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The Girl (who doesn’t want to be The Girl)

Sometimes, I want to be vulnerable enough to say I miss her.

All I can do is hope her life is going well and she has done some healing. Some things you never get over, but I am learning with time, we can become semi functional.

Hell I’ve been semi functional for years.

I want more though.

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New Clothes

I changed the theme. I think it’s a push for me to start writing again.

I’m also going to write really honestly.

Here are some truths.

I miss The Girl. I am pretty sure she knows this. I’ve never stopped loving her, though I fear her intensely because at one time, she had the power, and used it to try and hurt me. It worked. I’d love to have a relationship with her, but I also fear it. Trust and all.

I am moving on in life after so many losses, but in all honesty if I die today, I am pretty OK with that. I don’t think I am courting death, but maybe I am. I’m not going to the doctor and I have some pretty serious things going on with my body. Do I ignore it longer and go till I drop, or do I go to the doctor?

I’m not really into more of the same. I have kind of had enough of the loss.

I am probably more closed off than ever, because to let anyone in that close would mean to trust, and I am very, very, very careful about who I hand actual trust to.

On the other side, I know the things I have experienced, seen and felt, to be true. It’s just that life hit me so hard I fell off the path. I’ve not gone back to that same hateful person, but there is this wall of protection around me and when you live like that, you aren’t really living at all. You’re sitting around, waiting for it to be done. My life has felt like the last act, of a bad play, that will not fucking end.

But still I am waiting. I don’t know for what, but I am waiting.

I’m thinking I know what I personally need to do, but I have procrastinated because to jump back into it means work and I know that with so much hidden emotion and denied feeling, it’s going to be heavy.┬áIt can’t be any heavier than keeping all this shit inside me, can it?

There are things I am totally happy about also.

I love my little apartment. I love that the things I do in my life, are mine. I do them when I want and no one criticizes me, tells me I am wrong, disapproves, or hits me.

I love my few friends I have kept. These are the people I trust and am comfortable with.

Yesterday, I read something I wrote a few moths before the stroke. How odd. As things were getting better and I was happy because of Mr. Yummy, my move, my job, my soaring spiritual awakening, there was a point I admitted I feared what was coming. In all honesty I seriously thought The Girl was about to make an appearance and I wasn’t sure I could do it. That would have been so much easier than losing Mel, Mr. Yummy and Arie. All within a short time span. Back to back. It felt so cruel. it made me ask if I was a good person? I sort of began to doubt my value. I forgot I am what I am and deserve what I deserve, as do you.

With Love,

IWentCrazy

Dear Mel

I’ve wanted to write you for so long now, but just haven’t let myself do so. So much to say, so much has changed, and I’ll never be the same.

I’m not over you and I am accepting I never will be. I’m not walking around crying all the time and it doesn’t consume me 24/7 like the first year, but the wound has not healed. Sean is gone. He pretty much checked out when you had the stroke. He didn’t even wait for you to die. As soon as I went into my best friend is dying mode, he checked out because it didn’t fit with his carefree, no responsibility, my joy comes from my bike and a bottle, lifestyle. Do I regret it? No, I had to know and now I do. It is a relief to have let go of the last 16 years of loving and missing a memory.

In the midst of losing everyone close to me, I lost my job. Girl, I got fired. Never have I been fired and it totally fucked with my sense of worth. I got fired June 20th and was back to employment by September 1st. The day I got fired, I was headed to sign a lease on a great house. I couldn’t pull the trigger knowing I lost my job, so I am again, without my own doors. The goal is to be moved before December. I;m waiting for my sister to get back from an out of town job and then, we look again. They boys are going to help me move, though they don’t know it completely yet.

I miss our talks and our laughs. You, as my soul mate, fed my soul. It misses you, as do I. I can’t help but feel like you knew it was time to check out.Can you believe the state of the world? Trump is the GOP Nominee. The DNC stole the election from Sanders. Republicans have been invading the party of the donkey and they have become the new Dempublicans. It’s a free for all on Black lives, because we SAY #BlackLivesmatter, but you know us, our words and actions differ. We ain’t woke yet.

The last Indian Wars have started. Currently we have #StandingRock, #BakkenPipelineReistance, #MississippiStand, all protecting the fact that #WaterIsLife and the people say #NoDAPL. I pray we #GetWoke. If not, I’ll be joining you a lot sooner, than I thought.

I feel such guilt at NOT being at Standing Rock.screenshot_2016-07-16-16-40-53

Someone in my family had this done. This is NOT MY DNA test, but that of an older sibling so since we have the same parents…I personally think this test is not accurate for what I want to know. I also don’t trust anyone who just wants to sell me a membership. We talked about this when you were alive. You knew the reasons I wanted the multi thousand dollar test verses the ones from genealogy sites The Native Signature is there. I AM Indigenous. I’ll never know my tribe and I remain a split feather, but it’s there. The fight is now Spanish or Mexican. My sister denounces any Mexican blood, but since “Mexican” is the result of rape by Spaniards and the Nican Tlaca, I identify for now, as NicanTlaca, Indigenous and European.

I miss your huge tiny being. My new job (Driving for a catering company) gives me a lot of time to think about you. I think about you EVERY DAY multiple times a day. I sometimes carry your ashes with me. I haven’t snorted them yet.

I really miss you my love. I will leave you for now, with images close to my heart.

Forever yours,

CDS

Ramble

What is it I want to say to her?

She’s been gone over a year now, and I still miss her every fucking day. The pain hasn’t gone away, but it has lessened some.

There are just so many things I would have told her in 365 plus days. Most of my year has been really shitty, because I have been dealing with losing her. The loss of her so dwarfed any loss I have ever known before.

It dwarfed the loss of practically everything. In a way, I lost myself. The me I had become, the open, loving, happy, and hopeful person. I was a person living with intent, and doing the things I was creating in my life and losing her just…FUBAR. In all ways.

I’m still here. I am still living and though I am happy, I am depressed. I don’t want to stay in this place. The loss of her was so, so deep. I truly feel most people don’t understand it. Yes, she was my best friend, but she was so much more. She was my sister, at times my mother, and at times my kid. She was my soul mate and I never understood that, till that moment I told her as much as she lay there on life support. At least, to my clouded and blacked out memories of those 11 days in Texas, she was still on life support at that point. What room were we in? NICU or Hospice? I really don’t remember.

I remember in NICU, walking into her room and it was empty. My heart started beating out of my chest. I thought she had died. I don’t even remember why she wasn’t in her room when I got there, I just remember them telling me she had been taken to someplace and she would be back.

I remember going into the Emergency room, after we removed the life support, after I asked her what she needed. Her eyes looked at mine and I knew, she needed/wanted life. I asked her as much, “You want to live huh?” I remember her responding with a slight nod and tears. I remember panicking and asking her if she wanted me to get the doctors, nurses and, machines back? She responded with a negative nod. I asked her, “What are you going to do, just fight till you can’t fight anymore?” She, nodded yes. I replied that I was there to hold her hand. I remember we cried together. I remember walking the halls later and just wanting to scream my mother fucking lungs out and never stop. It was in my head and my heart and it just needed out. I had NO CLUE how to process what was happening before my eyes. I found myself in the ER, falling apart, crying that my best friend was in NICU dying and I didn’t know what to do. They made me fill out paperwork. Eventually, I left. I just got up and walked out after a while, sitting in a room, crying. I walked the halls. I sneaked outside and smoked a joint. I went back to her.

I remember so much, but it’s foggy, blurred, blacked out.

I remember that sound in my head, at that final meeting with doctors and the final MRI results. I remember asking if once the ventilator, catheter, and attendants started, would there ever be life without them. I remember being told no. I remember the doctor saying her reality would be fuzzy and dream-state like, forever. I remembered her coming to me the night before in that not asleep, not awake state. Showing me myself, leaning over her in the hospital bed earlier that day. I could see the shape of my long hair, under Dylan’s Carhardt hat. I knew it was myself and I knew it was how she was seeing me. Then there was that sound in my head. It was the collective sound of everyone in that room knowing she was coming off life support. It was the sound of comprehension. It was the sound of everything secure, being destroyed. It was loud, ripping, wailing, deep and long in duration.

I began typing this over three weeks ago. So sad I was on the day I was writing, I left it in draft at “I remember that sound in my head…” Here I sit, 1 year, 1 month and 1 day after your death, wondering if you would be proud of me for still being here. Wondering if I am crazy, because I know you so well, that when other people say, “She wouldn’t want you to mourn forever.” I have to try not to laugh at them. I think you would have secretly loved that I loved you so much it wrecked me. I think you would approve of the depths of my grief and how I have been unable to step beyond it. I think you would think, it was appropriate and that your human form would have been saddened at it, yet loved it. Now, however, I wonder if you would be proud of me for wanting to get back on track with where I was?

I’ll always be sad that you left. My life will never be the same, but I have definitely learned much, in many ways.

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Indifference

It’s what I have come to feel.

She hurled hate at me. She blames, blames, blames, but has no desire to know the truth. She hides, safe in the bubble of familiar.

She watches me. Pretty odd for someone who doesn’t give a shit. I care, but I don’t. I will never set myself up to be punished by her again. Were she to try and contact me, I don’t know how far I would be willing to go. I will never turn away someone I love. Make no mistake, I love her, but I also will never let a dog who bites, bite me again. I am also very , very unlikely to bring her around Mr. Yummy. I keep him safe. We may have been through some shit this last year, but we are finally talking. There is finally some fire burning again, and he is…above my abusive and abusing past.

I feel less and less for her, because that is what SHE wants. I don’t know if I would ever turn it around or could trust again.

This is not what I ever wanted, but I am OK with it, because I have to be OK with it. Unlike her (you, because I know your eyes or someone else is checking in) I don’t stalk. I am strong enough to face anything. Surviving the losses I have survived the last five years, has taught me this.

So the hate she invests in me, is not hurting me. I don’t feel it, seething and eating away and robbing her soul of peace. It doesn’t hurt me, not like it hurts her. It has actually started to fade, because I have no choice.

I took a new step yesterday. It’s one I have been thinking of doing for a few years, to ratchet up that Spiritual journey.

Sometimes baby steps are actually micro steps.

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