Birth
The Birth
Eyes squeezed
Liquid
Pours into the mouth
No matter how tight it may be
Murky depths and water
Flood the slitted eyes
Death in its black and hollow cave
Extends a hand, quickly
Slapped back by the light
Which is growing yellow
Fat and bright
Wraps itself around the scene
Like a cobra
Shedding its last skin
The breath which was muted
Comes fast and loud and rough
Eyes burst open
Liquid spills and rolls down little hills
A final sigh as breath is held
Smiles are passed around like Cuban cigars
In the other room
More liquid
Filling and spilling from eyes
The baby cries
-B. Lindsey (original)
9/7/13
In Case you Die
A little warning beforehand would’ve been nice. So in case I die from the vaxx, who do I call?
😂
* Would make the same choice 1000 times over.
* Dying from a vaccine- not common.
* Dying from Covid-19 unvaxxed- YEP.
Another Sharp Turn
Life has a funny way of throwing unforeseen curveballs. This’ll be a ridiculously short post, compared to what I’m used to writing, at least. I just need to document and update what’s transpired recently, because if I don’t, months (& then years) will fly by & I’ll lose track of dates, times, & the events of the past.
Josh & I are officially no more, as of two weeks ago. Fifteen long years have come to a screeching halt. It’s so strange to know that I’ll be alone for…probably the rest of my life. I have no desire to hop into another relationship, especially immediately after going our separate ways. Too bad I can’t say the same for him. He literally asked for my blessing (via text) to “hook up with my daughter” less than a week after he left. I don’t even have words for how disturbing that is.
It may seem like I spill too much personal info. here, but let me remind anyone who finds themselves here, reading this: This is my personal online journal. I document real things and experiences. Life can be messy, but that doesn’t make it wrong for me to write about them. If a person finds themselves playing an unflattering lead role in one of my blog posts, who is more to blame? The person who did the super crappy things, or me, for writing about them? Right. I’ll let you work that out.
As for me, life goes on, as it always does. Shoulders back, chin up, one foot staunchly in front of the other, eyes fixed on the horizon, never looking back.
Cell phone pic: Samsung Galaxy Crown J7- May, 2021
Today is Cancelled
I have nothing I want to share with the world today; no mounting proclamations- not a whisper or thought. There are no pressing deadlines, no stressors upon me. Only the familiar urge to write, simply because I’m a writer. Not a paid one, mind you- nor professional. (As proof of my misused hyphen will attest.) Alas, I abuse hyphens liberally, and probably always will-
…I want to write a memoir. (Doesn’t everybody though?) I’m sure we all feel like we’ve lived through unspeakable atrocities that nobody would or could believe. We’ve all gleaned the golden nuggets of wisdom from the trenches of life that we’re compelled to share. (There’s old Charlie, hacking and wheezing across the street. He lives with his father and smokes pot incessantly. He doesn’t let old age stop him from having a good spliff now and again. I call him old Charlie because he’s in his late 60’s or so, and his Dad is even older- maybe late 80’s or early 90’s. At all hours of the day and night, we can hear old Charlie out there, a mumble here or there followed by a short pause of silence- and then the hacking begins again.)
Please do feel free to go meander off and watch Spongebob while I ramble on about a memoir that I’ll probably never write. But do want to. There’s just so much work involved. I have the goods- I’ve already lived the story, and am still, but I think the hardest part is actually starting. Writing that first word and knowing how you want to tell the tale. So many times I’ve written blog posts- completely- whole blog posts written out and then deleted them, simply because I felt as if I had nothing worthwhile to say. But that’s the blogger’s curse. But there’s a difference between me and the stereotypical modern day blogger. Most bloggers collectively know that content is king. For me though, this isn’t a typical “blog”- it’s my diary. My very public, online diary. As I’ve stated before, I want to leave more than a few pictures of me behind. More than a fingerprint. I want to leave an archive. A life in pictures and posts. I never thought I’d still be writing in this thing almost 10 year later! I can look back and read about small walks I took with my kids, or cooking in the kitchen on certain days- what we ate, what we said. LIFE.
And so, back to the memoir. I have an incredible story to tell. How I went from living in an uninhabitable, dilapidated house- wetting the bed and living quite literally like a wild animal. I really don’t care what member of the family reads this stuff and might get offended. Where was anyone at all when I needed help? Where was anyone when I cried at night, alone and afraid, (and very wet and smelly)? Where was anyone when I was molested as a young girl, at age of 9- right in my own house? So no. I don’t want to hear how my life story “offends” anyone. It’s what I had to live through. Everybody else was safe, except me.
From that hell, to growing up seriously disadvantaged. All the cards stacked against me. I should have been a statistic, I really should’ve. Women who’ve suffered less have been. God spared me though. I came through so much hell and hurt and trauma and shame and rage. I was shown grace, and given another chance. God pulled me from the pit and set me on solid ground again.
I look back at it all in amazement that I was able to trudge through the trenches and reach the other side of the river. I stand now in the green, fertile soil; life has come to me again.
I have only one more year to go and I’ll be graduating with my Master’s degree in Psychology and Addiction Counseling. And still, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. For now, Im taking the necessary time off to try and absorb the fact the I no longer have my baby brother with me. For now, I’ll simply exist, and try to make it through each day. I’m giving myself the liberty to not have to do, think, feel, process, or anything else that takes emotional work. For now, I’m in a state of emotional cryogenics. Frozen inside- too numb to feel.
Until another crashing wave comes and drags me under. But then it’s quiet again, and I’ll know that I’ve made it through another rogue wave. There are no smiles within me. No solace. Today hurts. Tomorrow may too, but for now, I’ll distract myself with another adventure game. It hurts too much to think. I know that all of my training is going down the drain in these moments, but it’s o.k. I told myself that I could be in total denial for now and I’m taking my advice!
There will be warmer, better days ahead. As for now though, today is cancelled.
White Noise: The Blistering Silence
And lots and lots of rain. Taken today through my window: Carl Zeiss Jena Flektogon (film) 35/2.4
My Old Friend, PAIN
Despite my courageous front, there’s no getting around the gut-wrenching pain that goes with a break-up. My heart feels like it’s being eaten out by wild rabbits. Raw raw pain.
When Josh and I split up a year ago, it was fairly easy. I just froze everything. I put myself into an emotional cryogenic chamber to protect myself. It worked. I cried only once through the entire winter and shoved him clean out of my mind (and heart) when a memory tried to come creeping in. But not this time. This time I’m in the fire. And, as I foolishly told him in an email, my heart is burning with a million degrees of love for him. This SUCKS.
I thought Joan Crawford would do the trick- Mildred Pierce is like- the best thing ever when you’re breaking up. And when that didn’t work, I jacked it up a notch. Fatal Attraction didn’t help much either! Haha…
I’m scared to think of what I might try next for comfort. Nothing’s “working”, and I know- of all people- that I have to walk through the pain. Feel the damage. Bleed with it.
It’s just too recent still. Not enough time has passed to stitch up the wounds. We mourn people when they die; why is a breakup any different? I’m mourning the death of what we once had. 😦
No, only time can ease this pain. We always knew that someday, we’d have to let each other go. He’s 27, and his biological clock is ticking. He wants to start a family and do all of that good stuff- and by all means- he should. And he has every right to do that and be happy in doing so. It just sucks to “not be needed” suddenly. He’s been “my guy” for 8 years now. It confuses my brain to think “He’s off to find Ms. Right. I wish him well!”
This is hard. Any ole way you slice it. But all breakups are. This time I don’t have my anger to protect me. I’m just all mushy and made of oatmeal and crying 10 times per day. There’s no other place to go than through the fire.
I guess it’s just my turn.
The Crazy Train has Left Town
For the first time in many weeks, it’s quiet here. It’s 3:14 a.m. and I really have no business being up at this time of night; tomorrow’s a school day- in more ways than one. I’m home-schooling my nephew, Johnboy, now. He comes over 3 times per week and we put in about 30 hours weekly. I won’t say where he was academically before I took over, but he’s making great progress and he’s got the grades to prove it. 🙂 Before we began, I made him an irresistible proposition: I offered to buy him a cell phone if he wrote me a report on any book from the library that was 300 pages or more. Over the next few weeks, he cultivated a careful 3 page report on Malcom X and I made good on my promise.
There are other incentives! Such as this:
I made him his favourite pie (cherry) the other day. It looks a little beat up, but it did the trick. 😉 (I also made 2 salted caramel chocolate pumpkin cheesecakes and homemade red pepper and roasted garlic chickpea hummus. It was to die for!)
Earlier this evening, things got a little out of hand, as they usually do, and Josh and I parted ways. I really hope it’s for good this time. I’m exhausted from the emotional chaos and I deal with conflict in a calm, peaceful way the majority of the time. I usually just “go away”. I like my quiet time where I can reflect and collect myself (and talk to with God). But these past few days, I’ve felt this raging sea boiling up in me, because that’s what’s been unleashed on me for weeks now. I just reached my breaking point- I really did. Thankfully, Josh left, taking his things with him.
It’s been hard lately, but I’m eager to explore this new chapter in my life! Even a year ago, the thought of living my life as a single woman was daunting, but I lived the whole winter “manless” and got by just fine. Sure, it was pretty rough sailing for a while! And I was heartbroken. But what I feel now is actually relief. I’ve waited a really long time to be able to focus on me and actually begin a career. (Or, begin to begin a career.)
And now I’m there. I don’t need anyone screwing that up for me! I want to be alone for a good long while. I don’t feel sad at all, but I’m sure those days are coming. Pain is inevitable. I’m just at the very beginning of it all when denial is still at its peak and everything is “just spiffy”. But the gray days are coming.
I’m going to be alright though. I’ve come to a new place where I enjoy solitude- not only enjoy it, but crave it.
I think I’m actually growing up.
Why Good People Suffer
I’ve recently read a story about a beloved blogger (Rara AKA Rarasaur) who has been the victim of a hate crime. I can’t go completely into her story because I don’t have enough information, but she was accused of embezzling $500,000 from her former employers.
She left their employment to start her own business along with a healthy client list. My suspicion is that her former bosses were afraid that she would be competition in some manner, so they assassinated her character by accusing her of embezzlement, and went a step further by contacting her entire client list, damaging her reputation and corrupting any potential hope of generating clientele.
She and her husband sold all that they had to obtain an lawyer, and she ultimately lost her business. They moved into a tiny hotel and lived on $5 pizzas- hardly the stuff of half a million dollars! For the next few years, Rara fought for her life. In the end, it was useless. Rara was sentenced to 3 years in prison: 18 months for good behavior. (Most prisoners only serve 50% of their sentences if they become model prisoners.) There was never an official investigation into the (alleged) missing half a million dollars. It was all very hush-hush, yet they still managed to ship the case over to the D.A. and she was charged.
I don’t know Rara personally and have only ever left one comment on her blog, but her pictures of herself reflect a woman who radiates love. She’s been known to raise boatloads of money for other people and is an activist in the blogging community, as well as a poetess and huge supporter of organizations she believes in.
Everything in me says that she is innocent. The reason this story is so close to my heart is because I too was falsely accused of something I didn’t do many years ago. My entire family was ripped apart and we were all punished relentlessly, year after year. I wasn’t allowed to speak in court, ever, and so after years of being thrown about in a vicious and abrasive system, I fired my attorney just to be able to speak out in court, finally. I slammed my hands down on the table and demanded that my kids return home. They had taken everything else from me, but I wasn’t going to let them take my voice.
It was the right thing to do. The case took a necessary turn and I was spared going to prison on trumped up false charges. The case drug on for 13 years or so. I was pulled apart at the seams and tested beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. I went through absolute hell but I never gave up. Year after year, the battering continued, but I never gave up. I learned just how weak I was in the face of such a crushing device as our government- but I also learned how strong I was.
So many innocent people are sentenced to prison every day. It’s a horrific circle of injustice: the accusers, lawyers, and everybody involved knows that poor people cannot defend themselves properly, therefore, they offer a plea agreement (which is seldom in favour of the defendant) and most times, the defendant ends up taking the prison sentence because they’re out of resources and too exhausted to continue fighting.
I have my own theory as to why evil things happen to good people. I deal with many (many) people on a daily basis who have suffered abuse, trauma, etc. and who carry deep scars and even deeper resentment. I’ve spoken (typed) with literally thousands of people over the past decade, sharing my own personal story of tragedy and triumph. Why do horrible things happen to people like us, who just want to do good in this world and live our lives?
Why?
And every time, I think of Joseph (from the Bible). His is a true story. Joseph’s siblings hated him so much because his parent favoured him over them. Jospeh had had dreams of his brothers bowing down to him: it infuriated them! Josheph’s father, Jacob, had given Joseph as special coat made from various colours. When his brothers saw it, their envy was so intense that they wanted to kill him. So one day, they thought of a scheme that involved killing their brother, and smearing animal’s blood on his precious coat. They would take the bloody coat to their father and tell him that Joseph had been murdered by an animal, and that’s just what they did. They wanted to defile the very thing that represented their Dad’s love for Joseph.
So, they threw Joseph into a deep pit, ripping his coat from him. They devised ways that they might kill him. Only one of his brothers, Reuben, loved him. He stood up for Joseph and suggested that they sell him instead and get some money. He appealed to their greed to save his brother’s life, and it worked.
Joseph was sold to some travelers on their way to Egypt. He landed in a rich man’s house named Potiphar. Potiphar’s wife desired Joseph and tried to seduce him on a number of occasions, but Joseph was all about doing the right thing. He was thrown into prison for telling the truth. He had done nothing wrong.
While in prison, Joseph suffered much hunger and beatings; diseases and all sorts of evil things. All the while, God had been preparing Joseph’s heart for great things! But look what he had to go through to get them.
Fast forward many years. Joseph had grown into a man and had been incarcerated for many years in dark, diseased dungeons. One day, the king of the land had troubling dreams and only Joseph could interpret them. He told the king that there would be a great famine in Egypt- the king himself had dreamed about it!
In the end, Joseph was made chief in command (second only to the king) and saved all of Egypt, and ultimately his very brothers who tried to kill him. And in the end, they indeed did have to bow down to their brother, just as his dream had predicted.
When you observe Joseph’s life in bits and pieces, it seems so unfair that he had to suffer the way he did. But God just wanted to “give him a new coat”. The bigger picture is a beautiful one.
Joseph’s story is not so different than my own.
In all that happened to me, God simply wanted to give me a new coat. 🙂 That coat is very expensive. It looks like old goat skin that is weathered and worn, shredded here and there and barely held together after years of being ripped apart, but it’s laced with diamonds- the most durable stuff in the world.
The most important thing to remember, when you’re in the fire and feel as if you’re going to be burned to a crisp- is that the heat is God’s love. It hurts like hell, sure it does, and it feels like hell. But His intention is not to kill you. It’s in that fire that all of the impurities are burned away, and in the end, you’ll come out shinier than gold and you’ll have the goods that it takes to help other people who are still in the fire.
So Rara, if you ever read this some day, I have no doubt that you’re going to come through this thing a winner. Think about all of the lives you will touch that can only be reached by becoming the sacrifice, as you have done.
There’s a great need for genuine love in prison. I have no doubt that you’ll touch many lives. God needed to send the right woman for the job, and I believe He did.
Shine on, Rara. xo
Farewell Old Friend
I walked into the living room this morning to make coffee, and noticed that our long time cat, Carl, wasn’t breathing. He was diagnosed with feline AIDS last summer. Many times when a creature dies, if it’s in pain, it will draw its knees in to its chest in the fetal position. Carl was outstretched and looked as if he were merely sleeping, so I know he hadn’t suffered. He ate dinner last night with as much excitement as he always does. Rigor mortis had already set in and his paws were cold, so I know that he died sometime in the night.
I said a quick prayer earlier and thanked God for allowing Carl to be with us for as long as he had been. Still, there’s just no shaking this sadness. Brianna laid him to rest just past these frozen leaves.
Frozen like our hearts.
Pretty Things
Helios film lens/44-2 + Canon Rebel
Somewhere in Indiana/Taken Christmas Day
Speak to Me, Lord
It’s 2:52 am: I’m getting to bed early tonight.
Somebody’s been misbehaving again, and it isn’t me. I won’y mention any names, but I’ve gone and gotten my heart broken again. Damn. We were doing so well too…
I’ve moved into Brian’s old room; it’s comforting seeing his graffiti on the walls, I’m sleeping with his big, squishy teddy bear. I can admit to that. :0) I’ve been crying my eyes out for two days and haven’t eaten for 2 & 1/2. I’ll eat when the tears stop flowing. In all of this pain, I know God has lessons for me to learn. Pain is one of the best tools God has. My heart right now, can be compared to the earth, and when the ground is broken up, it seems destructive and things are ripped apart on a microscopic level. It’s dark…it’s cold…the seed that’s been in the ground for days begins to shake- there’s a revolt, and a miniature earthquake. After much pressure and tumult, that seed busts open, and new life springs forth. After a while, the roots seek out the deep and they thirst for water. This is my heart right now. I know there are seeds of love that are bursting forth, but in order for that to even take place, I have to deal with the cold, dark, isolation and the tightly squeezing pressures around me. I remember that these situations bring new life, but I must suffer the pain first. For whatever reason, it’s for my growth.
I was able to get the sunrise that I was after. I hadn’t taken a sunrise shot in years and it certainly paid off.I was admiring the abstract composition of the distorted lines interweaving themselves in and around the dock, when I turned around to take one final glance behind me [insert Hallelujah chorus here] BAM.
Abstract waterscape by the docs
Super Tak 135/3/5/manual
The In Between
The purples, and blues and pinks faded away and was quickly replaced by a small, white. orb that was surrounded by the most beautiful shades of yellow, gold, and orange I’d ever seen. To make it even more epic, it all happened while the church bells down the street began ringing, as if on cue, to accompany the sun up from his bed. It was spectacular.
I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Speak to me, Lord’.
And He did.
EOS REBE/SMC Super Takumar 135/3/5/natural lighting/manual
The Looking Glass
It’s 2:50 a.m.
Chance is going nuts, ripping and running around the living room. I just gave him a bath. Brian Bob is chilling in his room- Brianna- the same. I should be sleeping, or doing homework, but I’ve just downloaded Tex Murphey: Overseer. Gaming is one of my coping mechanisms, much like millions of other people. Until my heart heals, I’ll trudge along the motions of my life- school, cleaning, cooking, sleeping, etc. and slip away into my game as often as possible. I just can’t process any more raw emotion at this time. Tex Murphy is a welcome escape.
I’m torn between another pistachio and almond ice cream cone and Guinness Extra Stout. I have a 6 pack in the fridge and it whispers to me. I keep forgetting to drink one. I decide on lemon and ginger tea with honey instead. I’ve had a migraine for two days now. (Imagine that.) I can’t do this again tomorrow. After two days, my mind starts fracturing into tiny bits of livewire pain- sizzling every nerve until it’s raw and jittery. It does little good to complain other than to serve as a reminder that I’m still suffering. It too is a welcome escape from the pain in my heart.
There’s nothing one can do but ride the wave of heartache after a breakup. One of my x’s is all over me like white on rice- I’m disgusted. He thinks it might be a good time to squeeze back in. I think it’s highly disrespectful and pretty insulting to me. I know people do that- the rebound thing- but if you’re crawling away from the battlefield of one relationship, why would you hop into the trenches of another? That doesn’t make any sense to me, and it’s the furthest thing from my mind. (And heart.) I think I’ll be alone for a very long time. I’m a one man woman, and I think it’s necessary to experience the pain after a breakup. It tells me that the love I knew was real and that’s why it hurts so much. My friends don’t know what to say to comfort me, and that’s ok. There’s only so much another human being can offer in the way of companionship and support. If it weren’t for my love, relationship, and friendship with Jesus- I would absolutely crumble and die. I have no doubt. I’m not enough to keep myself going- I think of Sylvia Plath- and can understand how a broken heart could make her stick her head in an oven and forget to live. She couldn’t bear to lose her man to another woman. But Sylvia Plath said when she was just a child, “I’ll never talk to God again.” And I suppose she didn’t. So, she killed herself. I think she should have talked to God.
That’s where she and I differ. I love life, and as painful as it is to feel your heart being ripped from your chest, I do have a very close relationship with Jesus. We talk, commune, and just have a good time together. When I think about His love, and how He’s able to reach into every tiny place in my heart- I can’t be angry or sad for long. I smile, and know I’m loved. He washes away every awful feeling, and the bitter tears become bittersweet. They eventually become joyful, and I become like a child again, marveling at the beauty of God’s creation: I rise above the pain.
I’ve gone and talked myself right out of my misery again, and feel a half-smile creeping across my face.
Oh heart, you’re going to make it…
50 MM/manual/ISO 3200/natural lighting/Squire Boone Caverns/3.28.13
10,000 Hours
Chance sits by the window every day, waiting and watching. He doesn’t know that Daddy isn’t coming back. It’s heartbreaking to see. I have to push myself to be bouncy and happy around him because animals are even more sensitive than people sometimes. I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest, and I also remind myself to be aware of diaphragmatic breathing so my heart doesn’t collapse. But isn’t this how breakups go?
I would have given “Doggy Daddy” total visitation rights! Even overnight. But Doggy Daddy hasn’t asked about his baby.
Apart from the $2,500 that Doggy Daddy owes me, I suppose the thing that pisses me off the most is the damage that man has done to my skin. There’s nothing worse for the complexion than a bad man.
SP/manual/50 MM/natural lighting/taken today
I study my face: I see the wound in my eyes. It won’t last forever.
On the brighter side of things, I’ve been contacted by a reporter (editor) of the newspaper (yes, actual paper paper- those things are still around!) to be interviewed next week. He wants to set me up with one of his reporters to run a featured story on me. I took two days to think it over, and then agreed. Really, what makes me the happiest is knowing that I’m to be featured not because I’m an “artist” or “photographer”- but because they find it interesting that I have been homeless so many times and yet I devote my life and time to others, especially in the area of charity. And I don’t mean “writing a check, dahhhling”. I mean going out and finding homeless people, buying them groceries, and giving what little money I have away. I wish I could do more, but my monetary resources are shy. That doesn’t limit me in the slightest though. Just sets me back.
School is absolutely draining me, and I keep telling myself to just make it through this semester (in-between tragedies) and I’ll be able to take the summer off. Push push push! I can hardly believe I got a perfect score on my Health Psychology assignment several days ago: 50 out of possible 50 points. And that particular professor is not easy to please! She is a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact instructor, but honestly, that’s my favourite kind. I learn from them the most. Regardless, the assignment took days to finish (many hours) and was 12 pages long, perhaps? That was after filling out a 45-50 page questionnaire and summarizing the results.
Fun stuff!
I’m off to drag myself to the couch. All I want in this world right now is cheesecake, an episode of the Golden Girls (go Dorothy!) , and my dog.
xo
Damage
self port. Winter of ’09
Barefooted/evening gown/Gestapo jacket
Abandoned industrial park
(After a bitter breakup)
“Don’t ever be afraid to look inside of yourself and see who you are.”
-my Dad
“You have to walk through your past; through the wreckage, and survey the damage.”
-Candy Finnigan, Interventionist (quoted from the tv show: “Intervention”)
“Don’t ever be too proud to cry and say you’re sorry.”
-Mormon preacher who married me years ago.
(God forbid I should marry a Mormon and share myself with 10 other women, um…NO. I mean, the Mormon preacher who married myself and my x husband. I’m no Mormon, but I’m not prejudiced either. I was down with it.)
“You have to hug the monster. Embrace the pain that rips you up. Hug it. Befriend it. Thank it. It’s only a “bad situation” if you believe it is. Turn it around.”
-me
“You have to take the bad and make it good. Shape it, remold it, take the old and make it new.”
-my Pastor (and dear friend, told to me once in a dream)
“Tears keep the heart soft.”
-me
From Zero to Hero
When I first met J, he had long hair well past his shoulders. He was a total stoner, just as I was, and was fresh out of a foster home: he was 18. My brother had brought him over one night, looking for some Klonopin (of which I had plenty at the time) and sort of left him on my doorstep. My brother was inebriated and wandered off into the night, having left his friend behind.
I had lost two of my children to the system some 14 years before, due to a series of tragedies, and so my heart really went out to the guy when he shared with me his story. His mother had been murdered when he was only 7. His Dad died of a heart attack when he was 14. He was sent to live with his grandmother afterwards, who treated him unkindly, and from there, he was placed in one foster home after the next. I was still fighting for the return of my own children at that time, and when we compared notes, we soon realized that our stories were strikingly similar, except he was “the kid from the foster homes” and I was “the parent fighting for mine to return”; nevertheless, we shared the same feelings, ideas, notions, beliefs, struggles, and hopes. It was obvious that there was an age gap- 18 years to be exact- and I thought, at best, we would become friends who shared a spectacular understanding of loss and life.
We talked for the next three days- without sleeping. We smoked a lot of weed and bonded entirely. We both knew that we had “found somebody” who could truly understand our paths, both past and present. We discovered that we were both Christians, and singers/songwriters/musicians. We were also both French and Indian (native American).
As I learned more about this amazing guy, I realized that he had a gift in the areas of endurance and overcoming tragedy. I hadn’t yet learned many lessons that he had learned, and at some an early age. I followed him like a shadow, studying his easygoing manner, his very slow and methodical way of speaking. I noticed that he never spoke without giving what he said much thought. I on the other hand, often stuttered and, especially in his presence, was tongue tied and gushed out any ole thing my brain was thinking at the time. I completely lacked finesse and grace.
I was also extremely hot-headed. If somebody pissed me off, I was ready to roll- and I do mean roll. J and I weren’t by any means “an item” but we grew close and formed a unique bond. I taught him the ropes in photography; how to compose a shot and the importance of exposure and lighting. He soon became my apprentice and model. I painted a huge set of butterfly wings on my wall and he became my living butterfly. (They made for very interesting pics. 🙂
The weeks turned into months, and the months years. I grew to love J with all of my heart, and have never known a love so strongly, apart from my children and parents, but this was a different kind of love altogether. I’ve learned so much from him, as he has from me. We quit smoking pot ( 5 years ago) together, and we quit smoking cigarettes together around the same time. We quit drinking whiskey together and somehow, we’ve worked the worst out of each other and have polished up our best parts.
When we first met, we were both aimless, bleeding wounds in life. He’s been able to comfort me, and repair some places in my heart and soul that were dying. I’ve been able to care for him and give him the nurturing and love that he’s craved for many years.
Although he was riddled with unspeakable horrors as a child, he was able to become an outstanding academic student, which has rubbed off on me entirely. We’re now both college students and can call each other a “life partner”. We’ve literally grown up together. Saying that J is a “boyfriend” is somewhat insulting. He’s so much more. If he were my husband, there would be labels and expectations and such. We share a unique friendship, but with a love and respect much stronger. I’ve often told him that I would rather be dirt poor, living in a cardboard box with him, under a bridge, than to have a fine mansion without him. And it’s true.
And that’s the funny thing about love. It’s such a precious thing in this world; when it comes to you, you must hold it like a child, cultivate it, and care for it like the most delicate of possessions. In five months, it will have been 7 years since J showed up at my door.
“I love this little pitty…and this little pitty….and this little pitty….” J says, grabbing my toes and smiling at me. I return the smile, my heart swelling and burning with love.
Who knew it would take an 18 year old kid to make a woman out of me?
(And such a trainwreck of a person to make a man out of him.)
We’re not the same people were were years ago. We’ve merged into the same being in a way. We can give each other one look and say so many things. He picks things out of my head almost constantly- verbatim- and that’s really freaky, but so very neat. I feel like the very threads of our souls are intertwined. I speak much slower now. 🙂 And I always think before I speak.
My little car is falling apart, and so I’ll be getting another soon. I told J that I will give him this one when I do- it can be his fixer upper. He just replaced the alternator and the battery, and I love the way he stands here, holding his prize (like a caveman) – the beast- conquered.
Life can change so quickly sometimes. One big earthquake can bring a nation to its knees and everything you have today can be gone tomorrow. I think of these things daily. I can’t speak for tomorrow, but today, love is not only in my life, but it rules it. I barely have two pennies that I can rub together, but J’s love has made me a rich woman.
And I’ll take love over money, any day…
m o n o c h r o m e j u n k i e † 