Politics and Coping Mechanisms

   Anything religion and political based should be set aside from polite society, weddings/celebrations, funerals, and family gatherings. It's common knowledge.
At least in polite society.

  And by polite, I mean people who genuinely care about others and not just themselves.

  With my family, it has always been sink or swim when birthdays and holidays come around; I would usually sink, yet try to stay afloat by taking shots of alcohol prior to engagement and keeping some out in the car.
  I would physically dread having to go to those events because I knew some upset or another would happen. I would be so emotionally drained by the end of the night that I would end up crying and falling asleep with those memories playing in my head.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number one: Numbing. 

  I am very much an Aquarius, I avoid direct confrontation, but I will fight for others. I am also an asshole when I feel an injustice has been had. But when it comes to myself, I will let you wipe your feet off on me until I've had enough and Banshee scream at you several years later.
  I've played the long emotional game of trying to figure out each family member's mental illness each time a family encounter happens. One Thanksgiving I also created a drinking game, complete with a layout of events to unfold. If I had actually picked up the alcohol, I feel all of us would have been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning because it was that much of a shitshow.

  2020 hosted the worst Thanksgiving, but it was the most eye-opening. 

  Mom's is definitely PTSD mixed with something else and Narcissistic abuser.
  Brother is definitely Mania driven with the high-highs and low-lows of depression. 
  Father's, I can't put the finger on it, but it's a mix of brothers, hostage mentality, depression, and substance abuse for sure.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number two: Avoidance. 

  I knew my parents were already going crazy, but when Trump became president, whatever healthy brain cells were still alive and jumping took a flying leap into Fuckitville. I lost my parents after that.
  My mother would put her MAGA hat on at family functions and state how proud she was that her president was the man he was.
  She would actually cry about it. This was the same woman who taught me that bullying was wrong, that the little person deserved decency too, and even though she grew up in poverty, she taught us to better ourselves because no one else could.

  But then bettering ourselves became not being good enough for them, they would bully us, make fun of us for our ideals, until it just became me getting picked up because I kept my opinions.

Insert Opinion's once lost quote from Mr. Darcy.

  My father would try to start arguments with me when he wasn't telling me about his new conspiracy theories. Some of my favorites to date:
Hurricanes are created by the government, and they come from Georgia.
The Californian Camp Fire was created by Government laser beams.
They put trackers in medications so they know where everyone is all the time. 
  We would all come back with your generic Okay, cool, whatever, but would get called names when we didn't continue on. Or hell, even if we took the bait, we wouldn't somehow always be a snowflake that knew nothing.

  I adopted the saying, "I left them alone." anytime my father would ask what I did for my government today. Because I didn't care to get into it with him. You can only get called an Obama lover for ten plus years on repeat before your eyes glaze over and just agree that you love Obama.
  Hell, I wished I voted for him so I could really be blamed rightfully for something so fucking stupid.

  We also grew up, they both taught us this, that we were all meant to be different, that being different was great and yada yada and whatever other bullshit they would tack on. I grew up as a creative who loved art, sewing, collecting rocks, and loving the weather and moon. It shouldn't have been surprising that my career is in fashion design, and I am a Wiccan. Yet I'm forced to endure one of the last conversations I think I'll even have with my father was him asking me why I didn't believe in Jesus.

  The sad part is that even in 2020 when that was uttered, I still couldn't bring myself to be an asshole and reply back truthfully. If me being a Christian, meant me being them, then I didn't want that. I have found more peace in being Wiccan than I ever did as a Christian.
  The teachings are remarkably similar, their set of rules, or biblically, commandments are very much the same.

  Don't be an asshole.
  And if you are an asshole, maybe you should apologize for being an asshole and move the fuck on in peace and harmony.

  Which is literally the entire cause of my grief with my family. 

  But to them as they became, it wasn't/isn't okay to be different. You have to hide who you are, what you believe and what you think, just to fit their mould. I've never fit a mould, and I no longer apologise for it.

  I am a lot to handle, I have problems and I am vocal as fuck about them, I curse, I drink, I have fun. I cry in public, run around in the rain with crystals and jars of water...I am me and I am a beautiful mess of a person. 
  And I do know it takes a lot to put up with me and it's why I push away when I feel I am too much for people, I don't expect people to stay.

   They didn't bother...why should I expect anyone else to try?


  The minute they jumped on the hateful Trump train is when I lost respect for them. The last time I talked to my father about a stupid conspiracy theory I walked away crying, then went and got my nose pierced.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number three: Unhealthy Self-Soothing.

  
  I've watched as these people refused to go to church in one breath and be better people, then years later all they spew is hate via God and Trump in the very next breath. If Trump is a Godly man, then I am absolutely not mentally ill from years of fucking child abuse that was swept under the rug.
  
  Dealing with the hate for so long, and the utter disregard to just being nice during the holidays and birthdays, I stopped celebrating because they don't give me joy. I had put too much stock in holidays and trying to make them great for others, I didn't understand that I was also trying to cope with that too. I just wanted better things for others, because my memories were shit. Not all of them, but most in my later years. I also didn't understand that I was just rotting from the inside out with contempt during those celebrations.
  I would decorate, make everyone feel included, over shop, over cook, etc etc etc... until I was left feeling excluded, hurt because no one else put in the same exuberance or thought into an act, yet here I was owning it and making it the best day ever!
  
  I would unknowingly break my own heart because I expected others to be like me, to be excited like me. Unbeknown to myself, this was an escape, just like reading is for me. I will go back over and over and read the same books and they never get old, it's like watching my favorite movies.
I feel comfort in my old trustees, I kind of know how they go, and how they end, there won't be any surprises or twists I don't know about. I can linger in another world for a bit before I come back to real life. I could feel something other than my emotions and thoughts for just a little while.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number four: Escape.

   As always, if you're even remotely thinking the way I do.
  Go seek mental help, trust me, you need it.
  This is no way to live.

  

Birthday Dinner and Whine

 I do a lot of that lately, whine. It's not a birthday in our family if someone doesn't cry.

  But at dinner tonight I decided to go to a restaurant our family frequents because I generally enjoy the food. My sister and brother-in-law came with me for my birthday dinner, and my sister asked if I was sure about my choice of restaurant due to the family.
I said sure, the likelihood of her showing up this Saturday is slim, not unheard of, but slim.

We also ended up getting the waitress we always get, and the one that they and mom get which caused my sister to murmur, "Great, moms going to know."

  It stung. I stared at my menu until my unshed tears blurred away and I pushed it aside. I didn't cry this time, just went back to normal because I'm just...exhausted.

  I finally understand why people step back away from family and friends when they are fighting their own battles...and I think I'm done trying to carry on something no one wants to really be a part of because of fear of repercussions. 
I tried not to bring up family, not because I don't want to know what's going on (I still very much want to be a part of them anyway I can), but because I don't want my sister to feel like an in-between. I don't want her to feel like the odd man in, a liar, an informant, or like she play-acting a role.

  I found a random active Instagram my brother has up and one of his pictures was of a new addition of my parents spending time together with him. They looked happy.
I saved it to my phone, to better torcher myself because I don't have many of them with me, or around me.
I can't remember a real smile.

Secretly, I always envied the kids whose parents want to be around them. I watch it daily at my studio, hell, even some dads take care to show up and be a part of their daughters' lives.
I'm watching friends post about their parent's journeys through surgeries and such and see the updated pictures of closeness and then I feel alone again.

I haven't had that for an exceptionally long time. 

Each time something interfamily were to happen, instead of words of comfort, it's to me saying that I don't need to talk about it, or post about it. 

Today I'm in rotten headspace because everything is crumbling, and I have no one to talk to. I need a hug and a good shoulder to cry on instead of crying in bed on my laptop, my damn night lotion I just put on stinging my eyes because I keep wiping up into my eyes. 

  Today started off iffy, with my husband in severe pain and me happily hopeful in having a good day. We didn't talk much, so I stopped trying to create conversation or ask for input. I tried breakfast and I ended up just staring at the menu. If I'm shut down enough, I just go quiet and retreat in my head and then I can't get out.
So, the day started out wonderful in that aspect, full of anxiety, lack of available space to cry by myself, and crippling depression, with zero drive to do anything. 
  Tried it again on the way to an antique store, which ended up being closed. 
  I got numb hearing the only thing my husband would say to me the whole morning, which was I love you.

  I feel bad that the only thing he could say to me was a gentle reminder that he does love me even though I'm stuck in my head and wishing...what exactly?
  On the way home my transmission went out and I dropped my phone in water when I tried to go seek solace in the bathroom. I laid down afterward and just fell asleep because I was emotionally done.


Then I woke up to my husband being in so much pain he told me if he didn't get better, then he wanted to blow his brain out. I got him on the Tens unit as I type, and he finally fell asleep.

So, as I said, I'm in rotten headspace, with no one to voice my grievances because I'm tired. I don't want to chase people off...or anymore off. What's worse is when I tried to talk to a set of friends, they swayed away from the topic I brought up, since then I barely reply unless it's to show I'm still there.
I never want to be an emotional vampire....I know I can be as negative as they come because life is constantly giving me lemons, and fuck it if I've run out of recipes to use them in.

I have a surplus of lemons and I can't give the fuckers away fast enough before I'm drowning in lemons and emotions and dreams of people I used to know and knowing no better way to survive than to write in a blog that no one ever reads.
And probably won't because it's fuck all depressing. 

 Today is a horrible day, I have zero drive to do even the littlest of things and even if I did, I couldn't even make it to the store because my damn car is broken.


At least I can sit in the living room, for another couple of minutes and cry before my roommate gets home and asks questions. I also enjoy that I can post this into the void that is the web-o-sphere and have absolutely no one read it.

But one day I hope it helps someone, knowing that it's okay to be an absolute mess because there are a few of us vocal about how unfair life really is.

Excluded for Peace

​I think the most heartbreaking thing about choosing to distance myself from my family is the following sentence: 

I felt I couldn’t invite/include you because it would off your mother. 

To me, I do get it. 

They had to make that hard decision on one of the happiest days of their lives.

But emotionally, I feel like a social pariah. Because my mother is such an asshole, people who like me (I think they like me. I hope they do. My brain says things, and I hesitate to jump to conclusions) feel the need to stay away from me.

Yeah, that hurts a lot but again, I get it. 

I just don’t like the feeling that makes me feel. To not be included in things so it keeps the peace…so it doesn’t anger the entity that is my mother.

Today was the first day I had the Ill thought I never thought I’d have.

The grief branch of anger, of hate and true loathing. 

For the very first time I hate my mother and everything she has put me through. I hate the games she played/plays, I hate the wedge she caused between my siblings and me over the years, I hate I can’t talk to my dad or step dad and be at peace without thinking I’m going to hurt one or the other because my mother tells me I’m an asshole for choosing not to choose. 

I hate that she still rules the thoughts in my head and dictates my movements in life.

I hate that I don’t look at my successes as success because my creativity always made her cringe, she never understood me, nor did she try.

I hate that she’s not even fucking trying to understand where I’m coming from when I started this silence campaign. I hate she didn’t do the ONE thing I asked her before I went radio silent. 

I fucking hate it. 

She squashed every ounce of self confidence I had from young to now, only saying the magic words when I told her I was done…

I hate the memories I have of her sitting on the couch, rubbing my arm as we watched Grey’s Anatomy, or holding my hand in the car….

My favorite memories of her. 

I want very much to have a hug, a hand hold or even…just acknowledging my hurt…

I hate that I’m crying as I write this in the bathroom of my very successful business so as not to worry my business partners.

I’m sad and mad at the same time and I hate that I have these moments, but know it’s how it goes even 8 months in. 

Each month that goes by I feel hopeless for reconciliation from either of our stand points.

Mostly because if my family doesn’t talk to me, the likelihood of me willingly coming back into the fold after a year of this messy emotional rollercoaster…I’m going to chose my peace and tell them to fuck off. 

It’s fascinating how fickle human emotions are year after year. 

One day at a time. 

Cry it out then get back to being awesome. 

You Broke me First

​

  I carry a guilt I can’t explain in just one word. This single picture above speaks volumes to me, I’ve listened to it exactly three times. 

My mothers not dead, nor is she dying, this isn’t that kind of guilt. I have survivors guilt and grief, over someone who still exists. 

  My guilt centers around abandonment and how I abandoned my parents and two of my siblings.

My guilt swirles into self-punishment because I really think I have the right to be happy and not abused.

  I hate that I cry over something I did. I made it happen. It’s my fault these things are happening to me.

  I have guilt over knowing each one has a mental illness that’s gone unchecked and I helped keep it quiet for the sake of my family staying ‘normal.’

  I’m sad because I knew it wasn’t normal but my mind came to cope and expect hate from everyone. I knew better, but I felt I shouldn’t expect any better. 

  I mourn that I still care, when it’s been shown in the time stamp above, just how much I’m cared for back. 

  I let my tears fall unchecked, my sobs wreck my body and the items I clench in desperate pleading, as they fall into a Rubbermaid box so I can pack it up and try and forget. the images, the memories, the tears, smiles, laughter, and fear. 

  You see, pain, guilt, and grief is not linear.

  But it lingers, triggering here and there, like today.

  Name calling…

  The word snowflake means more to me than what it does to most because the man I called my father would snidely call me one, would assume who I voted for then hold it over my head. He would try to insult me by calling out my religion, political view and personal beliefs. 

  When I lay it out I get why I felt zero closeness to my dad since the reign of Trump…it diminished quickly in 2020. 

  My parents taught us not to name call or bully others, they caused a ruckus with schools when we were bullied. Then later in life they bully us themselves. 

So, with that, you broke me first.

It’s not my fault.

And I shouldn’t have guilt. 

One day I hope to heal myself further. 

Triangulation

Triangulation

Psychology

Triangulation is a term most closely associated with the work of Murray Bowen called Family Theory. Bowen theorized that a two-person emotional system is unstable, in that under stress it forms itself into a three-person system or triangle.

My yelling in Starbucks spawned a year or so long grouping of sister and myself trying to figure out what we needed to do, to get our mother into therapy. We had tried before, and I failed that time too. 
I was working for DCF at the time, I was sitting out in the parking lot talking to my sister about how the family wanted me to talk to her about the idea. 
When I say the family, I mean the whole kit and caboodle: dad, brother, sister.
We were trying to figure out a way to make her go, but also sacrifice one of us to go; So I volunteered.

Calling her ended up with her refusing flat out and if I needed therapy so bad then I just needed to suck it up and go by myself.

Botched attempt and years later, 2019, we dragged our brother into the fold when our mother called each of us and started bitching about things he was doing. Instead of carrying on the facade, I told her to figure it out since she let him move back in after he left my house, told her it wasn't my issue and I hung up and called my sister.
Finally! We got our bother in the loop and we let him know what we figured out and knew about moms bullshit.

He agreed with what we ended up coming up with.
Triangulation. 
It's the only thing that made any sense, she was playing us all against the other and we were tried of it.
It started with: Mom gets pissed at one of us, she starts playing the victim to two out of the three and the third never hears the whole story because the others are now pissed off at the third because mom pulled her bullshit.
 The sad thing about this whole story is for years, after I volunteered for the family behest their pleading because they couldn't live with her being miserable, I stepped up to the plate and became the sacrifical black sheep and family asshole: I'm still being shit on after all these years.

I was taught to stick up for myself.

Then in 2020, she got lung cancer.
The best thing that could ever happen to her because now she was immune to the bad things that were creeping up. Us planning on having a family sit down and come to Jesus talk, and from a rumor I heard about her possibly getting fired.
The spotlight was now on her.
I know this will come off as callus; but you don't know her like I know her. You don't know the shit I've put up with, the mental anguish she put me thought and the nights of crying myself asleep wondering why she hated me so much.

This put a halt to our plan to confront her and then everything came crashing down. 

I thought she'd be humbled by getting fucking lung cancer, but it only made her more bitter and harsh.
Well, I attributed that to being a staunch Trump supporter also, along with many other thoughts I'm not willing to go into now. But the woman lost her ever loving mind in 2020.
First she lost her shit over my husband and I collectively fostering a kiddo; I was following her footsteps. 
Definitely wasn't, by the way, because from a normal parental range of 10 she's at a -10 for being a bad human.
She would bitch my sisters ear off about how I suck as a parent, how I shouldn't have had kids (shit I'd been telling her for years, because I never wanted children), how I was only wanting to see my little sister because we had our foster draughter, and so much other bullcrap I can't even remember it all because my trauma goldfish brain started to push that out.

The family made me make them masks, and after busting my ass to do them, I get told they don't believe covid was a real thing, it was a hoax because Trump said so and they refused to wear them.
Like, what the hell?
I'm sure they stocked up on toilet paper, bleach and Lysol too.
It was a shitty start to the year dealing with them and how they kept my little sister away from me, like I wasn't worth talking to.

I know too much and they don't want me to 'turn her against them.'

Over the years my dad and bother had lost their minds too, I don't recognize them nor do I like who they are.
They have so many conspiracy theories I start to have panic attacks when I'm left alone with either of them in fear of them cornering me. 
The last time my father started on his theory crap, I made it exactly five feet away before I started crying, stated I wanted a nose piercing and my husband drove me to get one.
It was physically painful to see him and listen to him, and know my dad was gone. I rather go on living without ever seeing them again, that's how bad it has gotten with my family.

It's a strange place, finding yourself stuck between caring and not. Between the few good memories and the absolute shit fest life had been for years.
By having something jar a memory to where you get lost long enough to be stunned when you show backup in reality, like being shoved into a pool and getting shocked by the cold.
Every holiday, every birthday, every plea to come by the house because I hadn't been by in a while (when no one made a move to come see me), every single time was a time I watched a reality show on how lack of mental health really hurts a group of people.
Mom has a masters degree, dad used to own a very sucessful business and was now downgraded to the Donut man, and then there's my brother.

He's on a complete different level that he deserves his own chapter at this point.
He's drugged out, in debt up to his eyeballs because mom let him get duped by a pyramid scheme, he's been enabled his entire life to the point where he still lives at home after a small (regrettable on my part) stint living with my husband, roommate and myself for less than a year, and the inevitable fallout because I was fucking up his hippy vibe because I asked him to clean up his nasty ass room.

Amongst...other things.

So, in summery. 

Hi, My name is Rheana Earnhardt.

My mother is a narcissist.

My family sacrificed me to the narcissist so they could live a better life, because when mom loves you; she really loves you.

She buys you vacations and nice things, promises you things that you absolutely love; only if you're on her side.

I sacrificed my peace of mind to save people who threw me to the wolf.

But when she hates you?

You end up like me; a social pariah to your family who put you there because no one else could stand up, to be talked about behind your back to outside family and friends who don't understand the family dynamic and sent them after you to gather in formation, you become paranoid wondering if people who are saying they support you, actually support you, insulted you for years, and was shunned.

 

The Songs that Move Us

  For as long as I could remember, I let music move me. I spend days going down musical rabbit holes in search for new jams and inspirations. I'll sit in my studio before clients come in jamming out to new music and sew.

Music has been there through my many highs and lows of growing up, to love and divorce.
I once spent an entire summer combing through my late Uncle Mikes vast collection of unmarked burned CD's, wrote down lyrics to research lyrics later so I could find out who sang what.
This was a summer where my whole life was changed and upturned. My grandfather had past away, then a week later Uncle Mike died. We also moved from Las Vegas to Pensacola in a whirlwind of boxes and crazy music choices. This helped me cope with a lot, an ending and a beginning. Dark and light battling it out in my deep dark little soul.
At this time I was enjoying my dark phase: Evanescence and Disturbed. 

I've had a Walkman where I taped my own mixes from radio edits from the hit radio station in Vegas. I'd had my diskman when Napster was prevalent and you had to pray no one picked up the damn landline during a download. 

I've been through all these things, the blooming of technology: my first boyfriend bought me a Zune where my first few downloads were a movie for my long ass flight from Canada back to Florida and then later I bought an iPod touch for my birthday since my ex husband really sucked at gift giving
Think $20 dish set from Walmart. 
We already had dishes.
That I bought.

Music, for everyone, holds something special. 
It's what binds us to emotion, to memories, to life.

I can go down the list of my favorite songs and tell you what part of life I was in, what I felt and why this was a song I would listen to on repeat. The memories vivid, beautiful in all their dirty glory. 
Sunshine and rainbows didn't describe my childhood, but I managed to grow and get through a lot of really dark times without giving myself fully to depression.
Music and writing were what saved my soul, it's how I learned I would be okay. It gave me an outlet for my emotions, belting out the lyrics in my car as I drove, crying or laughing, good or bad mood, music has been my constant companions. Never had I had someone known me quite as much as music.

This is the short Playlist of my life:

Pink- Family Portrait
Years of abuse at the hands of adults had caused me to go down a dark path of wanting to commit suicide on several occasions, so I no longer had to live in a constant state of fear and unease at being a failure. But also battling a deep sense of being someone someday, someone that would speak out and be a soldier for kids like me. 
Walking on eggshells, staying up late so I slept until noon because then I would only have a few hours less of fucking up. Hearing this song with my step sister made me realize I wasn't the only one out there being hurt.
Hearing this as an adult I will still belt it out in the garage and my car as a type of continual

Evanescence- Bring Me to Life
I found this song at the airport as we were leaving Las Vegas for the last time to move to Florida.
Sitting in McCarren Airport, CD freshly bought with a magazine because I saw it had a Disturbed song. I was full of angst.
I had gone through the worst year of my young life and everything had changed.
I saw death for the first time, I saw the inevitable fall of my step dad emotionally when we got the call that my Uncle Mike was found dead and I was the only one at home to hold this strong man as he cried in my arms. Bring me to Life was the theme song of my next year of high school, played on repeat as I sat at the front of the bus; new girl and all.

Lady A- I Run to You
'I run my life
Or is it runnin' me
Run from my past
I run too fast
Or too slow it seems
When lies become the truth
That's when I run to you'

The summer I met my ex husband.
This song was on repeat for me even before, I feel head over heel for that man. Young dumb and in love was definitely the title of that portion of my life. 

A Great Big World- Say Something
'And I will swallow my pride
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye
Say something, I'm giving up on you'

I'd drive to work early in the mornings singing this at the top of my lungs. This was in the middle of our two year marriage, right after we married and I found out he felt like I made him commit. That it was my fault for him getting called to duty for the military because I wanted to get married.
I still remember walking in the door of his mothers kitchen and receiving the news that he was going over seas two weeks after getting married.
Learning your husband low key hated you because you thought marrying him would make him love you more, is a sad realization that no, if he didn't like you before; marrying the man wasn't gunna change that.

Sam Smith- Stay with me
'Oh, won't you stay with me
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But darling, stay with me'

This song broke my soul after my divorce.
I would cry in the car anytime it came on the radio because it was gut wrenching how his voice portrayed so much emotion but it also painted a picture of my ex being alone. I know I wasn't his favorite person because of how he treated me, but I had found this broken man and I just could not keep pouring myself into a cup that refused to stay full. 
And even though I moved on, I still grieved for a year after.

Halsey-You should be sad
"I wanna start this out and say
I gotta get it off my chest (my chest)
Got no anger, got no malice
Just a little bit of regret (regret)"

Coming to terms with a hate I had for my ex and wondering why, for years after, he hurt me so much. What had I done to him, besides love him enough to hurt me so bad and still stay. I was never pretty enough, or skinny, I didn't have the same aesthetics as sexy women he wanted me to be like, I dressed in polka dots when he wanted me dressed as a 'slut'. Realizing that my ex probably wasn't all that bad because his mother latched her hateful nature onto him because she's just an asshole.
Still don't like her after eight years.
Still wish I would have sent her a glitter bomb.

The part about her not wanting babies with the source of her song, also rang true. I would have been stuck if I agreed to that.

Little Big Town- Better Man
'I know I'm probably better off on my own
Than loving a man who
Didn't know what he had when he had it
And I see the permanent damage you did to me'

It took a long time to love myself after back to back child abuse and domestic discourse with a verbally abusive spouse. I sat a lot stuck in my head and in a  rut, on whether or not I was actually loveable or if it was just me. If all these people treated me so bad, was it me really me? Or was I exuding a sort of pheromone that said, 'Hey, look at me, I'm weak."
It took until 2020 for me to stop apologizing to the people who hurt me, for standing up for myself and putting my emotional health first. 

Lana Del Ray- Summertime Sadness
'I got my red dress on tonight
Dancin' in the dark, in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big, beauty queen style
High heels off, I'm feelin' alive'

After months of struggling with right and wrong, self hate and a deep hate for my ex and what he was putting me thought emotionally; I wore my red dress that night. I went out to a dance social and looked beautiful in a dress I didn't feel too comfortable in, but I was stepping out of my comfort zone for the first time and saying 'fuck it, my happiness came first.'
And danced the night away with a man who later became my second husband.

John Legend- All of Me
'Cause all of me loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections'

When Andrew came into my life, he made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. He never told me, but it was the small things he did or said; all while respecting that I was married. He knew my emotions and would ask me when he knew something was off; with him I could never hide anything that was wrong, still can't. He would ask me about my day and we would talk about our plans and dreams while sitting at the local colleges racket ball courts in between our ballroom/swing dance practices or at Sonic over a drink before parting and going our separate ways.
It was the way he took my hand to help me down the flight of stairs on Swing dance nights, and how I actually longed, each week, for the next time he took my hand going down those steps every Friday night.

Lady A- Compass
'You wanna give up cause it's dark
We're really not that far apart
So let your heart, sweetheart
Be your compass when you're lost
And you should follow it wherever it may go'

This was my theme song when I moved into my very own apartment, establishing a dominance over my ex husband, and letting him know the ball was in my court. It took a trip to Favor house, a domestic violence center, and one night with the family, to show everyone, I wasn't crazy and I had a legitiment excuse for wanting a divorce.
When my mother said, 'It's like you were a different person.' when referring to my behaviors with my ex, is when I knew I was done.
I was done.

We the Kings- We'll Be a Dream
'Do you remember the nights we
Stayed up, just laughing
Smiling for hours at anything?
Remember the nights we, Drove around crazy in love?'

When I told my now husband that I loved him, I was married. I told him I wished I would have met him sooner. This song was the start of that romance and both a unhappy ending, but a truly happy new beginning.

Passenger- Let her Go
'Well, you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go'

And Let Her Go was the end.
I spent a week once driving around the PSC campus looking for his mustang so I could set the gummy bears I bought him on his car, to let him know I still loved him. But given the social norm and the fact that my marriage was still crumbling (not a huge shocker), I felt that if I didn't show him I cared, then it would be over.
I knew he was my soulmate.
And after the last fight with my ex, a packing of his things and basically helping him load it up into his truck. 
We were done.
And since that last time, songs have powered everyday of my life.

So it's not surprising that I find my writing inspiration with music. I make playlists for the books I'm working on and have them saved on YouTube, but also write out the songs and put them under which chapter or inner story that it attaches too. 
If someone comes into my office and looks at my story board, I will have to answer a lot of questions. 

What are the songs that move you? What stories do you hold inside with your favorite songs?

Yelling in a Starbucks

‘I think moms putting us against each other.’ The whirlwind in my heard seemed to solidify to this one sentence and I was powerless against stopping it from making its presence known by way of yelling it across Starbucks. 

But there it was, a solid, stand alone sentence that held so much for my sister and I.

The meaning that stood behind it meant our mother, had been playing us all against each other, causing such a chaos within our family that it drove a wedge so far into each of our 

We had spent a couple of stupid years holding bitterness against each other, brought forth by our own mother. 

The other day my sister said it perfectly:

I find myself being bitter and jealous that she (our little sister) gets the best of mom. I had wished she had even shown me an ounce of that energy she bestows on her.

Maybe things would have been different. 

The truth is, Is that I don’t understand what changed. 

I know her ACEs score is high and I fear her not getting mental health help has caused her brain to simply decay. 

Because it was always bad; but not THIS bad. 

This ‘mom’ is not the mother of my childhood. I didn’t know a parent could harvest this much hate and resentment, and enough so to cause a disaster everywhere she went. 

After reading A Boy Called It…I understood more.