February 27, 2012
Did you ever have one of those bad days, and someone asks you "when did your bad day start" and you just wanna say "you know, three months (years, eons, millenia) ago". Yeah. Its one of those days.
Who am I? Well, I am just your average 32 year old single mother with a broken heart. Sound familiar? Why would you want to read my story you are asking? You probably don't. But that doesn't mean I don't need to tell it.
I am not going back to year one, year 16, year 25. I am just going to deal with today. Because that is all the strength I have in this minute.
Today, I failed, I faltered, I fell. But I got back up. Why? Because its what I do. I can't sit here and pretend that today was just a day unlike most, because I have had a lot of bad days in my life. I have suffered, and no, I am not comparing my suffering to anyone else's. I am not a martyr, I am not a saint. I believe in God, and Jesus, the Universe, Buddha,nature, none I believe are mutually exclusive, but I have fallen on the side of sin more times than the side of sainthood. I have failed to listen more than I have listened, and I have learned some hard lessons because of it. Love, God, Whomever, has always taken me back into His arms, like a child who just can't listen and scrapes her knees after running too fast down a hill after her mother told her to slow down. He tells me "slow down child, you need to be patient, it is in my time not your time, my plan not your plan" but I still say "now, faster, I don't want to wait". But no matter how I protest, I still know it is not in my time, it is in His.
I have fallen pray to so many sins... I have attempted to end my life on more than one occasion. I don't expect you to understand it all. Unless you have stared yourself in the mirror and known what it feels like to despise the face in the mirror, to look at yourself and say, that is not me, that is an imposter looking at me. I am ugly and no good, I am evil and wicked, and the face who stares at me is beautiful and kind, and lovable and worth forgiveness, and believe that face must be a lie, you will never know what I am talking about. You will never stand at the end of your rope and let go, hoping that you will be brought to peace, and if not peace, at least to a blissful state of nothing.You will call me selfish, among other things. You will look at me and say nothing could ever be that bad. Only those who have looked into that mirror will understand, and if they are still here to read this, they will not judge me. The only others who would not judge me are no longer here, because they weren't so lucky as I, to wake up, still breathing, still hurting, still thanking God for another chance to... well, feel human. Because that is what being a human is about- its about pain, and suffering, and lessons, fucking so many lessons, and its about rising above that pain, and suffering and finding some sort of light to hang onto... and the only light I can ever see is love, and sometimes, I still wonder about that.
The love of my daughter is what saved me, the thing that tied me to this world, for better or for worse, through agony and bliss. She is the one thing that keeps me afloat when the world, or more often myself, has gone and tangled my limbs in a web of chains and rocks and weights that want to pull me under. She is the one thing I can still see when I look into that mirror of lies, and the one thing that pulls me back to the surface when my lungs fill with black and I can no longer breathe.
I feel selfish for that sometimes, because while I know she loves me more than anything in this world, I know all the times I have failed her, and I know her heart, so pure and full of love, deserves so much more than I can give her. But I keep trying, I keep breathing, even if every breath is like a knife in my side, and I live for those moments where she smiles, because I can feel my heart smile too.
And I say she saved me, this is true, but now, now I have another to live for. No, still not me, although I do spend countless hours fighting the evil thoughts that tell me I am not good, not worth it, and not going to make it. It may sound like I do not love myself, but if I did not, I would have self destructed long ago... long before she was in my life. I have a new life inside me. A life made from true love, from a light that lit my darkness for what seemed like forever. You have to understand, that while it was a blink in time, it was an eternity for one who has spent most of their life in the confines of darkness with only their sense of touch (and feelings, horrible, beautiful, twisted feelings) to guide them. Yes, cliche I know, that this was a man, but for a time this man replaced my mirror, and when I looked into him I saw a face staring back at me, a face that was mine, and that was beautiful and kind, and lovable and worth forgiveness, and for that time it was not a lie. He was light, and I was light, and I could see it in his soul, and feel it in mine.
You may ask, why do I not make my daughter my mirror, because in her I see the good in me, but I cannot place such a burden on someone so innocent, because the only mirror she needs to be should reflect fairies and princesses and puppies,and dreams of being an astronaut, cowgirl, ballerina, and veteranarian. I will not cloud her mirror with mine, because there is not enough windex in the world to clean that away.
But I digress, as out of this light, the fire we lit within each other, just before it was smothered by, as I can only see, my own demons and the jealousy of those posing as friends (they did not like our happiness, because in it their loneliness grew so much stronger), as if the they could not stand its glow, and called to have it put out, we used the last of that pure love to create a new life. And I say the pure love, because I felt it that day, I knew in my soul the moment the life was created, and it was beautiful. It IS beautiful, but it was all that was left that was pure, because while there is still love, it has been left disheveled and broken and beaten and is unwanted by the very one who wished for it in the first place. It is no longer recognizable, to even myself, because although I feel it, I feel God's word, and I have seen the angels in my dreams, angels who I never knew while they were upon this earth, but who know me now, and knew him since he still was an innocent, and they all tell me the same thing, do not believe the lies and evil that is being shown to you now, because he is good, and he is love. Although I see the angels, and hear God's word, I still hear the demon of doubt yelling in my ear, that what I hold onto is simply the light of the star we wished upon when love was good, as you can see that light long after the body that created it is gone.
So I try to concentrate on that light, that love, the innocent being growing so fast, the love that will be born and escape into what will become newborn tears, and baby laughter, and tiny toes, and the bluest eyes that you have ever seen will stare up at me, and I will be home again, no longer lost. I will be in love all over, a feeling so incredible that love seems to be a word that does not even do it justice. Those blue eyes will look up at me, and my son (I believe that is a boy, who will restore my faith in the dirty noisy beasts that men are), my SON will look at me, and he will trust me to hold him, and love him, and protect him no matter how tired, how hurt, and how broken I may be on any given moment, and I will do that for him. And there will be times that I will fail him, as I have failed my daughter, but I will always promise them that I will try again, and I will not give up on myself because they deserve a mother who, despite the mirrors and doused flames and smoke and ashes, will try every day to love herself so she can show them what it means to love them. I love them, my son and my daughter (or maybe my daughters), even though I have not met the second. I love their brother and sisters, who I can no longer tell I love, so I have put my faith in Him, the Lord, that they know I do.
Did you ever have one of those bad days, and someone asks you "when did your bad day start" and you just wanna say "you know, three months (years, eons, millenia) ago". Yeah. Its one of those days.
Who am I? Well, I am just your average 32 year old single mother with a broken heart. Sound familiar? Why would you want to read my story you are asking? You probably don't. But that doesn't mean I don't need to tell it.
I am not going back to year one, year 16, year 25. I am just going to deal with today. Because that is all the strength I have in this minute.
Today, I failed, I faltered, I fell. But I got back up. Why? Because its what I do. I can't sit here and pretend that today was just a day unlike most, because I have had a lot of bad days in my life. I have suffered, and no, I am not comparing my suffering to anyone else's. I am not a martyr, I am not a saint. I believe in God, and Jesus, the Universe, Buddha,nature, none I believe are mutually exclusive, but I have fallen on the side of sin more times than the side of sainthood. I have failed to listen more than I have listened, and I have learned some hard lessons because of it. Love, God, Whomever, has always taken me back into His arms, like a child who just can't listen and scrapes her knees after running too fast down a hill after her mother told her to slow down. He tells me "slow down child, you need to be patient, it is in my time not your time, my plan not your plan" but I still say "now, faster, I don't want to wait". But no matter how I protest, I still know it is not in my time, it is in His.
I have fallen pray to so many sins... I have attempted to end my life on more than one occasion. I don't expect you to understand it all. Unless you have stared yourself in the mirror and known what it feels like to despise the face in the mirror, to look at yourself and say, that is not me, that is an imposter looking at me. I am ugly and no good, I am evil and wicked, and the face who stares at me is beautiful and kind, and lovable and worth forgiveness, and believe that face must be a lie, you will never know what I am talking about. You will never stand at the end of your rope and let go, hoping that you will be brought to peace, and if not peace, at least to a blissful state of nothing.You will call me selfish, among other things. You will look at me and say nothing could ever be that bad. Only those who have looked into that mirror will understand, and if they are still here to read this, they will not judge me. The only others who would not judge me are no longer here, because they weren't so lucky as I, to wake up, still breathing, still hurting, still thanking God for another chance to... well, feel human. Because that is what being a human is about- its about pain, and suffering, and lessons, fucking so many lessons, and its about rising above that pain, and suffering and finding some sort of light to hang onto... and the only light I can ever see is love, and sometimes, I still wonder about that.
The love of my daughter is what saved me, the thing that tied me to this world, for better or for worse, through agony and bliss. She is the one thing that keeps me afloat when the world, or more often myself, has gone and tangled my limbs in a web of chains and rocks and weights that want to pull me under. She is the one thing I can still see when I look into that mirror of lies, and the one thing that pulls me back to the surface when my lungs fill with black and I can no longer breathe.
I feel selfish for that sometimes, because while I know she loves me more than anything in this world, I know all the times I have failed her, and I know her heart, so pure and full of love, deserves so much more than I can give her. But I keep trying, I keep breathing, even if every breath is like a knife in my side, and I live for those moments where she smiles, because I can feel my heart smile too.
And I say she saved me, this is true, but now, now I have another to live for. No, still not me, although I do spend countless hours fighting the evil thoughts that tell me I am not good, not worth it, and not going to make it. It may sound like I do not love myself, but if I did not, I would have self destructed long ago... long before she was in my life. I have a new life inside me. A life made from true love, from a light that lit my darkness for what seemed like forever. You have to understand, that while it was a blink in time, it was an eternity for one who has spent most of their life in the confines of darkness with only their sense of touch (and feelings, horrible, beautiful, twisted feelings) to guide them. Yes, cliche I know, that this was a man, but for a time this man replaced my mirror, and when I looked into him I saw a face staring back at me, a face that was mine, and that was beautiful and kind, and lovable and worth forgiveness, and for that time it was not a lie. He was light, and I was light, and I could see it in his soul, and feel it in mine.
You may ask, why do I not make my daughter my mirror, because in her I see the good in me, but I cannot place such a burden on someone so innocent, because the only mirror she needs to be should reflect fairies and princesses and puppies,and dreams of being an astronaut, cowgirl, ballerina, and veteranarian. I will not cloud her mirror with mine, because there is not enough windex in the world to clean that away.
But I digress, as out of this light, the fire we lit within each other, just before it was smothered by, as I can only see, my own demons and the jealousy of those posing as friends (they did not like our happiness, because in it their loneliness grew so much stronger), as if the they could not stand its glow, and called to have it put out, we used the last of that pure love to create a new life. And I say the pure love, because I felt it that day, I knew in my soul the moment the life was created, and it was beautiful. It IS beautiful, but it was all that was left that was pure, because while there is still love, it has been left disheveled and broken and beaten and is unwanted by the very one who wished for it in the first place. It is no longer recognizable, to even myself, because although I feel it, I feel God's word, and I have seen the angels in my dreams, angels who I never knew while they were upon this earth, but who know me now, and knew him since he still was an innocent, and they all tell me the same thing, do not believe the lies and evil that is being shown to you now, because he is good, and he is love. Although I see the angels, and hear God's word, I still hear the demon of doubt yelling in my ear, that what I hold onto is simply the light of the star we wished upon when love was good, as you can see that light long after the body that created it is gone.
So I try to concentrate on that light, that love, the innocent being growing so fast, the love that will be born and escape into what will become newborn tears, and baby laughter, and tiny toes, and the bluest eyes that you have ever seen will stare up at me, and I will be home again, no longer lost. I will be in love all over, a feeling so incredible that love seems to be a word that does not even do it justice. Those blue eyes will look up at me, and my son (I believe that is a boy, who will restore my faith in the dirty noisy beasts that men are), my SON will look at me, and he will trust me to hold him, and love him, and protect him no matter how tired, how hurt, and how broken I may be on any given moment, and I will do that for him. And there will be times that I will fail him, as I have failed my daughter, but I will always promise them that I will try again, and I will not give up on myself because they deserve a mother who, despite the mirrors and doused flames and smoke and ashes, will try every day to love herself so she can show them what it means to love them. I love them, my son and my daughter (or maybe my daughters), even though I have not met the second. I love their brother and sisters, who I can no longer tell I love, so I have put my faith in Him, the Lord, that they know I do.
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