Sunday, August 17, 2014

On my heart

I haven’t really prayed since my dad was diagnosed with cancer.  It wasn’t necessarily that I was mad with God, but felt it unimportant and useless because it was terminal and we knew what the end result would ultimately be.  I believe in God.  I also believe that God knows everything.  At that point in my life, pleading with God seemed helpless and hopeless...I knew what would happen.  I saw his struggles, witnessed him getting sicker and sicker.  I realize now that that was not the point.  The point is to talk to God, let him know what’s on your heart.  In that, I have failed.  Perhaps he knows my thoughts.  I hope that he knows what’s on my heart.  

There has been something on my heart for the past week.  Maybe it’s my hormones, maybe my emotions have been high this week...but tonight, I had to pray. I don’t say that to be boastful about my prayer.  I had to get something off of my heart.  Had to let God know one of my worries.  I have sat through the funeral of someone that died to soon in the military.  I have heard the 21 gun salute.  Felt the person next to me tremble and cry out.  I have seen a soldier hand the fallen soldier’s fiance a folded American flag.  I will forever have the image of the Patriot Guard Riders, standing with the flags on their motorcycles waving, creating a buffer between the funeral proceedings and the protestors.  I’m unsure of whether those images, feelings, and sounds will ever become less vivid.  

As much as I am proud of those who join the military, I always have concern wash through me.  That image will always cross my mind and I never want to go through this again.  I never want to see another person/friend/family member go through that.  

Saturday, August 16, 2014


I smile at the very thought of it.  Like sunlight beaming in the kitchen window, making even the dust seem magical; or the smell of Dixies baking in the oven; or the feel of the water splash up on your legs as you walk the beach.  The memories are warm, and affect the senses.  

It was a simple t-shirt.  It made me smile.  Given as a Christmas present.  

I hadn’t thought that much about it.  It was a gift.  It was just  a t-shirt that reminded me of you.  

Later, you told me it was your favorite.  Even after you had worn it for a few years, you still loved it.  Holes had covered it by then, and she often asked you why you still wore it and why you wouldn’t throw it away.  You told her the same, that it was your favorite.  

But then, after telling me that, you looked at me and smiled.  You said “It has holes all in it, but I still love it.  Every time I wear it, I think of you.”  

That memory fills me with sunshine on my dreariest day.  It brings warmth to my skin...warmth to my soul.  It was a stupid shirt, but it meant the world to you.  Ultimately, is has meant the world to me.  

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Letter from a Homewrecker

I don’t wear his ring.  I don’t don his name.  I get calls only when the timing is right.  She is his 8 to 5, I am his shift caught here and there, when it works for him.

She is nice.  She takes care of him and makes him smile after a bad day.  It makes me thankful for her, but also hate her.  I am his missing piece and she is everything I’m not.  

No family gatherings shared.  They do not know. Other people, aside from a few close friends, do not know.  No hands held in public.  No cute little public displays of affection.  Even our conversations in passing are cut short if the wrong person walks by.  No arm placed around me.  I am, after all, not “your girl.”  Eyes diverted, so others don’t see the emotion behind them.  Letters thrown out on your ride home...there is no evidence left.  

Many a night spent alone.  You'd be amazed to know how very much it eats at a girl to realize that a man wants her but not enough to change his current situation to be with her.  After a while, that takes an enormous toll on a girl's self worth.    

Guilt sets in when I decide to talk to someone new.  Irrational jealousy is inflamed in you.  Good guys come, and good guys go...and I cannot see past you.  I....can’t do that to you.  Ridiculous, isn’t it?  And the precedent is set, I am the one left waiting.  Always...Always.  

Moodiness.  Aggravation.  Then you make me smile.  Damn you.  Always.

I have to see you every once and again.  Have to deal with the memories.  Have to see her....sometimes with you.  Are you really happy when you’re home?  Do your worlds ever collide and you think of me while you’re...not with me?  

This is the double standard.  It is fine for your behavior.  Somewhat expected.  I am, in turn, labeled the homewrecker, the problem, the whore.  I am a good person, I swear.  I didn’t want this either.  But I am the one judged.  Because, as I damn well know, that ultimately, this falls on me...because it was “my decision.”  And that is the horrible burden that I bear.  

Ultimately, we will never really introduce each other to each's family.  We will never know what it's like to move in together, or get married or have babies.  I will never know what it's like to wake up in the morning next to you.  Or to know how rowdy you get watching football games on a lazy Saturday afternoon.  I won't ever really have that moment when I get to introduce you to my friends.  And if I was completely honest with myself..that's all I've ever really wanted.  You've always meant that much.  

Shaking my fists and the sky.  Hating myself.  This is not what I wanted in my life.  Not what i expected with my life.  And yet, you still remain.  10 years is it?  And nothing more than a screwed up, bleak abyss...not even a relationship....Could you even put a name on it?  And God no, never any commitment.  At least where it concerns me.  

Perhaps this is what our elders warned us about.  If I'd been smarter...If I had only listened....

But...after all this time...after all of this...mess...I still wait for a phone call.  And that makes me hate you.  But it makes me hate me more.  

Friday, February 7, 2014


I would love to give photo credit for this, but I got it off pinterest, 
and I have no idea where it originated from.

I would give photo credit to whoever took this, but I have no idea.

So I know, I know, I’ve posted a lot about Philip Seymour Hoffman this week.  Honestly, I am just downright heartbroken.  I can’t really even explain why it has hit me so very hard.   

The first time I ever saw him that I could remember was maybe Patch Adams.  I saw him on Along Came Polly as Sandy Luke, the grown-up child star with little tact, and he made me laugh.  But I really fell in love with him in Capote.  He embodied the high-pitched, flamboyant, lovable man that took himself a tad too seriously.  Honey, anyone that can keep that crazy voice that Truman Capote had throughout all of filming?  I tip my hat to.  Having read In Cold Blood, and partly knowing the background of the movie, I really had a deep appreciation of it.  All I can say is: his acting was AMAZING.  Which was evident when he took the Oscar home that year for Best Actor.  If you have not seen the movie, I simply demand you see it.  

I recently went and saw Catching Fire (my favorite of the Hunger Games books).  I cannot tell you what a happy surprise it was to see him in the role of Plutarch Heavensbee.  I am now looking forward to the movies that will come out posthumously with him, but I won’t guarantee that I will not cry through them all.

I hope that he will be remembered for his incredible acting ability, not the manner in which he died.  His ability to be a chameleon and very subtly turn into his character.  No, he never half-assed it.  He BECAME the character and had the audience believing every word rolling off his tongue was the “true” him.  An asset to his profession and a mournful loss to those he entertained for the past twenty years.    

His acting career isn’t really what this blog post is about though.  I wanted to react to some of the comments other actors have made about his death this week.

For those of you who haven’t read the articles.  When PSH was in his early twenties he had a substance abuse problem that he sought help for.  He had been sober for 20+ years before he fell back into the throes of his addiction last year; finally succumbing to it last Sunday.  

To be honest, I have been obsessed with reading just about every article in the past few days.  Perhaps, I wanted to take in every word hoping to be able to wrap my head around the fact that he’s no longer here.  Maybe hoping to understand his ill-fated last days.

Today, I read something that made me really angry.  There were some celebrities that made remarks such as that he was “selfish,” “senseless,” or “stupid.”  Some even said “what wasted talent.”  

Granted, doing drugs is not nearly the smartest thing one can do.  These comments just hit me really wrong.  Surely, SURELY, those that made those remarks do not realize what a strong hold addiction can have on someone.  An “addiction” is not simply social’s not the occasional pot use.  Do they not realize that anyone facing an addiction feels guilt any time that they put that needle to their arm?  That glass to their lips?  Their need for their vice is just too strong.  It’s not necessarily a “selfish”’s a guilt-ridden one.  

We all have demons.  For some, alcohol plagues them.  For some, drugs.  For others, adultery.  Gambling, excessive shopping, the list goes on and could even be thoughts or a form of mental illness.  

To bring this point home, I will share this:  My personal demon would be thoughts of suicide.  There is probably not a day that goes by that that thought is not in the back of my mind.  Granted, I know that these are not rational thoughts...I know this, therefore I do not act on them.  But that’s the thing about “demons”...they’re always lurking somewhere in the background.  Brought forth to the front at the slightest sign of insecurity or resignation.  I can be smiling and seemingly full of self-confidence.  But there is always that voice in my head saying that I am worthless and unnecessary.  When my mind wanders to those dark areas, I often wonder if a loss would be felt if I was not here.  I feel a lot of guilt for things that have happened in my life that perhaps could not have been avoided, but I have strapped on my shoulders.  I’m just illustrating a problem, that I’m certain that others deal with as well, and fight every day.  Again, I’m just sharing a darker side of my story to prove a point.  

I tell you that to say this:  Money cannot make you free from addiction or “demons.”    Nor talent.  Nor status or popularity.  Nor friends or close family.  Nor faith (although it can be an aide in getting through it).  

Let’s always keep in mind that people can be facing battles that others may not can see or understand.  That’s something I, myself, need to work on, too.

Rather than scrutinize his death, and talk about what he could’ve/should’ve done...let’s celebrate the life of a brilliant actor.  One of the greatest of his time.  Let’s remember him.

I wish this past year could have been easier on you, PSH.  

You will forever be missed. 
For those of you who have seen the Hunger Games,
 or read it, you will understand this reference.