The Dreaded

I sit here, finally less writhing in pain than yesterday and about 1/8 of the pain from Saturday.

The emotional "damage" may be far more hurtful than the physically. I feel so utterly... discouraged. And perhaps with no proper place for it. But perhaps with much appropriation for it.

The physical pain... Ugh. Horrendous. At times unbearable. I feel so... I feel so... unworthy. Not sure that was even the word I was expecting my fingers to find and type next, but it fell oh so easily. I feel as if I am a failure in yet another point in my life. I feel so unattractive, physically, and simply the mere proximity of my being. I.... I scream utter bitch mixed with overly emotional wreck, mixed with avoidant.

...I knowwww right? Yuck!

I do, however, find temporary peace when I allow myself the "pleasure" of certain realities.
Gosh, such a half empty girl these days.
Not. What. I. Expected. At. This. Time. In. My. Life.
Ignoring. Hiding. Secluding. Raging. Crying. Wondering. Ohhhh all of the "what if's" hahahahaha.

I literally want to find a cave... (Hmm,  a well lite cave ;) ) and plop myself over dramatically in it while screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. Yep, that is what my heart yearns for right now... >:/ Hm

Instead looming bills, unanswered questions, and the inevitable and perpetual "self-loathing" dwell and greet me upright each day.

Don't get me wrong. I am a blessed blessed blessed girl. I appreciate my family and friends and new husband. I have so many things I literally do not deserve. That's the awesome part.

The not so awesome part is knowing that and still finding myself stuck in this.. Oh let's call it something nameable and easy like stuck in this "rut."

The physical pain... Yes, it is overwhelming. Knowing it is directly connected with conception.... Well that is something a little less "conceivable" to deal with.
From the time I can remember, as a young girl, I remember claiming I wanted 12 kids. As I got older I saw the reality in that and reduced my number to 5. Now.... I'd take one. One healthy baby. One pregnant experience. One month of feeling totally unattractive and fat and not being able to touch my toes. 9 months of everyone looking at me like a woman who did something. Moments with my beautiful husbands hand on my belly as we experience something together... The movement of a life inside me. The first moment after birth of holding the baby. MY baby. OUR baby. Looking at his...(her...) features guessing who they came from. A lifetime of trials praying and hoping we are making the right moves. Being that soccer mom...basketball, football, even baseball, T-ball, even....cheerleading ;) cheering my baby along and supporting. I want the hard times and unbelievable indescribable times. I want them all. And I want them with Jamere.
So many wonderful people having babies. I got what many do not always find, or don't have right now "true love." I am so blessed. But even that.... Even that has the scary side. The experiences that are not easy. Things that you dare not mention. The fears.... etc.
Nothing is ever perfect. We hear that our whole lives. Yet, at a young age I remember hearing over and over from coaches etc that "practice makes perfect"... Well, have I not practiced? Am I in fact not quite good enough?
These are the questions racing through my mind. I hear the many contradicting voices, encouraging me and softly saying only the opposite could be true.
But as I sit here, enjoying the heat from my laptop on my aching ovaries, I can't help but wonder if I will get to experience these things.
I don't have one strike, but 2 major strikes and maybe even a 3rd small one. Endometriosis "Oh! My blah blah has that and had 452 children!!!" ........ Ok. PCOS.... A little more serve. "Ohhh well I think I have heard of that! You can use fertility drugs!!!"
Why the fuck would I wanna do that???? And end up w/ quintuplets that aren't healthy...? I think of all my dumb ass decision making and wonder how I never got pregnant. I wonder if this is perhaps my punishment even?
Although... I know my God. I know He doesn't work like that. And I also know He provides miracles. And I also know that Jamere and I would be beyond wonderful parents and that us raising and bringing children into world would only better it.... But I also know we could do that by adopting. There is just something about having your "own" child... Bearing a child.... Damnit, I don't need to feel guilty for wanting that.

I read online today about...well a lot of crap. One woman wrote about trying to get pregnant over and over again and her miscarriages bc of PCOS... Other women chimed in sympathizing and exclaiming the same experiences. Everyone gathering exclaiming their pain; physical and emotional.
I don't wanna be that woman. I also don't wanna project the future and waste energy on projecting future negativity.
But I still cannot help my sentiment. I still cannot stop my thoughts... Or this fucking horrible pain writhing through my body. Shooting from my leg into my ovaries, pelvis, abdomen, and back. It pierces through my head and into my heart.
I feel utterly depressed. I do not feel like moving. I hurt. I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like explaining. I don't feel like energizing; energizing you or me. I want to lay here. Lay and cry. But not think.
There is so much on my heavy heart. It goes so much deeper than this. How I do explain? How do I profess my innards? How do I describe, what I can't say?
:/

The Newest Chapter

There are so many "firsts" in our lives.

First day of school. First kiss. First love. First drink of alcohol. First job.


There are so many parts of life that are "forever" things. Our first names. Love for family members. DNA.
There are these "goals" that come with each step... to achieve that "thing." One step leading to another. Stringing us along to the "end;" The all encompassing, inevitable, overall goal or milestone.

As we travel between steps, there seem to be moments; "in between" moments. Almost like an awkward silence in a conversation. Unsure what to do or how you should feel in that moment. Uncomfortable with the present moment, but simultaneously harboring comfort in knowing the moment will be over soon and perhaps forgotten.
Once the next step is attained it's usually so fulfilling. Leading to hope of grasping the next thing in life.

Personally... I have always sucked with change. I love nothing more than comfort. The comfort found in consistency or even the sometimes unfavorable predictability. We never want too much of that it seems, but enough to know everything is going to be okay; okay tomorrow and the following day. When my equilibrium is thrown off with the unbalance of uncertainty, or even newness, I get terrified.

This is perhaps an insanely vague way of expressing myself... And I like it. In fact I love it. Because I get to experience the effective relief found from writing, while protecting myself from the exact thoughts and emotions I've been avoiding. And the obvious: the "ambiguous" reader doesn't know the details of my life.

Ah... I feel like I just took a shot... Or a shit. Both can be equally relieving....
That's the funny thing about blogs... We write; us "bloggers." We supply our "guts" to what may or may not be an unknown audience. We write for some sort of companionship or feedback or something!... I personally don't want feedback or responses. But damn, I guess there is a reason that I am writing a blog verses with a pen and paper or just a word document. My "companionship" from writing is the echo of my words and what I could maybe declare as thoughts on a piece of something like paper in front of me.... Such relief in it. Grounding. Tangibility. Sanity. Empowerment from witnessing "my" words run across a page, when typically upon the initiation of writing I have no idea what exactly I'm thinking or feeling..
Yeahhh that's all I got.

Last night i had a dream...

Last night I had a dream

You attacked me

You were drunk & it was in public. No one did a damn thing. 

I was at work- serving tables. Rushing around; All my tables cared about was that "it" interfered with their service. Why couldn’t I get them their drinks quicker? You came in with a suit on, looking a mess in your drunken state. You walked up to some colleges. They laughed at your drunkenness. You laughed at your drunkenness. You laughed at the sight of me. You saw “opportunity.” You took it. You pounced on me, pretending you tripped, knocked me over and lay on top of me… Strongly. You laughed. I laughed in fear. I winced when you held me down. I looked around, wanting to cry, wanting to yell for someone, but knowing no one cared. Knowing people would somehow see it as my fault. I looked back up at you- over top of me laughing while you held me down. Looking at me pretending to care, knowing you could have me by overpowering me and simultaneously making me feel stupid and pitiful. I tried to roll out from under your power. You said “ohhh, don’t be silly, you know you like this.”

Familiar words. Familiar fear. Familiar humiliation.

I can’t remember how I got up- but I did. I looked around trying to fix my hair and my messed up clothes. You strutted back to your table- only a few feet away from where you held me on the ground. My heart raced. I felt like an idiot. How did I get close enough to you for you to take me down again? Why did everyone ignore it?

Now I have to catch up. Now I am behind. Now I have to work double to get close to where I should be. Now I am angry. I am embarrassed and hurt. Now I see things differently. Now touch is different and I feel double the shame. Now I feel like people look at me different. Now I look at people differently. Am I even more objectified now? Did other men see and now I am different in their eyes? Am I easy to knock down?

I had trusted you a long, long time ago. That went quickly. You ruined it quickly. You assisted in ruining my perception of men. You literally haunted my dream and attacked me- even in my subconscious…. You now even steal peace from me as I sleep. You ass.

4/26/12

I am a sponge

I am a sponge...
I soak it all up.
I internalize everything; your hurt, your tears, your pain, your feelings, your "could be's"... I swear I feel it.

As your soundboard, I do as I am supposed to. I let you vent and expel. With every hit- I feel it. Your release is my weight. You often don't let me provide solutions, in fact you may even be insulted by them.

I take it on; soak it up. I swear I feel it. Not demeaning your situation; not taking away from what you feel or the uniqueness. But my Lord, recognize I feel it with you. My little babies; all 60 of them... I HATE what you endure. I soak it up. My friends, I cannot accept the loneliness or brokenness you bare. I soak it up. You tell me a story in passing. I soak it up. I read about the children and innocent women- people- dying in Haiti. I soak it up. I see the pain in the lady's eyes at the grocery. I soak it up. The young girl unable to look anyone in the eye. I soak it up. Every single time you critique me. I soak it up. The cyclical thoughts of my own mind... I soak them up.

And suddenly- I find myself overflowing. Excess flowing- streaming- everywhere. Unable to identify what exactly it is I'm feeling. Emotions overlap with no definitive lines. Lost in what's yours and what's mine; unable to identify or recognize the difference. Drawing conclusions without conclusiveness because I have inhabited your "weight." As I'm sure you are unaware...
So now what?
This isn't a pat on the back. This isn't a "job well done Mary"...... This is a true fault. This is thinking I'm supposed to solve all the problems, and quite frankly that's quite self-absorbed.
Also, a horrible attribute to carry around as a social worker; not conducive to clients.
So, uh yeah, now what??

So Little With Should-Be Innocent Eyes

As I watch their should-be innocent eyes dart and focus with brows intently narrowed and flexed; anger flows from them. Unspoken. But known.
Sometimes tears.
Sometimes tantrums.
Sometimes silence.

When mixed with the other kids, "church kids," we stand out. Either you pick on us or don't pick us. We don't have guitars for guitar lessons. We don't always have new clothes or shoes. We don't always do our homework.
We don't always come with sound minds. We don't always bring healed or whole hearts.
We are kids. Just like they are. We have stories too. Ours- may break your heart. Our eyes- reach into your soul and question your very presence on this earth. Our eyes convey our story, but don't let you into it. Our eyes tell you we are on guard; we are watching you.
You tell us Jesus loves us. But don't tell me where or how to find Him. You tell us He's always there. But I don't always feel Him... when I watch my mom cry and she's unable to get herself off the couch. I don't feel Him when I need my dad and he's not there. I don't feel Him when I'm always getting in trouble at school or blamed for things I didn't do.
I'm reaching out to you, even though you can't see it. I need you to show me.



Babies, my kidos, my loves,
You hold so much of my heart that I'm not even sure I can applicably find words to explain it. Your deep eyes are so hurt, yet eager. I want to hold you, love you until you don't feel an ounce of pain anymore. But I can't do that. You need a healing greater than me. When your beautiful, indescribable eyes are troubled and fill with tears, a torment renders itself in my heart. I want you to share your story. I want to take that story and extract all the good out of it; conveying your positive future and provide hope by explaining all your potential. I want to crumble all the aching pain and sorrow and confusion and unspeakable hurt and anger and discontent and unfulfillment. I want to crumble it. Shred it. Burn it. I want to adequately show you "the big picture" and for you to understand.
I want you to feel my love without questioning it. I want positive relationships for you now and forever.
I want to protect you.
I could stare at you for hours. Big eyes. Small hands. Infectious laugh. You are so special. Unique. Have so much to offer those around you- even now. Even as a kid.



General population... : Do you understand what this is? What this feels like. What they feel like? What I feel like? Can you grasp it? Can you claim it? Is it tangible to you? DO YOU WANT IT TO BE?

When I talk about it. When I write about it. When my thoughts merely touch on it. When I'm there. When I'm not there. When I picture their faces.... I feel an overwhelming amount of emotions and reactions. Pain, hope, love, hurt, anger, peace, serenity, discontent, awfulness, joy, laughter, eagerness, excitement, confusion, questioning, reflection of self, reflection of the world, reflection in general, prayer, seeking, crying- lots of crying and smiling. Questioning what "should be" and what "could be"... Questioning the mere definition of words, ...what is "pain" really? Questioning.... the mere definition of my life.
The list goes on....
There isn't enough tangibleness to adequately explain this as tangible.

Can I borrow your eyes?

After a long early morning/middle of the night convo with one of my best friends, my brother, a protector... One who has been there for it all.... A lot is on my mind.


I have started so many blogs in the last few months. So many positive ones. Wanting to write about being engaged. Having a ring around the right finger. About finally being loved the right way. About how my life is about to drastically change...
I now sit here... Lay here uncomfortably in my bed at 3:16am (Hmm interesting. Coincidence?...)


I am dwindling on thoughts of perspective. No matter how much we try. No matter how much I claim to constantly see from "the others" eyes... I am left reminded that as close to home as possible- literally in my home- I am failing to see outside my perspective. I am failing to be this "open minded" individual I claim to be. 


Brandon Heath says it, "Give me Your eyes for just one second. Give me Your eyes so I can see Everything that I've been missin. Give me Your love for humanity...."


Easier somehow when it applies to children in broken homes growing up in "the hood." 


But when it applies closer to home. I fail. In another pending "blog"... One in which I will likely never post, I am talking about "Letting it all go"... So, perhaps I should begin here.


You were there 
To see my eyes first
"Father hunger" 
Became father's thirst


Your instinct
Became your drive
Our hearts linked
The unspoken vow


Unintended
Became reality
Pretending
Not allowed to cope


Unprepared
Broken home again
Feeling scared
Crucified again


Rehashing
All those mistakes
Anger lashing
Spinning uncontrollably


Your daughter
How'd we get here?
Fought for her
But she's in the middle


Destruction
The fight whirled so fast
Corruption 
Now tears us apart


More trying
Seems to blame you more
Heart dying
Truth's fight getting lost


Our story
We know it well
The glory?
It comes here


I see me
Your eyes are clear
You I see
Through all the friction


Hearts intent
I should know it well
It became bent
Through life's walking hell


Hurtful tones
We know each other
Vision hones 
Into what we chose to see


Boundaries
Who knows what's right
Heart empties
It's overwhelming


For granted 
I haven't used your eyes
Implanted
Remained in mine


Know your love
I promise I feel it
Tried to shove
It's been so delicate


Here am I
Craving to visualize
Ready to comply
To what I know I see


Similar
Our eyes are so alike
Bitter for
What we can't control


You I know
More than I ever admit
Letting go
Of what we couldn't grasp


Goodbye past
Hello to what I know
Love so fast
Always ready and here


Never left
You have never let me go
Like a theft
We are trapped in our eyes


I know you
I know all the good
I know you
I know all your love

Ring Around the Right Finger

What I wasn't sure would actually happen... But had always hoped for anyways.
As much as "love" has been trashed in my world, it is now a reality and a present tense existence in my life. A ring sits, encircles the ring finer of my left hand. A beautiful, square diamond, white gold ring says he wants to love me like this forever. It says he wants to talk about it, not walk away. Says I want to be beside you the whole way. We are in this crazy ride together. Simple thoughts. Simple words even. But there is nothing simple about the word "forever." Not when it comes to the shortness of its meaning in this life, or the fullness of its meaning...
At a UK v UL basketball game. In the nose bleeds. With 300+ true fans watching. He went on one knee. He said I love you. We cried and hugged... For what seemed like 10 minutes. This is real.
This was followed by a standing ovation from strangers- mostly UK fans :)
This was more than I could have asked for.
I'm not sure he even asked "Will you marry me?" .... The question wasn't needed- rhetoric. Just like the answer was known. Fervently nodding "yes" was less than necessary. But it felt good.
I more than love Jamere Duran Walker. I more than like him. I more than appreciate him & I more than cherish him. I more than admire and I more want him beside me now. I want him a part of me forever. I want to grow with him. Not separate, but together.