family and friends.  They are getting this now, they are really learning if they want to keep it real they are going to have roles and they are settling into this.  This is 1 reason I refuse to feel ashamed or keep quiet about this, this has to help someone else feel less alone.  I have my soldiers and they all stand in position when this man is down and I could not live without them...literally.  They are the reason i make it back.  My gratefulness brings me to a place of a small soap box.  Stop looking at the world like everything hates you or owes you something, stop being so damn angry, stop yelling, stop trying to outdo your neighbors hardships, successes or front gardens.  Use every opportunity to stop and i mean STOP, shut the efff up until you work it out in your mind and can spin it to a lesson or a blessin.  if you cant just shut up and try harder next time.

Back to actual happenings; I may, bc somehow i have mad tenacity, still have a shot with $$$ for school so...cool, whatever bc i adapt!  Also my first baby-girl Madison would have been 5 this week and I just watched "rabbit hole" with nicole kidman and it's about the aftermath of a couple whose son dies.  It was not a good choice for this time of me crawling out of my own blackness but i sobbed and imagined her watching me.  I wonder what she looks like and have an urge to turn this into creativity so i will write.

I am thankful for a soft couch, hot water, nice smelling soap and a family that truly loves me and a heart too big to fit in my chest.

Thanks to those who made it to the end of this, you are very caring :)

contest entry for "who is the person you are most surprised to be friends with?"

As a people pleaser it's no surprise that I am forever friendly.  I am however, grateful and blessed to finally be friends with myself.

Years ago I read "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert introducing the notion of being one's own comforter.  I filed that profound idea in the "things that will change my life some day" area of my tangled mind with most things that move me one moment and are forgotten the next. 

But I never forgot. It kept coming back to me during times of overwhelming emptiness yet I never had enough self worth to love this girl.

A few months ago a perfect storm of tragedies led me to a cross roads, a bottom, the place where I needed to change who I had become.  I had no self-love but the people around me loaned me enough to hold me up until I started to believe I was worth fighting for.  

This is when Gilberts' words came back to me and I started to see myself as a scared, broken women who needed a friend to love and comfort her unconditionally.  I decided to be my own best friend.  

I can accept her; as I do my other friends, for who she is, quirks, shortcomings and all.  I can sing her praises without feeling boastful.  I can comfort her when no one is there and imagine holding my own hand or stroking my own hair when I need a moment of recovery from these rough seas.

I am lucky enough to know my purpose in life is to be a lover; a soft place in a hard world and there is no better place to start than with me.  If I feel loved I can love others so much more authentically.

Man down...really down episode 1

I have depression and there is no reason to feel badly about that and no reason to be quiet about it.

This is not me being too self revealing or trying to get sympathy (which i don't want), i am using this as an outlet, to get the thoughts out of my head and help anyone who may feel this way and think they are alone.

i have had depression for years but so many times when it would creep up on me i didn't know the signs and also didn't have the self worth to fight it.  now, i know the signs, i have MUCH better coping skills and for the first time ever have the self esteem to want to fight it.

i am on day 3.  a perfect storm of bad news and hormones left me teetering on the line; i could have just had a few justified bad days or tip the other way and its man down....well its man down.  that wasn't my choice.  its like in the movie Ghost when the demons come and take the guys' soul to hell and hes kicking and screaming, that's whats its like.
went to the shrink this morning, part of my get well plan, and he told me I'm presenting well, smiling and such.  its actually not a cover.  the strange part about my depression is that if i can actually get out of bed and through the 1st half hour of the day (which is the HARDEST, loneliest, empty, sad, body feel like its weighs 10000 pounds time of the day) i can laugh and talk and function and you wouldn't know I'm upset.  that's for now and the only way to help you understand why this happens is to use an analogy.
I'm a old time really big ship and i need someone shoveling coal in my belly 24/7 to keep me moving, to keep the fire inside, to keep my lights on.  well, that guy fell overboard or got drunk bc he stopped and no one is shoveling the coal.  the fire is going from raging, to smoldering, to black cold and quiet.  the thing is even when the fire is out the boat has enough momentum to keep sailing for a little while.  that's me functioning, laughing, smiling.  but my fire is out, its so empty and cold inside and its scary as hell.  i just hope my momentum keeps going until i get a replacement coal shovel -er bc that's when it gets really bad.
I'm still talking, I'm keeping my phone on and usually answering it, I'm still crying so i still feel which is good and i have no meds to shut my mind off so that is good (i guess).  its when there is nothing at all that it gets unbearable and i will try to keep up with this blog regardless but no promises.
i told the depression it has the weekend and then its time to get up out my space...we will see.  all i know is i didn't bust my butt over the last 5 months getting my coping skills back and starting to love myself and care about me to let it all be taken by this stupid disorder.  I'm fighting, the best i can
later dudes...  

PS......the song man down by rihanna just came on at the end of this and i never even heard this song....how serendipitous!!

Dirty

Does a diamond turn back to coal
if you wait 1000 years?
How would you know?
You don't have time to wait around.
Instead of 1000 years of patience
add 1000 pounds of pressure and tears.
Press the black energy to make it shine
because instead of the fire and warmth
you want it to sparkle on the hand that lifts your wine.
We made these rules of law and order
to perpetuate our DNA
as permanently selfish creatures we know no other way.
You- the pretty robot
in line of laying hens
and you-autonomous danger of of the mutiny of real love
you go off in the train.

December love

Finally your very own love song.
You are open. You let me open you, look inside, poke around and move your insides, do my first living autopsy. You spoke through pain, over the loudness of your broken hearts jagged edges trying to close before I entered.
You let me hold you, those beautiful broken pieces you think are ugly. I assure you of your lovliness,the kindest I have ever seen.
You know how to love with no instruction just perfect intuition. I am so hard to hold onto, slippery, needy but wonderfully rewarding in the right habitat. You know the how and why of my ways, the crooked parts of my heart.
You Listen to the music I love, find a way to make it your own. The immense  weight of your hands and the light of your eyes matched only by the life giving perfect timing of your words. Writing, loving, jiggling, singing, oddness, hopefulness. Giving love and attention to the bullied is what made me come into a self I now adore.
Real estate in my heart is abundant because of you but the private bungalow in my soul is all you, forever. My promise to you changes with your needs but what remains is unconditional and steadfast. In the end there is no such thing as lonely.

Credit

It takes loads of restraint and is almost humanly impossible to not use the super powers of evil inside.  I possess a wrecking ball poised at your front door and to not walk up and ring the bell with the force of the index requires super human effort.  At times I regret my determination to be different, to be swift and fair.  I want to be a blunt, mean, hurtful bitch to equal your lack of consideration for this heart that counts your every breath.  This heart that carries the super glue and shop vac for the sadness and injustices done to you.  Your range on the consideration spectrum is nothing short of miraculous, it confounds me.  You are really never here when it's crucial.  You gave, at best, some pretty words.   Even when capable, not even a word to see how I am.  I turn into a needy, selfish, clingy baby with no respect who tantrums for attention.  It's not me but it's all I have.  Why do I care so much?  Why can't I just be honest about it, lower my expectations, not need you so much?  The truth is the break feels good but I want you jumping through hoops to get to me and you are not.  Yeah, this is healthy.  But if we are who we say we are we should be able to handle an honest conversation.  My fear is that we won't, we give us more credit than we deserve.

September love

I fear the way this will affect you.  Much more than my own consequences of shoving my feelings down into the overstuffed, invalid box.  You put a lot of mental and verbal energy into keeping me where you want me.  With your beauty you make it impossible to move.  You want a bleeding, loving heart right where you put her.. last.  She cannot move or the consequences which I now see as manipulation; pull this altruistic, fundamental love and resolve of not abandoning you back to my statue place.  I want and hope that two souls so enmeshed could navigate this painful but thruthful dialogue.  In reality I fear I won't be pretty enough for you to stay.  I'm in, are you?  Do you even have time to be in?  No, it's not all a facade.  The fundamentals are like the walls of Jericho.  Will you stay with me to discuss the fake, the hard to say?  Will you be willing as I am to lock ourselves in until we burn away the worthless and build a bond no man can ever touch?  The answer I so very sadly fear is no.  I will be reminded of my place my lack of significance that I am nothing to you as you are to me.  That is a monumental hurt I may never recover from... but we both bricked that wall.  Sadly this is a never ending dream that consumes me to which I will hear the simple and crushing ending blow to my beautiful decision.  "Baby you know I can't, I have no time.  I want to be there but...."