Two Years Later... (From June 26, 2012)

My depression got worse before it finally got better.
I've lost touch with the D/s world and am okay with that.
Still a rock & roll junkie.
Still a bit trashy, but I've learned there's a time and place for it.
  Like heavy metal music festivals.
Still a broke bitch but my finances are now in much better shape, so instead of broke let's call it "frugal."
I'm not over Buzzard yet, I wasn't when I wrote it two years ago, but I have moved on and will not let myself look back.  I can't ever let him back into my life this time around.  Ever.  
I've lost even more weight.
And there's more gray hair throughout this mane of mine.
I no longer need contacts or glasses to see.
Cultivated more new friendships and let go of ones that faded away without remorse, animosity, or regret.
Still have the same job, going on year seven.
My nephew has taken to calling me Na-Na.
The car is paid off.
I have health insurance.
Nine tattoos instead of eight.
The revolving door my bed used to be is no longer in service.
  Aka - I'm learning to respect and love myself.
Still in tune with my sexuality but I yearn for something with substance.
I've been to Las Vegas for 3-11 Day and had the time of my life.
My mother and I are as close as ever.
Same goes for my brother and I.
I am fatherless now; mine has gone on to Heaven.
Attempting to grasp the fact that life is about the right-here-right-now, not the what-ifs, would-ofs, or should-ofs, or even the what-wills of the future.  It's about right now.

24 Things I Am Now (From June 23, 2010)

I wrote this in an attempt to figure out where my life was and where I wanted it to go.  I know there's a list from 2009 laying around somewhere but as of right now I cannot find it.  The notes in italics are from my point of view at the present time.

Utterly and hopelessly depressed, worse than ever before. 

  Little did I know it would get so much worse.

More dominant than submissive.  

Rock & Roll junkie.

Still trashy.

Still a broke bitch.

Still slutty.

Eight tattoos.

The aunt of a beautiful baby boy.

  Nico was born on October 27th, 2009.

Over Buzzard.

  Haha, I was delusional.  I was in no way, shape, or form over this man.

Over the other one whose name began with a B.

  The love I had for this one turned into a good friendship.

Having an affair with a co-worker.

  Not so much an affair as just simple fun.  He's still a good friend.

Perfectly lonely.

More mindfuck-er than fuck-ee.

  This is up for debate.

A few pounds lighter.

Noticing more gray hair around my temples.

Mourning the death of more than one friendship.

Back to working for the same boss who hired me out of college.

Closer to my Mama.

Not afraid to jump on a plane, train, or into an automobile.

Feeling like I'm back at square one.

Suffering from a creativity block.

Uninsured.

Attempting to clean up the mess I've made of my life.

Feeling Better But Not Quite 100%

I haven't been posting lately because my depression has subsided for the time being.  It's still there, it still rears it's ugly head every once in a while, but for the most part I am doing well.  I've been busy with work which occupies my time and leaves me exhausted at the end of the day.  But now that the summer season is here I will have a lot more free time on my hands, and one of my goals is to continue to write about the progress of my journey.  New realizations have cropped up and I have made major changes as far as eliminating toxic elements from my life in order to keep moving forward.  I have sort of adopted that as my mantra - Just keep moving forward and do not look back.


Stay tuned...

Ode to Buzzard - If You Ever Really Loved Me

I don't think you really love me.
If you truly loved me, you'd show it.
You'd fight for me instead of pushing me away.
If you truly loved me,
You wouldn't always be keeping your eye out for the next conquest.
If you truly loved me,
You'd realize that sleeping with 100 women doesn't make you a man,
that fighting for one while 99 others are chasing you is what makes you a man.
If you truly loved me, you wouldn't hurt me.
You would put aside whatever "bullshit" you're dealing with
in order to be with me.
I can no longer fight, I have become too weak.
I can't force you to make a decision.
And if you truly loved me,
you wouldn't force me to make the decision to walk away.
So I guess you don't really love me.

If you truly loved me,
you'd step up to the plate and be a fucking man,
you'd be the man I need instead of telling me that you can't be.
Instead you're throwing me away because you're scared.
So I guess you really don't love me.

I can't save you nor do I want to.
You don't need saving.
I hope a part of you dies every time you think about me.

I've told you everything, I've given you everything,
but you don't want it and you've proved that to me.
Because if you wanted it, it wouldn't be this hard.
So I guess you don't really love me.

Through all of this I still believe that love is the strongest force
that propels us as human beings.
You obviously don't feel the same way,
because if you did I wouldn't be lying on the floor
with a broken, bleeding heart
wondering how I am going to survive every fucking minute
of every awful day without you.
So I guess you don't really love me.

I took off the ring and put it away
with all of the other tokens from men who disappointed me.
Just another symbol of failure
to add to my collection.

And That's What the Birth Control Is For...

  A question I've been asking myself lately is whether or not my biological clock is truly ticking.  I'm writing this as my two-year-old nephew is sitting next to me, enthralled by Woody & Buzz in the world of Toy Story playing on the television.  He's been here since about 7:30 this morning, we've watched Finding Nemo, (kind of,) he took a huge and disgusting poop, we've gone for a walk around the block, and lunch isn't for another two hours.  Oh yes, and we've already had a temper tantrum over cookies.

  It's all good though, this little guy is my baby.  He's the love of my life.  Some days the only reason I get out of bed or decide to keep trudging through life is because of him.  He loves his Nah-Nah and I love him.

  But obviously it's a lot different because he's not my baby.  I didn't give birth to him, I can only help out here and there when it comes to raising him; he's mine to spoil because he's my nephew and not my son.  All my life I've dreamed of having kids.  One, two, three, there was a time I even thought I wanted four.  But now I'm starting to think I'm just plain crazy.  How could I dream of even wanting a baby when sometimes it's hard to even look at Nico without wanting to cry?  What is it that makes me want to cry?  The fact that he's growing up without my dad, his PopPop?  The fact that there are days when I'm in such a funk that I hate myself for not being able to fully enjoy the time I get to spend with him?  Maybe the fact that I'm scared of two things - one, that I'll never get the chance to have a baby, or two, that deep down I don't see how I could ever be a good mother?
  While on the phone with one of my girl friends the other night, I remarked at how sometimes I think having a baby would help save my sanity because it would fulfill one of the major problems I'm suffering from - that I feel I have no purpose in life.  It's a reason to be the best person one can be because there's another human being depending on them.  Isn't it?
  It's just hard when last night I was with Buzzard, the man whose baby I'd have without even having to think about it.  Being in the mental state that I am, though, it would not be fair to bring a child into this world.  Right now, that's what the birth control's for.

Fat Tuesday or Therapy Tuesday?

I haven't been to grief counseling or to the therapist in about two weeks.  My next meeting with the counselor is tomorrow night and my next therapy session isn't until the 29th.  Tomorrow night is also Fat Tuesday, a holiday that my friends and I are pretty big on.  But this year, I have to be up for work by probably about 4 am the next morning.  I'm torn between skipping out this year or just saying, fuck it, and calling up Rosie to tell her I can't make it this week.  But would that be smart of me considering the fact that I've been drunk for about 6 days straight at this point?

Journal Excerpt - June 6, 2010

I just feel so empty as of late, like there is absolutely nothing inside of me.  No muse for the purpose of creation, no love to give away, nothing.  So empty.  My smile hides it, of course.  I don't even know if there ever was a twinkle in my eye to begin with.  If there was, it's long gone.  I have no goals; I've destroyed any means I had to achieve them.  No great love, no friends.  It's just...me.  An empty shell.  I know anyone reading this that knows me would be quick to think I am crazy.  I go around saying I'm a photographer but I sure as hell don't feel like one.  I party like a rockstar and fuck like one, but no one witnesses the dark times spent alone in my room.  I wouldn't dare let them.