I have to apologize for the blog reading like a bad soap opera. Really, I am not an unhappy, miserable , asshole, I just find that the stuff I need to get out isn’t about my great lunch date with my friend and her daughter or the fact that I rode 15 miles on the bike a few days before I went into the hospital and that before that I was going a good 10-12 miles per day. Or the fact that I was sent a handmade quilt by a subscriber of mine or that I have a pre- release release date for my little book or that I had the best Sangria tonight.
The stuff I need to throw on here with my metaphorical fist full of pain and rage and failure and embarrassment and short comings and red and black paint and scream a silent scream that would echo through space for thousands of years before it burns out, finally, into ash, falling back into the atmosphere burning out like fireworks for people I’ll never know….
That’s what lands here. Ash. My chest so heavy my soul flickering as it slowly burns to the core, ash flying around inside of me, falling onto the screen in things we call tears but they are literally molecules made up of chemicals released from our brain to relieve the pressure. Science can now look at your tears to see if you were happy, sad, dark, excited… your tears have the ash of the emotions locked inside. Uniquely yours. Like snowflakes on a soft warm cheek. The chemicals on this phone hold the weight of my world. My story. My highs. My lows. Tonight there’s no doubt some sangria as well.
Awkward juxtaposition of relief that I lived through another close call and the fact that my oldest child told me two days later that he didn’t call because I’m a piece of shit and if I died he’d be just fine…. Wait, hold on…I felt relief to be alive and for what? A sucker punch? Over baby food. This is what I was relieved for or when he said that I’m a shit mother, grandmother and person…… But, that’s a god damned lie!!! Or when he finally said, before blocking me… Are you suicidal yet? No! Not over you, and piece of shit is old news. It doesn’t hurt me anymore! I scream in my head as the ashes fly furiously around behind my eyes trying to fling themselves onto my cheeks but I play dead instead. I remove my emotions from my chest, set them in a box and paint. The girl child struggling with her mental health captivated by every word he types stands by yelling “Ya!” “I’m taking your grandkids away! In every way possible! Blocking you from all pictures everywhere, my phone too like he did!”
The day I met my Linky Cooper, I looked into his eyes and felt his puzzle piece fit into the hurt part of my heart left by my mother. I felt it happen. More pure love in him than I’ve ever experienced. It felt like light and warmth and the explanation I’d been searching for. This boy was why. Why my path had traveled the way it did and when it did and every turn, dance, fall, kiss, heartbreak, run, walk, cut, had accumulated into this boy. This soul and mine. I cried tears of relief and pure joy. My ash falling onto his tiny hand and he looked back into my eyes.
Gone. Why did I feel relief?
My husband says… Stand up! Be the mother fucking warrior you are!! And I’m trying but ashes are falling out of a missing puzzle piece in my heart and I’m trying to scoop them up to pack them back in so the hole fills back up.
I’ll get there though. I always do. I’m a mother fucking warrior. Bet money on that.
No pictures of bears in ages and ages….
Night,
Tracy
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