~We promised to never make promises, but my forevers and his nevers makes liars of us both~

A girl just needs to unplug every once in awhile.  No phone, no cell, no email, no text…just…solitude.  Time to recoup and organize and plan.  That’s what I did this weekend.  That would seem like a good thing…but it wasn’t.  I don’t just think, I over think things.  I don’t analyze, I scrutinize.  I don’t plan things, I fret over them.  So what could have been a nice unplugged weekend turned into an overanalyzed scrutiny of my life.

 

Thing is, my life isn’t bad really.  Sure, I hate my job and my car is hinky and every time I look around my place I notice more things I need to get, but that’s nothing.  I’m grateful to be working, glad that I have a car, and ecstatic that I have my own place again.  I’m not in a relationship but besides missing some cuddle time here or there, I’m pretty cool with that.  So it’s not like I have a bad things going on here.  But when I sit and over think things, it depresses the hell out of me. 

 

You know, I want to be able to go out and have some fun.  I want to buy new clothes and go to the casino or the bar and just hang out.  But I can’t, most times.  I have some extra money some pay weeks, then the next I have none, so I always have to spend like I have none.  Then there’s my car, what loves to slip in and out of gear on me. In all honesty, I’m scared shitless to drive that thing.  I’m always afraid it’ll start rolling back and just keep going or roll back into another car or stall in the middle of an intersection.  The entire time I drive my hands are just white from gripping the wheel so hard.  People all go out after work or on the weekends and hang out at each others houses or go to the moves or whatever, and here I am, broke with a finiky car and no real way to entertain people when they come over.  And people get sick of dealing with getting excuses so eventually they just stop asking.  Stop calling.  Stop coming by.  And I don’t blame them.  I feel like a square peg forever trying to shove myself into a round hole.  That’s generally why I don’t stay friends with the same people long or deal with my family much.  They think I am avoiding them, when really I’m trying to avoid everything BUT them

 

I go through these cycles where I crave to be around people and then I feel the need to retreat for awhile.  Because I always feel like the odd man out and I envy that other people can just get up and go or do whatever while I’m trying to get my shit together and basically just always handing out a string of excuses.  I’m thinking its time to retreat for awhile…not that I was really all out and about in the first place.  Truth is, I hate the way I make myself feel, and right now I just feel like an intruder…a third wheel…an ungrateful asshole.  So I guess it’s time to retreat again to make myself feel better. It only seems like the right thing to do so I don’t feel like I’m bothering people all the time.

 

Then again, that’s just tonight.  That’s just how I feel right now after thinking myself to death all weekend.  Tomorrow I’ll probably feel totally different.

 

I’m really starting to think I need some medication.

Sometimes I’m really glad I’ve never had any children.

Today I was perusing through the Dollar General to grab a soda on my way to work, when this…kid…walked in and started screaming about getting some cookies and a doll.  I mean SCREAMING…like someone was chasing her with a knife or something.  Like, bloody murder screaming.  She was going up and down every aisle after her mom screeching with her face all red and her hands tearing at her blond hair.  She looked like a little dirty faced fallen angel, I’ll admit that.  I can tell she was a little demon though.  Her mother looked like she was on the very edge of her sanity as she raced around in front of the screamer, begging her to be quiet.  Begging her.  A freaking 3 year old.  Every one in the store was getting pissed off and giving her dirty looks as they wandered from place to place.  They came down my aisle and her wail pitched higher and I couldn’t take it anymore.  I looked down at her and said, “Seriously?!?  Are you kidding me?!?”   She hiccuped and stared up at me wide eyed while her wail died down to a whimper.  She then backed away from me and tried to hide behind her mom.  I sighed and looked up at the mom and she seemed as if she didn’t know if she wanted to say thank you or fuck you, so I just rolled my eyes and walked away.  I know I shouldn't have said anything, but the mom wasn't saying anything and the girl was just getting louder and louder and more obnoxious and it was ringing in my ears.  A teen in a short army skirt next to me laughed and her friend said "Thank God!", but a couple of older people stared at me as if I had slapped her or something.  These were the same ones shooting the pair dirty looks of death as they passed.  I started feeling like I was the bad guy.  I was so aggravated I didn’t feel like waiting in line so I just slammed my stuff on the shelf and walked out.

I mean, really…what the fuck?  I remember when I used to go to the store with my mom.  She would warn us before hand not to ask for anything or act up or she’d knock the shit out of us.  It worked on me.  I never asked for anything.  I would just slide it into the cart when she turned her head.  Or I’d steal it.  I was a little kleptomaniac.  I was forever stealing match box cars.  My brother would wander off and hide.  We were bad, but we were the quiet, unobtrusive kind of bad.  I never would have dreamed of pulling off any of the shit that little girl was doing today.  My mom would have knocked my fucking teeth down my throat.  That’s the school of learning I grew up in.  Not that my mom was abusive or anything, I got beatings but not a lot.  And most of them, I really did deserve it.  And I know most people grew up in that same stigma.  So can someone please tell me why the fuck all these little kids are so out of control?  Why are parents begging babies to be quiet or trying to bribe them with shit?  That’s the fucking problem right there.  No authority.  Kids aren’t stupid.  They know when someone is in control or not and they know just what buttons to push.  If you’re a wimp, they will punk you.

Let me tell you something.  I have a three strike rule.  I’ll say stop or no three times before I’ll pop a kid.  I don’t care if you’re my kid, the neighbor’s kid, whoever.  If they are left in my care, they are under the three strike rule.  And you can say that’s mean or cruel or whatever, but I ain’t letting no kids drive me crazy.  And the funny thing is, kids like me.  The same ones that the moms can’t control, come stay with me awhile and end up listening to me more than their mom.  Because I’m not mean about it, I’m just…serious.  I can play with them and be silly and talk to them, but when I say no, I mean it.  And after awhile, they respect it.  I don’t know exactly why.  I guess I just have a knack with kids.  Which is why I always wanted to be a mom.  But then I look at how easily I get aggravated and think that I don’t have the patience and that I would be a bad mom.  That and I don’t want my kids growing up with brats like the little fallen angel.  Personalities rub off sometimes, you know?

I don’t really know what my point was.  I was just thinking about kids and whether or not I still wanted to be a mommy.  Every now and again, the yearning hits me and I start rubbing my belly and scribbling down baby names and wandering who would make a good baby daddy (even though it’s just for the sperm).  It was odd that I was feeling that way last night, sad even because I was still childless and I had always thought I’d have a child by this age.  Then I saw that woman and that screamer.  It’s not guaranteed that you’ll have a good kid, a cute kid, or even a kid that likes you.  Hell, my own cat loved my brother more and I’m the one that took care of her!!  My time to decide is running out. I’m not a spring chick anymore and the older I get, the less likely I’ll have an Oops…or a Yay for that matter.

With the world the way it is, do I really want to bring someone else into it?  Is that the real question or am I just afraid of how I would be?

I hope I have enough time to figure it out.

Time.

I wonder how many people truly know the value of time.  I think most people are too busy thinking of what they can get, what they can do, and when they can do it to really sit back and think about time.  About how it passes quickly and slowly…how it can suspend on forever as it passes in a blink.  I know I rarely sit and think about it.  Yesterday I got some news and since then I have been thinking about time and what it means to people.

Like what does time mean to someone with a terminal illness?  Someone in jail?  Someone in an abusive relationship?  Someone in a great relationship? What does it mean to someone losing their hearing or going blind?  An expectant parent? Someone about to get married?  What does time mean to the person that feels themselves dying and knows they are taking their last breath?  Is time a blessing to these people or a curse?  I find myself trying to put myself in their shoes.  Imagining I was dying or waiting for my winnings to post into my account.  In other words, I put most things into the categories of elation or devastation.  What would I do with my time?

But the ones I wonder about the most are the ones that are posed with the term never.  Like, you will never talk again.  Never walk again.  You will never see your child again.  Spouse again.  Never have a child. You will never be free again.  How can one deal with the term never turning into forever for them?  I don’t think I could deal with it.  There’s a lot of things I take for granted, but there’s also a lot of things I deeply appreciate.  I love that I can hear, even when it’s something annoying, I appreciate the fact that I hear it.  I love music, poetry, and voices.  I am entranced by them.  When I was younger I used to fall into trances listening to things.  Sometimes I would just snap out of it and realize I was just gone for a minute, drool dripping from my lip and everything.  Wow.  I had totally forgotten about that until I just wrote it.  I was a really weird kid.  But I’m the same way with looking at things.  Sometimes shapes and colors put me in a daze.  I love being able to see sunsets and winter skies and flowers blooming and leaves turning colors.  I honestly think I would go insane if I couldn’t hear or see.

Could I live if I was confined to a cell?  I don’t know.  Someone asked me that before and after thinking about it, I said I would kill myself.  Not out of vanity or anything, but I couldn’t live on display like that.  The constant fear, no privacy, generic food…I really do believe I would kill myself if I didn’t worry myself to death.  And dying.  What if I were dying?  Would I become brave and do all the things I’ve always wanted to do, or would I become so enveloped in the idea of dying I waste what little time I have left being bitter and afraid?  I wonder what kind of person I would truly be when faced with such adversity.

And how much time has passed while I’ve wondered about these things?  While you were reading my mundane thoughts?

I got some news yesterday that has had me thinking about the constraints of time and about how much of it I waste being ungrateful, angry, or afraid.  It makes me want to strive to be a better person and appreciate every moment that I have left.  I wish I could speak about what it is I was told, but it I’m still trying to process it myself.

I’ll save that one for another time.

Today is Halloween.  

Except for the few kids I saw walking home from school in costumes, I wouldn’t have known it from any other day.  It’s kind of sad really, growing older and seeing so many things through different eyes.  I used to love Halloween.  We would get dressed up in the cheapest, dumbest costumes (usually homemade shit) and hit the streets hard as hell as soon as we got home.  We had a whole system devised.  We would go out early with the younger kids, come home and take a break, then go out again later after the houses restock the better candy for older kids.  After that we’d convene to the living room floor where the great candy swap would begin.  Luckily, one brother didn’t really care much for candy and the other liked a bunch of the crappy candy like candy corn and the really sweet stuff.  So we’d (me and the oldest brother-cousin) make out like bandits.  I don’t really have that much of a sweet tooth, but I’d stock up on chocolate and horde it for a whole year.  I got to dress up like an idiot and run the streets late collecting candy from strangers.  It was awesome.

I stopped trick or treating when I was 14.  After my bother-cousin Damien left home, none of us went out anymore.  I don’t know if it was because he was gone or the thrill was gone, but I haven’t felt the same about Halloween since I was 14.  I guess that’s comes along with growing up.  But for whatever reason today, I felt a pang of loss looking at the empty streets as I drove to work.  I felt…really old.

Doesn’t anyone have any stupid fun anymore?  Aren’t there any kids out there just…being kids?  I mean, I know Halloween is stupid…but that’s the freaking point!  You get to dress up like Vader or Spongebob or Wonder Woman and wander the streets with your motley crew and pander for candy till way after dark.  There was freedom in that…just being masked and silly and running around like hooligans. No one really does that anymore.  I rarely see kids trick or treating.  Just like I rarely see kids outside “playing”.  It’s a sad thing, what the world has become.  Kids don’t even know how to be kids these days.  What the fuck is that about?

I admit, my childhood basically sucked, but there are some things I wouldn’t trade for all the Ipods and Ice Cream outfits in the world.  I used to ride my bike for hours.  We played in fields and back in the woods…games like freeze tag or catch a girl get a girl.  I wrestled around with my brothers.  I watched racist or homo erotic cartoons like Bugs Bunny and Popeye and laughed my ass off.  I wore mix match, bummy hand me downs after school to play.  I had school yard fist fights.  I passed notes in school to girlfriends I talked to all day.  I had real friendships.  Real crushes.  Real heartaches and genuine enemies.  I dressed up for Halloween.  I hunted for eggs at Easter.  I put my teeth under my pillow.  I was scared of the boogyman.  I believed in fairy tales.  The Muppets were the coolest thing ever.  Santa Clause was the man.

For all the bling and bullshit that is festering in this world, I can look back and say I had a real childhood and I am proud of it.  Thinking about it now, it was the best time in my life.  My heart grieves for kids that are in such a rush to bypass being a kid.  You have no idea what you’re missing…or what you’re wishing for.  Losing your childhood is like losing a piece of your soul.  And parents that allow their kids to grow up before their time need to be pistol whipped.  Buying little Benny 200$ sneakers and showing little Becky how to do booty dances ain’t fucking cute.  It sends a message.  It starts a trend.  They are as much at fault as society is.   Most parents are too wrapped up in their own lives to be concerned about the quality of their childrens’.  I look at a lot of these kids and shake my head.  It really makes me glad that I don’t have kids most times.  I wouldn’t want my kid to be friends with any of these moronic mother fuckers I see trolling the streets.  I wish more than anything these kids could just stop and enjoy it.  Stop being so damn serious.  It only gets worse.

I’m a thirty one year old woman working myself to the bone every day just to come home to bills and an empty bed at night, but one thing seems to always keep me going…

deep inside…

I’ll always be a toys r us kid.

How many kids nowadays can say that?

Shit…I just said nowadays.

I am officially an old head.

Mother fucker.

There’s nothing worse than waiting.

Waiting for change, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for love.  Waiting for anything really.  Anticipation is anti-elation.  All it does is cause this nervous feeling in your stomach, a flutter in your brain…all because you don’t know what is next, what is going to happen, how it’s going to end.  The funny part is life would be considerably boring without waiting.  Waiting for your first house, waiting for your baby to be born, waiting to fall in love.  Waiting, waiting, waiting….the double edged sword we all tend to slice ourselves on; becoming masochistic fools as we curse the very thing that gives our lives the excitement we need to want to wake up in the morning.  At least, that’s how it is for most people.

I myself hate waiting.

But that could be because I wait for the wrong things.  Waiting for it to be over, waiting for the worse to happen, waiting to be proven right.  I’ve never been a patient girl.  When I know something is going to happen, I want it to happen right away.  Not when it feels like it.  Not when the damn time is right.  I hate sitting around and hoping and praying and wishing and fretting…for what?  What purpose do these things have?  I don’t feel any better from it.  It doesn’t change the outcome.  What I knew would happen always ends up happening.  What I didn’t want to happen always ends up happening.  It doesn’t matter what I want.  What I know always wins.  Even when I’m in denial.

I am writing this as I am sitting here waiting for it to be time to go home.  I am waiting to find out if I’m going to get moved to another department. I am waiting for the crimson wave to end.  I am waiting to be noticed.  I am waiting for the right time.  I am waiting to be loved.

I am waiting to stop waiting.

Haven’t I said something like this before?

I guess I’m still waiting for my world to change.

I am settled into my new spot. 
I still have things to get, but for now, I am satisfied with all that I have, and I feel lucky to have it.

That being said…
This weekend was really hard for me. It was the first time since I’ve moved in that I was left to my own devices…alone with too much time to think. My friends were busy with their own lives, and I had time to evaluate mine. Friday night, I was in my room watching TV all night, and at 7 in the morning when I tried to fall asleep, I found myself staring at the ceiling, quietly letting the tears roll back onto my pillow. It was the first time I really felt the loss…that I allowed myself to be angry with certain people for the fucked up shit they’ve done, and not blame myself for it all. I kept looking around my room…MY room in MY apartment, and I couldn’t believe that I was actually here. On my own again. This time no brother will move in because he has his own place. No lover will leave his shit in my room because he is gone. No one to answer to or try to please because everything is mine. I looked around and in my happiness…I was scared shitless.

Don’t get me wrong…I love being alone. I love the freedom to do what the fuck I want when I want to do it. But…I hate being lonely. The two don’t really coincide often, but this weekend, they did. There wasn’t anyone to call or ask to visit or to just drop in. I prattled around, looking at my stuff and reveling in the serendipity of how it all came to pass, and something inside of me began to ache. I felt shitty because I thought of my brother and got jealous. He has the life I always wanted. He never really wanted all the shit he has right now…I did. I wanted the house, the relationship, the education, the independence. He fell backwards into it all, and now he loves his life. I fell face first into mine and I hate it. I hate that I didn’t finish school. I hate that my relationships border on truth or dare instead of reality. I hate that someone had to help me get this place and get my electric and cable on because my credit is shit. I hate depending on people. Not that it’s bad to do it, but I feel like a loser when I have to depend on the kindness of strangers. My brother gave me this apartment, and if it wasn’t for Lorna and Lola, I’d be sitting around with a car with a broken window and empty cupboards. I was able to do some of it on my own, but honestly, they came through and saved me. They wouldn’t let me be alone. They wouldn’t let me be bitter. They wouldn’t let me say no. and even though they’re struggling like I am, they brought me a bunch of the stuff I needed and took care of me and didn’t make me eat shit for it. They didn’t make me ask. They wouldn’t let me deny. I owe them so much….I can’t thank them enough.

 But it made me sad. Because people I did ask for help and did reach out to basically gave me their ass to kiss. And this weekend, I really thought about that, and I came to the hard resolution that there are people that I love that I just can’t have in my life anymore. Period. I’m done with them. Real friends are there for you even when you don’t want them to be. Real family knows when your pride is in the way and just make you take things from them. The people you have to defend yourself to or hide from, even though you love them, ain’t really worth shit. It might hurt to let go, but not as much as it hurts to hold on to them…and continually let yourself go.

I’ve decided that I want what my brother has. He has been able to do something I have never been able to do…love those that love him and leave those that don’t. He got past the mental barrier someone instilled in us when we were younger. He got past the resentment and was able to move forward. He knows the difference between forgetting and forgiving, while I always tent to confuse the two and do the wrong one at the wrong time. I admire him for that. I can’t seem to get out of my dark place, but then, he was never in that place to begin with. We grew up under the same roof in parallel universes. We never knew each other’s hell. We just knew how to love each other regardless of it.

I don’t know what my point is in writing this. I had a point in the beginning, but once I started typing, it went away. I guess I just wanted to say that right now, I am the happiest and the saddest I’ve ever been, and I don’t know what to do with myself but try to move forward finally out of this place in my mind. To let go of those that I love but constantly hurt me…and still hold onto that hope for the love I’ve always wanted.

Now if only I could feel like this when I’m sober…maybe I’d actually do something about it.

I had a dream about you the other night.

 

We were in my new apartment.  I was just moving in and there was clutter everywhere and chaos with lots of people milling around and coming and going.  There were a lot of things going on, when suddenly you were there.  We went into my room talking and I set to taking all the stuff off of my bed so we could sit down.  There was so much stuff!  I kept picking things up and moving them, but nothing really seemed to move.  You stood watching me with those dark eyes…observing…talking about nothing in particular…moving closer and closer to me.  Next thing I know, you were next to me. You reached out and pulled up my nightshirt to see the color of my panties and laughed.  I smiled and smacked your hand away, feeling that heat rumble in my belly.  You pulled me close, ran your hand across the top of my breast and sighed my name as you stared down into my eyes.  I felt the world tilt, just like it did the first time you ever walked through my bedroom door to hold me that same way.  I remembered how I never wanted that moment to end. Before we ever laid down, before we ever did anything at all besides be friends…that moment swelled and floated on forever and never.  You held me in your arms and said my name…like you meant it.  Like at that moment my name was the most beautiful thing you could think to call me.   You sounded sad and lustful all at once.  Like you knew.  Like you wanted me to know.  Everything was about to change…and it did. 

 

So the dream….

 

You reached to stroke my cheek and moved away from me.  I went back to moving the clothes off my bed more urgently, talking fast and distractedly, trying to pay attention to you and forget the belly rumble.  I leaned down and you came up fast behind me.  You pulled me back into you, reaching one hand around to grab my face and force me to look away and wrapping the other across my chest.  I knew what it was.  I felt the sobs in my throat.  Your face was buried against my neck; your breathing labored and erratic.  Your body was trembling.  I knew what it was.  I knew.  My tears slid down my cheeks as your hand slid from my cheek to cover my mouth.  You didn’t want me to speak.  You never want me to speak.  You held me so tight it was hard to breathe. You shook your head.  Your lips touched my ear.  I covered your hands with mine.  You whispered my name, your voice cracking and wet.  You exhaled like you had just revealed your most horrible secret. Like my name was the worst thing you’d ever said.  And I knew, I knew, I knew.  I nodded.  You kissed my neck and pulled our hands up so you could kiss mine.  “I do, you know?  I always have.”  I cried harder and you lingered a moment, before yanking away and disappearing.  I didn’t look back.   I didn’t look around.  I just stood there quietly crying, staring at my now uncluttered bed.  I laid down and stopped crying.  “Goodbye.” I said.  And I woke up.

 

And I knew it as my eyes slid open, my pillow wet with tears I shed in my sleep, it was over between us.  You’re moving to New York.  Away from me.  Out of my dreams.  Out of my life.  And that’s that.  I have to accept it.  You’re gone.  We’re done.  And all I’ve always secretly hoped is gone, too.  My love for you still sits heavily in the back of my throat.  It may always rest there making it so I’ll never say your name again.  I don’t regret a thing.  I’m glad we had what we had, were what we were to each other.  I’ll always remember that moment, the way you said my name…being so close to you…falling into your eyes…sucking you into my heart.  Yes.  I have loved you well.  And in your way, I know you loved me, too.  Love me, too.  Hopefully, always love me, too.  I know I will you.  Somewhere in my dreams, we will always be together.  Always and never.

 

Goodbye, Michael.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

 

I wish you the best…I wish you love.

 

I’m finally able to let you go.

I hate my father.
He walked out on us years ago.  I waited and hoped for years that he would come back and save me.
To come back for me so we could go off on adventures together.
He never did...come back to save me.

Yesterday, my brother gave me the news that our grandparents told him that our father is now dating his dead wife's sister who's a drug addict with AIDS and they think he's using again, too.  My brother said that and we just stared at each other before laughing.  I made a crack about hoping he dies soon so we can get his insurance money.  Oh how we laughed.

I came home and was flicking through channels and saw that Godzilla was on.  When I was little, me and my dad would huddle up on the couch on Saturday morning and watch cartoons, Star Trek, kung fu flicks, and Godzilla movies all day while munching on pistachios.  He would sit there with me all day with his t-shirt, shorts, and socks, explaining things to me and making me laugh.  He always told me how he loved his baby girl.  He still tells me that...whenever I talk to him.

Those were the best times of my childhood.  Some of them, at least.
To me, my father, was a hero.  Invincible.  Bigger than life.
And then he left me.  His baby girl.  His partner.  His love.
And he changed me forever.

Now...my brother tells me this.  I see Godzilla on the screen and I broke down crying.  I cried myself to sleep.

I hate my father.
Now it seems like he's going to put himself in his grave soon, and he'll never know how much I loved him...
how much I still love him...
and I'll hate him forever because of what he did to us...did to me...
and then never did anything to try to fix it.

Happy fucking father's day you son of a bitch.

Someone fucking put an ad in my last blog and it pisssed me off so bad I haven't been writing. Not that anyone cares...but still. That's some tacky shit. Don't put a fucking ad in my comments on my blog. What an asshole thing to do.

Anyway...it's been awhile since I talked to/wrote my con. He calls me every now and then but I don't answer anymore. The other day, though, I saw he called and I missed the call. For some reason, I had been thinking of him all that day, and when i saw I missed his call, I started to cry. I feel so fucked up about it. Like I've abandoned him. There is still so much between us...love and hate. He's messed up and so am I. We understand each other too well. It's like I've cut off an arm or leg. I feel like an amputee. I'm not whole without him. Without him somewhere in my life, I don't feel like myself. I feel fake. It's so sad to admit this, but...without him...there is no me. The real me. I cut that off when I cut him off. I hope one day I can feel whole again. I hope one day...I can just be able to feel...anything. Besides broken.

I've decided to also cut off the other one. If he doesn't love me by now, after all we have been through, he'll never love me. In a way, I'm cool with that. I just wonder why we could never come together. Doesn't he think I'm good enough? He always gushes to his friends about how great I am...how cute and sweet I am...but he won't hook me up with any of them, nor will he claim me for anything more than a night at a time. I have been around him alot lately, so all the old feelings have been right under the surface of my skin and it's made me really edgy and miserable. If I would be with anyone else forever, it's him. But we're just friends. He doesn't love me. I don't think he can love me...like that. So I'm writing him a letter and letting him go. He'll fall out of my life just like the others. I'll delete his number and burn his address (which he probably won't have much longer anyway) and just move on. I don't think we can be friends. Every time I've tried that, he pushes it back to the limbo he's used to. So goodbye to Mr. BackUp Man. I have loved him well. I could have made him happy...helped with his dreams. But you know what, fuck it. It's his loss. Funny thing is...deep down...I think he knows that.

I've decided that I have to file bankruptcy. I can not explain how much this upsets me. I promised myself I would never do anything like that. It's not even like I have a house or car to try to save, and that's just sad. I'm doing it just to get the fuck out of bullshit debt, some of which isn't even my fault. Years ago someone used my name and passed bad checks. Someone got some cards. Someone put some bills in my name and didn't pay them. That on top of the shit I did..well...I'm fucking drowning. I never have any money because I'm paying out money to pay down credit cards or lawyer's fees from bad checks. I can't save for shit and if last year taught me anything, a bitch needs to have a fucking savings somewhere. This is so depressing. I can't believe I'm here. I'm only 31. I haven't even really lived yet. Already I need to wipe the slate clean when I don't even have anything to save. Except maybe myself.

So this is me...trying to hold on as I'm letting shit go...hoping to salvage some part of me so I can one day try to rebuild and have a better life. Become a better version of me. I feel so lost right now that I'm clinging to the bad things just to have something to hold onto...and that's just wrong. It's time to let it go...the old loves...the old dreams...the old me.

Maybe then...I can finally fix what's broken.
Maybe then...I'll be able to live.

Right now, the bad things are clinging to me just as hard as I used to hold onto them. I wonder if a lint brush can left away an old life...