Instead of Candy and Balloons - A short Valentine's Day Gift Guide

I've never really been one to celebrate Valentine's Day. My husband and I are kind of weird, in that we don't really do holidays, and we barely do birthdays. Don't get me wrong - I'm totally obsessed with him and I'd like to think that the feeling is mutual, but holidays just aren't our thing. BUT - I'm a small business owner who makes jewelry and I also handle social media for businesses who definitely DO do Valentine's Day. So I'm not completely oblivious to the holidays.

Since this seems to be a balloon heavy time of year, I thought I'd throw my two cents in for some gifts that aren't balloons (don't get me wrong - I love a balloon installation as much as the next guy. Unfortunately, I also find balloons on the beach and during litter clean-ups ALL OF THE TIME, so I kind of don't love them as much as I wish I could)

Plants!

Plants are great gifts because if you love them properly, they'll stay with you forever. As a novice plant lady and a former brown thumb, I'd recommend low maintenance plants for gift giving. Like, don't give the person you love a fern. Or a lemon tree. Your novice plant person is sure to kill both of them (or is it just me?). Succulents are great gifts because they're super low maintenance, as are philodendrons and spider plants. Spider plants and philodendrons will let you know when they need water by starting to wilt, whereas a succulent will let you forget about it for something like forever and when you finally remember it, it's all," It's totally fine! Look! I made you a flower! And a baby!"

A flower CSA

I didn't even know this was a thing until a friend of mine who has a flower farm posted something about it. You guys. It's a seasonal subscription to local, organically farmed, flower bouquets. I mean... I would kind of freak out if someone gave me this. Flowers are a great gift because they're FLOWERS. Flowers are awesome. They're pretty, they're colorful, they smell awesome, and a flower CSA is pretty much the most thoughtful way to give flowers that I can think of. Also, flowers can be put in a compost bin when they're done doing their job. Everybody wins with flowers.

Experiences

I'm a HUGE fan of experiences and adventure as a gift. I know locally we have museums, a planetarium, wildlife parks, a nature refuge, a zoo, great restaurants and more. Where I'm currently staying, there's even more museums, art galleries, whale watching tours, aquariums and, for real, the opportunity for long walks on the beach. As a visitor here in sunny California, I'm trying to cram ALL of the experiences in. I overheard someone saying that they don't even think of taking advantage of some of the things that I've done while here because, when you live somewhere, you tend to take what the area offers for granted. I know I'm guilty of doing that in my own town. So this Valentine's Day, why not take advantage of what your own town has to offer, that you've always meant to experience, but just never get around to?

Local Art and Gifts

There's a saying that I always see/hear in artist communities - something along the lines of "The dead artists don't need your money, buy from the living ones." Which is true. Living artists can definitely use the money. I know a LOT of artists and most of them keep another job in addition to art, because it can be quite a battle to make a living as an artist. So consider some local art as a gift! If you don't know where to start, small boutique stores and galleries often carry local art works/products or you can put a shout out on facebook to request some local art/maker connections. Many local artists will create commissioned work , so that the art/gift that you buy is even more personalized.

Just Skip It

It's not the most popular Valentine's Day suggestion, but there's no law that says you have to do Valentine's Day. I've been a part of a couple forever and every year we're just kind of like..."meh" when it comes to Valentine's Day. I don't think it means we love each other less. I think it just means we can do a bunch of that special Valentin'es Day stuff any day of the year. With anyone! And we should. Every day is Valentine's Day!

How We're Reducing Waste in Our Home

It feels weird for me to be posting a "tips" blog when I'm usually posting things like "check out the shiny new mess I have in my brain this time!"

But the thing is, I don't always have a mess in my brain. Sometimes...actually, pretty often ...my brain functions very well and I have a really healthy grasp on life. It's just that writing tends to be a form of therapy for me and I don't need as much therapy when my brain is performing well. Which is why most of my posts are about brain disasters and the like.

Anyway, I've been feeling pretty healthy lately but I also miss writing, so let's talk about garbage! Or more specifically, reducing our garbage. There are a few things that we changed up at home that have been really helpful for us in reducing our overall waste. It's an imperfect process but slowly but surely we're getting there.

Grocery bags

Re-usable grocery bags are a pretty easy way to reduce your reliance on some plastics. I've tried a bunch of them and my favorites are made by a company called Baggu. They're super strong, they hold a ton of stuff, they're easy to clean, they fold up super small so you can always keep a couple on you, and finally, I'm totally in to their design choices. I also use a Baggu bag for my beach clean-ups and again, they're super durable and just hold a ton of stuff. If you don't want to invest in a sturdy reusable bag, there are some great tutorials online on how to make your own reusable bags from old t-shirts. For me, most of the reusable bags tend to take up too much space, so I like the idea of something more compact. Also, keep in mind if you forget your bags, you can always request paper at the checkout.

Produce bags

I'm definitely the annoying person who, in my effort not to use plastic bags, just loosely piled all of my produce on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. I've had more cashiers roll their eyes at me than I can count. Sooooo, in an effort not to be annoying in the check-out lane, I bought some cotton mesh bags for my produce shopping. Like grocery bags, you can make these out of old t-shirts if you want to DIY it. I can barely sew so I went ahead and invested in some pre-made mesh bags. The nice thing about these is they came in a set of 12 so I took a couple of them and use them as laundry bags for delicate items. If you've gotten the plastic produce bags at the grocery store, you can also re-use those over and over. Or, just keep your produce loose and be ready for the eye rolling.

Produce Box

When we get home from grocery shopping, we transfer our fruits and veggies to produce boxes. They keep our food fresh a lot longer, which reduces waste, which helps us save money. I keep two of these around - one for green leafy vegetables and one for grapes and berries.

Soap Berries

Ok. So this is a weird one and my husband still isn't totally on board. But last March (10 months ago), I paid less than $20 for a bag of soap berries. Or soap nuts. I don't even really remember what they're called. I wasn't super hopeful because we have dogs and they're messy and we're messy and I'm also allergic to everything and my skin is hyper sensitive to detergents, but we figured it was worth a try. Well, I figured. James just kind of goes along with it. Anyway, we got this big bag of soap berries. You take about 7 of them, put them in a little muslin bag, throw them in the washer while the water is running and wash your clothes. You can use that same bag for 7 loads of laundry. And omg, they work! Our clothes got clean, even the towels that we use to clean up a dog mess, like - it all got clean. There aren't any perfumes in the berries so your clothes don't smell like anything, really. They're just clean and odor free. So I've been using these for nearly a year, I spent less than $20 on them, and I totally love them. It will change your laundry routine a little bit, but once you get used to them, it's pretty easy. Plus, I'm probably saving about a hundred bucks a year in laundry detergent costs. Everybody wins!

Toilet Paper

I'm not going to get into too much detail here, but basically, we all need toilet paper and it usually comes wrapped in plastic. About a year ago, we started ordering toilet paper in bulk from Seventh Generation. I like it because it's made from recycled fibers, it comes wrapped in paper, and we order about 60 rolls at a time, which saves us from last minute trips to the grocery store and ending up with more plastic. If you're really into super soft and multi-ply toilet paper, you may not love this stuff. I'm more concerned about our environmental footprint, so this is great for us. The up front cost is a little more than what we would normally pay, but when I factor in all of the last minute trips to a corner pharmacy store where toilet paper is kind of super expensive, I think it ends up working out in our favor.

Jars

We try to make sure that given the choice between plastic packaging and glass packaging, that we choose glass (or paper when it's available). We save all of our glass jars. I use them for paint water, paintbrush storage, bead storage, and for food storage. We also have some set aside for a local flower farmer in town who re-uses glass jars for her bouquets.

Compost

We have two large black plastic bins that we keep on our porch during spring, summer and fall. We move them into our basement during the winter months. They're full of dirt, garbage and worms. Vermi-composting (or worm farming) is pretty easy once you get into a routine. We drilled lots of holes around the bottom and top sides, and on the bottom and in the lid of two plastic black totes (these aren't considered a single use plastic - we've had them for years and expect to have them for many more). We throw scrap paper, junk mail, toilet paper rolls, coffee and filters, egg shells and produce waste in them, and the worms do their work. This year we started freezing our compost before putting it in the bin, which causes it to break down faster. This is helpful with fruits, since they'll usually attract fruit flies to your compost. We don't seem to have that problem as long as we pop the compost in the freezer first.

PS - there are some affiliate links in this post that I may receive some compensation for if you end up purchasing. All of the links are for products that I've used, currently use and totally love. If I linked to it, it's because I stand behind it and we have it in our home. Let me know if you have any questions or tips and tricks on how we can do even better!

I only come around when I'm sad.

I've had ...a year.

I've had incredible highs and devastating lows. It has been a rollercoaster that I'm so very tired of riding.

I haven't written here in a while because things were good. I was healthy, both physically and emotionally.

But maybe I wasn't.

In April, I went on a brief vacation and returned only to say goodbye to my beautiful Reuben.

Shortly after, James went on the trip of a lifetime to Malaysia, only to return early because our Jack was dying. He was diagnosed with megaesophagus and for the next two months, our lives revolved around battling this rare and devastating illness. Sadly, we lost that fight.

The next day I went on an amazing trip to Isla Mujeres, where I swam with whale sharks and ended up with a nasty bout of food poisoning (I can tell you exactly what did it. Ceviche shouldn't taste like pesto).

Just recently I went to Northern California to be a part of a dear friend's wedding. It was such a beautiful time, except I got a little bit sick.

And by a little bit sick, I mean I either caught or reactivated a mystery virus which paralyzed half of my face and landed me in the hospital for three days.

I'm now on day 12 of Bells Palsy - partial facial paralysis.

I'm scared. I wake up every day, hopeful that it got better while I slept. I spend the rest of the day trying to keep my stress down, trying to find hope, trying to relax, trying not to crumple into a sobbing mess in my bed.

I know that I could be better in 3 weeks. I also know that I might never get better.

I cannot smile. It's physically impossible.

It's hard to eat. It's hard to drink. It's hard to speak.

I'm tired and I don't know why. Is it the mystery virus? Is it depression?

Who knows.

My face hurts and that's supposed to be good. Sometimes it crawls and itches and that's uncomfortable but that's also supposed to be good. If it doesn't crawl and itch, I'm terrified. Crawling and itching means my nerves are doing...something. Nothing means...nothing. Continued paralysis.

I can't close my right eye. Which means I can't just lay down for a nap or even risk falling asleep watching tv. I have to tape it shut to sleep. Or nap. Or rest. Sometimes I tape it shut because it just bothers me. I can't risk being out in the wind because my eye can't protect itself. I can't squint in bright sun. I have to manually blink my eye through the day with my fingers, and use synthetic tears. The blinking and the tears temporarily compromise my vision, which makes it hard to do all of the things I love.

(This was a few days in. It got worse.)

I've gone through the gamut of emotions, some realistic and some not so much. Did I do this to myself? Because I celebrated with too many margaritas? Is it because I'm unhealthy? Because I was too happy? Took on too much? Because I quit running? Anxious? Too stressed out? Why do bad things keep happening when we travel? Are we being punished? Are we bad people? Is God trying to teach me another lesson? Will God ever tire of teaching me lessons? I'm so very tired of life's lessons. How do I rest? Am I lazy for resting? My poor husband. He married this broken thing. Why am I so broken? What else is wrong? What's next? How can I be better so this stops happening? Am I terrible?

And on and on and on...

My therapist says that I'm very hard on myself.

I'm aware. I don't know how to stop. I was wired at a very young age to believe all bad things were my fault, even when it's ever so obvious that some things simply aren't my fault.  Apparently that's just a battle I need to keep fighting.

I am being proactive. I'm eating well. I've backed off from all big projects for the moment. I'm painting for therapy. I'm sleeping. I'm practicing relaxation and stress management. I'm seeing my therapist. Acupuncturist. Doctors. I'm doing all of the things.

But I'm scared. And I'm sad. And while I believe that I can do hard things, I would be lying if I said I relished these battles. I don't. I'm tired. Some days I feel like all I do is fight. One thing after another after another. But other days, I feel so lucky for every great and beautiful thing that has come my way. There are a lot of those. Battles and beauty, I guess. And we keep moving forward. One day at a time.

The same...but different.

I've kept an online blog as long as I can remember. It started as a bit of a joke, then it became about crafts and DIY and most recently, it was therapy. I chronicled a 3 year battle with depression, anxiety, defamation of character and just general unhappiness. I worked through the estrangement of both of my parents, and then their somewhat recent deaths. I've not felt the urge to write lately, because my head and my heart are in a healthy place, and my art and my life have me at peace. But I feel like the trauma and journey to recovery that I went through and the subsequent victory should not be packed away. So I'm keeping it here, so that it can hopefully help someone else someday.

In the meantime, you can find my new website and all things Hey Lola, set up in proper business fashion...or as close to it as I can manage, at www.loveheylola.com.

It's the same...just different.

with love,

Jessica

Defined by Joy

Hello!

Apparently I have not blogged since August. That's not a bad thing...but it's a weird thing.

My mom died last year and that was...a strange struggle. And then it wasn't. I also fought with a lot of depression and anxiety...and then I didn't.

It seems like, for a long time, my life has been defined by struggle and sadness and exhaustion from the constant battle to just be happy. Like - all of the way happy.

And through a twisting series of events over the course of the past few years, and with a ton of loving support from friends and family...
...I have arrived.

And now life is defined by joy.

I still walk with the homeless community. I have a new passion to reduce plastic use, because I have seen firsthand the devastation it causes to marine life. I consider myself a compassionate and empathetic person and try to care for humanity in a way that still keeps me healthy. Because of those things, my heart regularly breaks. But at the same time, my heart is always overwhelmed with how much I love this planet and how much I love people.

So I am still defined by joy.

I haven't quite figured out how to write about that. But I will. Maybe soon...maybe someday.  In the meantime, I'm sharing a lot of my art and joy on my instagram and facebook, and I really do have an active jewelry shop. Cross my heart.  So if you want to keep up with Hey Lola type things, I'll provide some links at the end of this post.

And if you haven't reached your own "defined by joy" stage yet, and you're still in the struggle...I'm still with you. You can still reach out and we can still talk about and do hard things. Joy is the goal for all of us, right? And I would never abandon my team. We'll all get here, one at a time, holding each other up as we go. I know we will. I feel it every day.

Instagram: www.instagram.com/loveheylola/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/loveHeyLola/
Shop: www.shopheylola.com

The Racist Bones in Our Bodies

I have racist bones in my body.

When I went to Germany, I was really struck by how they owned their ugly history. There were monuments and memorials, very much a country of "this is not who we are, but we will not erase this ugliness, but rather, own it, so that we do not do it again." I mean - I'm not speaking for Germany, but that was the impression that I got. And it struck me that as Americans, we really prefer to sweep our ugly history under the rug. To pretend that it didn't shape who we are today.

The thing is, there isn't anything wrong with saying, you know, yesterday I had some beliefs that were kind of fucked up. Today, I have fewer. Tomorrow, I hope even less. But fucked up beliefs have always been part of my history and in order to purge myself of them, I have to be willing to admit that they're there. I can't sweep them under the rug.

These pieces of my past...

My grandparents used to make me cross the street when people of color approached. It was ok, though, because they were just being cautious. Right?

My 6th grade boyfriend was black, and my mom and stepdad made me break up with him, not because they were racist, you know, but because "society wouldn't approve." I mean, how could they be racist? They had black friends. Right?

When my husband and I opened a business in a very diverse neighborhood, I spent the first 6 months hoping we would be ok, despite what I perceived as the neighborhood's "sketchiness." (it wasn't sketchy. It was economically challenged and it was diverse.)

I've let my sticker on my license plates expire for up to 9 months at a time, drove up and down a street where people of color are regularly pulled over, and never received a ticket. I've actually only been pulled over for it once. And they let me go.

I went on vacation once to a southern plantation and thought nothing of the history of such a place. Thought nothing of the fact that I would be horrified if someone wanted to vacation at Auschwitz, but plantations are cool because they're houses and maybe haunted and look at all of the pretty trees.

I am 100% positive that I have made jokes or insensitive comments in the past and still put myself in the "not racist" category.

So I went through most of my life thinking that I wasn't part of the problem, because I believed segregation was wrong and slavery is wrong and racist insults are wrong and discrimination is wrong and I'm a good person and I don't have a racist bone in my body, right? Because I don't see color, right? And it's not my fault if the police don't want to pull me over EVER, for repeatedly breaking the law, for 9 months, while people of color are pulled over all around me.

Looking back, it's embarrassing.

And then a couple of things happened, and I had a "holy shit" moment. The moment I realized that I am indeed part of the problem. And ever since, I've been trying very hard to recognize that and work against it. I'm sure I fail regularly. Part of that failure is probably being really willing to point out racism in other people, but shoving my own past under the rug. It's not me, it's you. So here it is - have some of my history. It's gross and this is just a tiny chunk of it, and probably not the worst. And it makes me feel gross. I'm not better than you. I'm flawed. I've made so many mistakes, I couldn't possibly count them all. But here is something that I'm glad that I eventually learned:

We do need to see color. Privilege is a thing and if you're white, you've got it. Systemic racism is real and if you're surrounded by mostly white folks, there's a reason that you're not seeing it. If you were raised by people who regularly said racist shit and engaged in racism, you were influenced. And I know that everyone wants to believe that they're not part of the problem and that they're "one of the good ones," but man...if you really don't want to be part of the problem, you're going to have to take a very hard look at who you are and what you believe and how you were raised and how this American society currently benefits you in ways that it absolutely does not benefit others. When we say, "this is not us," and people of color are saying, "no - this is how it's always been. People are just feeling a little more emboldened these days, and also, you haven't been paying attention," we should listen. We should pay attention. And we should examine our actions and our belief systems and the things we casually say and do and we should listen to people's stories and see color and not try to sweep our history under the rug because we're embarrassed. It sucks to be embarrassed, but I guarantee you it's far worse to fear for your life and the lives of your loved ones and to watch your rights be trampled on while people confidently tell you "I don't see color."

We have racist bones in our bodies. It's not helping anyone to pretend that we don't. Those racist bones are there - we have to be conscious of them so that we can work against them every single time they try to come to the forefront.

If yesterday we were very wrong (and so many of us have been so very wrong - I have been very wrong), we can be thankful to have been given today to correct our course and do the work to be on the right side of history.

I wish we were better.

I've read approximately a million stories this week on Chester Bennington's death and the impact he had on people who were/are struggling with mental health and/or traumatic pasts. Each one made me cry.

Like so many others, his death hit me hard - much harder than I would have expected. And it wasn't because I knew him - I had met him once, but did not know him. But for some reason, I was and am absolutely grief stricken about his death.

I'm a pretty sensitive person - I cry about everything and I feel things intensely. But this is different.

I'm gutted.

You know that cliche about being "raised by rock and roll?"

That's me. In 1999, I was fresh off of a failed marriage (I am a failure). I had serious childhood trauma (even your family hates you), so no family that I spoke to. I had no education (you're stupid) and no skills (worthless), so I was a stripper (slut). I was worthless. I was a failure at everything. I had terrible self esteem. I slept all day, I was haunted by memories and feelings of inadequacy and I would spend my nights taking my clothes off for strangers, being told by some that I was the most beautiful woman on the planet while others flung quarters at me, commented on my fat thighs and called me a whore.

I went out a lot. Got some tattoos. Pierced my face. Slept around. Probably drank too much.

I was deeply, deeply unhappy.

It was ...not the best version of me.

I didn't have much, but I had music. Korn, Linkin Park, Disturbed, Breaking Benjamin, Cold, Marilyn Manson, Tool, Nine Inch Nails...I was angry and sad and fucked up and the music was angry and sad and fucked up and for me, that was home. I went to concert after concert. I went backstage. I became a metal version of Penny Lane, only dirtier. Sleazier. More naive? Didn't matter to me. We were all in it together. Some musicians and crew were less than kind. Some were beyond kind. I was the same. For me, it was family. I took the good with the bad. They sang and screamed what I felt, and I really needed to be around people who felt the way that I did. It felt...less lonely.

So I did meet Chester once, backstage at Ozzfest. My boyfriend at the time (we're still friends to this day) knew him and introduced me to "Chester."

I didn't recognize him - I had a few months to go before I *really* got into Linkin Park. He was talking about his throat being sore and me, being ever so helpful and not realizing who he was, told him it was probably the midwest and allergies and that he should drink some tea with honey and he would probably be just fine. He didn't look at me like I was crazy or "don't you know who I am" or be dismissive or any rock star type behavior. He was polite, said it was nice meeting you, and walked off after our conversation. Uneventful. Nice guy. Who was that?

Later, we were backstage for their show and I was like...oh. These guys are so good. Oh. That's the same dude. I'm an idiot. But really - what a nice guy. He didn't seem like a rock star at all.

And I really loved Linkin Park after that. They got it. There are only a few bands whose music still resonates with me today, all of these years later, and Linkin Park is one of them. So Chester dying...it feels like losing family.  In a way, it is losing family. And losing the same battle that I fight? It's scary. And the grief is compounded by the fact that some people just love to be mean and no matter how often I witness it, I always feel like I get sucker punched. Like -whoa. People are mean? Why? When did that happen? It's like I forget...

The internet is a front row seat to cruelty, so people have been predictably heartless and terrible and judgmental. It's ok to joke about people dying, as long as they're famous, right? It's ok to call them cowards for losing their battle, because it's not like they're here to defend themselves and anyway, you get sad and you didn't kill yourself, right?

And there are a couple of things to say about that. First - why? Would you walk up to someone in WalMart and ask to take their picture so you could publicly shame them online for the outfit they're wearing? Would you make jokes about the dead at their funeral, to the people who loved them? If you say terrible things about your neighbor online (and it's ok because you're not facebook friends anyway), would you say it to them in person? Be who you are, all of the time. Stand up for your words. And if your words are terrible, at least have the courage to say them out loud, in front of the people they are designed to hurt. Or, recognize that your words have power, that the internet reaches every corner of the earth and famous or not, absolutely everyone should be off limits when it comes to you being hurtful and cruel and indulging in shaming behavior. Use what you have to shine a light in the darkness. Don't increase the darkness. Don't make an already hard life worse.

And cowardice? No. No. Absolutely not. And no.

For me, childhood trauma and depression and anxiety is a bit like being afraid of needles. Only, imagine that the needles have really hurt you and also, the whole world is actually needles.

THE WHOLE WORLD IS NEEDLES.

And so the whole world is needles and you have this awful history with needles, but every day you get up and you go out into a world that's all needles. You are grateful for a day where you're not triggered, where you don't cry, where you don't drink, you don't cut yourself, where you actually left your house, you did something productive, you are grateful that you made it through 24 hours in a world made of needles. But you're tired. And you try to focus on all of the great things that happened today and what will happen in the future, but goddamn it, you just wish that the needles weren't there. They're really, really difficult to navigate and you're really, really tired. And to make matters worse, your brain is all messed up and keeps telling you that 1.) the needles are bigger than they actually are and 2.) that things that aren't needles are actually needles. It's exhausting.

Someone who fought that battle everyday, who not only went into a world full of needles but talked about how hard it was and gave comfort to people who knew EXACTLY what he meant, but who also had legions of people who love to be cruel on the internet tell him how stupid his battles were and how the songs from his heart didn't matter because he sucks because hey! It's fun to be mean to people on the internet! - that person is not a coward. That is a person who did battle every single day, 100% of the time, publicly, and gave countless people hope in the process and won every single battle ...until he didn't.

And so the answer isn't to jump onto our high horse and talk about the cowardice of others while bragging about how well we manage our own pain. The answer isn't to make cruel jokes.

I don't know what the answer is... but I know what it isn't. And I KNOW we can be better. I know I can be better.

We can hold the hands of people walking through darkness. We can not add to that darkness. We can show people that in a world full of needles, there are safety measures. There is protection. And here is my hand. I believe that your battle is real. I will go with you. I will be with you.

Shine a light. Be that light. The world is very, very hard and we can all do better. Please let us do better. We need to be better.

The Edited Version of This Week's Anger

They say grief is a roller coaster.

I'm going down.

I'm so angry. I'm sad. I'm miserable. I'm furious. I want to break everything. I want to crawl into bed and never get out.

I feel nauseous.

My head hurts.

Every post I write is a different emotion and here's where we are today:
I'm really, really angry at my parents.
I'm really angry at God.

I've tried sorting through every one else's experiences. I've tried to honor their feelings. I've choked my own feelings down until they made me physically sick. I have smiled and laughed and cried with everyone else and their wonderful memories of my parents and I have tried to see them through a different lens and I have tried SO HARD to pretend that my parents didn't hurt me more than I have ever been hurt by anyone and...

I'm exhausted.

Most people have better memories of my parents than I do. Which can mean a couple of things. Either my memory is completely wrong, everyone else is lying, or I just wasn't someone my parents could love.

I still don't think everyone else is lying. And I have witnesses and a box full of history that backs up my memories.

So my parents just didn't love me. It sounds whiny and bratty when you say it out loud, but when it's true, it absolutely wrecks your life.

And when you look at a bunch of pictures and hear so many stories about how much they loved everyone else and the great things they did for them...it's hard not to just completely lose it.  Even when people who you know and love and respect promise you that you are NOT a garbage person and that you ARE worthy of love...

It's hard not to be angry and sad and confused and to try and pretend that you're not angry and sad and confused until you make yourself physically sick....and just repeat. Over and over and over again.

I am not perfect and I have made more mistakes in my life than I can count. That is true. I have done a lot of good in my life. That is true. My mom was mean to me and my mom lied to me and my mom lied about me and my mom did a lot of damage to my soul. That is true.  My father disappeared and reappeared just enough to make me love and miss him and just enough to do a lot of damage to my soul.  That is true.  My parents were also good to a lot of people and most people have a lot of praise for them and their memories. That is true.

So now, I'm stuck. How can I have a relationship with people who have all of these great memories, when everything hurts?  How can I honor their memories but be true to my own? How do I exist with them in the middle of these opposites? How can I let go of my own awful bits and focus on being good but not only focus on the good in others? Why do the bad parts hurt so much? Why are they so BIG?

I don't know that there's a space for that. For this mess.  I don't know that there's a place for me not to remain isolated from my family. And that makes me sad. And scared. And angry. And sick.

I've been sick for weeks.


And this bothers me: Do they get to be in heaven now? Because they said the right words and poured water over their heads and broke the bread and drank from the cup and went to church, they just get to be in heaven now? Forever and ever, amen?  With nothing to be sorry about? And all of their sins forgiven and forgotten and a rotting pile of garbage, sick and sobbing daughter left here on earth to try and figure out what this all is, exactly?

I found myself screaming at the sky, "ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING SORRY?????"

I found myself thinking that God sure has a funny way of building character in humans and that all of these trials and tribulations and the constant pain for everyone, all of the time, is really just starting to piss me off.

God and I are fighting right now.

I found myself arguing with myself. Maybe there is nothing to be sorry about.  Maybe you really are garbage. Maybe your memories are false and your parents are in heaven where everything is forgiven and forgotten and they don't worry about you because this is all in your head, and you are nothing, nothing, nothing...

My husband pulls me back from that.  He reminds he that he is my witness. But he leaves and I spiral again...

I'm angry about the spiraling.  I feel like I should have a better handle on this, but I just don't.  I posted this yesterday and it was all anger and only anger. And I deleted it, and this is the edited version, because I am trying to be fair to my family and to be fair to their memories. This space, where I tell my stories, is now tied to other people. And I can be fair to me about this or I can be fair to them about this, but I cannot be fair to everyone. My truth is the opposite of theirs. And writing is my therapy. So I'm stuck. I don't really know what to do. But I'll figure it out.  We always figure it out, right?