Indecisive. I think.

Ugh. Being in your early twenties (or close enough to it) brings on a lot of stress and a lot of big decisions. I mean, its the beginning of the rest of your life. You control where and how most things go. Your job, where you live, who you love, if you wanna have a family, that kinda thing. These are all things you’re supposed to know by this age. Or so you’re told from the age that you can start actually comprehending English.

But if you’re anything like me, or anyone my age really, you have no idea what you wanna do or where you wanna go and you kinda freak out because you feel like you don’t have anything figured out and that’s basically just setting yourself up for failure, right?

Wrong.

Before I even graduated high-school I was a small business owner, a CNA and working a part-time job and a full-time job. Being a geriatric CNA has been what I wanted to do my whole life. Or so I thought.

I realized quite a long time ago that working with old people isn’t my forte. It’s depressing. You surround yourself with a bunch of old, dying, sad old people who don’t know what’s going on half the time. I’m not saying that I don’t want to be in the medical field at all, and yeah I had a good job, but a part of growing up is trial and error.

I just got another job as a CNA in an assisted living facility and I can already tell that I’m going to hate it. I went through the orientation process and had interaction time with the staff and some of the patients and I can just tell it’s something I’m (once again) not going to be happy with. And if it wasn’t for me knowing that I HAVE to have this job so I can start bringing money back into the house, I would have politely declined the job offer and I’d find something part-time until I could figure out what I wanna do.

That doesn’t necessarily mean that being a geriatric CNA has ruined the medical field for me. Actually, quite on the contrary. I’d like to go further and further my education but I feel like the place I need to be with is children. And I could be wrong. I could end up working as a pediatric CNA or MA or LPN or whatever and hate it. Again, trial and error.

I don’t know what I wanna do. Hell, I don’t even know what I don’t wanna do. All I know is that early twenty-somethings are some of the hardest times you’ll deal with and where you’ll be faced with some of the hardest decisions you’ll ever have to make in your life.

All I can do at this point is hope and pray that I’m soon pointed in the right direction. Or at least one that makes me happy.

Creativity

My last post was a little melodramatic and self-pitying, and I’m kind of laughing at myself. But this post is about something that really hits close to home.

I’m assuming you can read, which means you’ve read the caption of this article and you know where this is going…

Creativity seems to die when you lose a reason to be creative. My reason used to be a person and frankly, I believe she’d be disappointed if she knew I gave up anything because I was just sad. 

When I was younger, I was taken in by a lady that didn’t even know me. My parents weren’t too fond of me and my character and basically kicked me out (in the fifth grade). This woman took me under her wing and pretty much taught me what I know up to this point in my life.

She taught me how to paint, how to make jewelry (and not just that plasitc bead crap you’d expect every 5th grader to be obsessed with), how to crochet and countless other things. Every day after school we’d do my homework together and do something fun afterwards.

She was such a unique woman. She had 8 dachshunds, 12 birds and 3 tattoos. Not your “typical grandma”. Her only son was locked away in prison and his first grandchild never got the privilege of meeting her.

Unfortunately, she fell victim to the nasty disease of COPD and passed away 11 days before my 12th birthday. I was devastated. The night she passed away I was in the room with her and as I’ve become older, I realize that I wish I wasn’t. I had to see her for the last time completely miserable.

A slow, steady breathing pattern. A faint beep in the distance of a machine counting her heart rate. A cold, fragile hand intertwined with mine. Tears running down my face, yet no sound could escape from me.

Then suddenly, a steady beep. A limp movement of her hand. Her chest no longer moving. Not even a little. And screams that could be heard from the other side of the city.

 Everything I had left taken from me in an instant and with it went my creativity.I became depressed. I would go to school but I wouldnt do anything. I started lashing out more. I wouldnt leave my room unless I absolutely had to. There was no talking to me. There was no convincing me. I threw away all my paint and canvases. I threw away all my jewelry sets.  I even went as far as undoing the little bit of a crochet piece I had started because I was so angry.

Here I am, almost 8 years later realizing that I should have never given up the only gift she gave me that I could carry with me the rest of my life. If I could go back and tell myself anything that I know now, it would be to carry on and let her live inside of me. Happily, like she would have wanted.

I know its not too late for me to try to start over, and it may take awhile.. But damn, if there’s anything I know that she would’ve wanted, it would’ve been for me to be happy and to shine like the “star of her life” that I was.

What a year can do

Wow. To say that my life has turned a complete 360 since I’ve last made an appearance here would be an understatement. I feel like I’ve been in a never-ending tornado that just keeps spinning me more and more in violent circles and I’m just kinda going with the motions. My boyfriend of a year is now no longer apart of my life, when a year ago he was my whole world. We don’t speak. We see each other in passing through comments on Facebook and don’t acknowledge each others existence. It’s like we never existed in each others worlds.

Currently, I am living with my “new” boyfriend with two of his friends in a little townhouse down the road from where I grew up. I’ve moved 4 times since I’ve moved out of my parents house, have been through 8 cars, and completely cut off all ties with my family. It’s sad, you know? Feeling like the people who are supposed to be there for you no matter what are ready to just cut you loose and never look back once you’re and “adult” and on your own. My boyfriends grandparents treat me more like family than my own family ever has.

Things have been rough lately. With me. With me and Devon. With life. I currently no longer have a vehicle. A friend of my totaled it and I there has been no action on his part to replace it as of yet. I am also out of a job. For the first time since 2013, I am not working. It’s a strange feeling, I’ll give you that. But aside from strange, it’s stressful. Not knowing if I’ll be able to make rent, wondering when my phone is gonna be cut off because I didn’t have any money to put towards the phone bill, being almost impossible to pass a drug test because I starting smoking weed again because my stress levels are so high it’s sent me to the emergency room a multitude of times.

I feel like every person in my life either gets tired of me or gets tired of dealing with me. That’s my problem right now. I also have a bad habit of overthinking things and ruining them by that alone. I’m trying to hold on, but I feel like everyone else is ready to let go.

I don’t know where I’ll be the next time I write. Hopefully in a place where I no longer have to feel anything at all, or where I am perpetually content with the way things are going. Because if it’s anything like they are now, I can’t take much more.

 

 

I just need someone I can count on to talk to that wont judge me when I cry out for help and that wont think I’m stupid just because I’m confused.

Survival.

Today, I survived another day though I wish I hadnt

I look down at my wrists and say I wont make it a habit

But then I look at my thighs and see the scars that still remain

And every time you fuck with my heart I feel even worse pain

A blade down my skin would be nicer than this

You make me feel like another stupid, worthless, sorry little bitch

How many times are you gonna sit there and promise me the world?

Just to turn around and destroy all the hopes of a young naiive girl?

You scream “This isnt the person I am, I swear baby, I’m better.”

But I promise, you arent the same boy who sat and wrote me that letter

Cause that shit came from your heart and not some fucking impulse

Its a shame that now when I talk to you; instant repulse

But I’ll smile, forgive you, and give you another chance

Then we talk, and argue, and it feels like the same dance

Some days I swear I feel like I’d be happier off dead

Cause even when I ignore you, you’re still in my fucking head

That’s just life though, I guess it goes on

And you’ll fucking play me, like a game of chess; I’m just another pawn

Dear dad

Dear Dad,

I know this is something that you’ll never read and I’m okay with that. You’ve never taken interest in my life before, so what would a random post, deep down in the internet, that you will never ever come across matter? Nothing. Just like how much everything else that has to do with me matters to you.

Sometimes I have flashbacks, you know? I remember you looking down at me and my sister. Promising us that you’ll come pick us up the next day. Swearing you’d come back and see us. Calling me up on the phone when you didn’t show up and telling me that you’d be there tomorrow because you got caught up.

I wonder if you know how many hours I spent on the front porch waiting for you to show up. How many times I screamed when the sun went down and mom had to drag me inside because you weren’t gonna show up. How many of my tears rolled off my face and into the soil of the little plant that I would twist the leaves off of as I waited for you. How many games of hopscotch I played to keep myself busy.

2 years old. You left me at two years old. You looked me in my bright green eyes and promised me you’d come back and never did. You stole every single penny in you and moms account. You stole everything from her personal account. Sometimes I wonder what was running through your head when mom found out that all of her money was gone when she went to swipe her card to buy groceries and she called you. What were you thinking when your response to her hysterically crying was “I did it because I knew you wouldn’t let those little kids starve.”

Those kids? You mean me? Your own blood? Your daughter that you almost lost? The only successful kid that you and mom had together? That one? Or do you mean my sister? You know, the one who wasn’t related to you by blood but that you decided to take upon yourself to adopt her? What was the point of adopting her if you were just gonna throw both of us to the side? What was the point of having me if you were just gonna walk out of my life?

It’s funny how you can remember such small details about your life at such a young age. I still remember you sending an envelope for Kayla and I that Christmas. I was SO excited that we finally heard from you. I was so happy that you sent us something. I opened the card and you sent me into tears. How could a FATHER send his two children a $1 bill ripped in half with the note “half of this is for one, and the other have is for another. don’t spend it all in one place. -dad”? How the FUCK could you do that without hating yourself?

How could you go my whole life without paying for a single thing for me? You went years without paying child support before they finally took it out of your retirement checks. How could you hold back benefits that I could get that wouldn’t affect you in anyway? How could you keep me from little things that would do nothing but help me along the way.

Why?

I try to think of what I could’ve done wrong. I’ve spent my whole life blaming myself for you and moms separation. I’ve finally accepted that it was never me. I was 2. What could I have done wrong at 2? Nothing. It wasn’t me. It was you. You were greedy and selfish and I had nothing to do with it. I was just affected by it unfortunately. I was affected by a mean man who never cared about me.

We spoke recently. A couple of years ago. I was searching for my brother and you called me back. You sounded well. You told me that you’d always wanted to talk to me. You’d always wanted to find me. You’d always wanted to have a relationship with me. You sent your son up here to spy on us. You had him see if we were better off without you or if we were living in a dumpy little house. You never called again after that one 1 hour phone call we had. 14 years after you left and you still couldn’t step up and be a father. You still couldn’t be there for me. You were still a liar.

Just so you know, I am not 18 years old. I’m a senior in highschool and I’m graduating in 4 months. I’m working on getting my CNA and I’m already working as a caregiver. I’m planning on getting married at the end of this year. I’m also getting myself a new car in about 9 months. I’m moving out shortly after graduation. I’ve grown up to be a wonderful young adult. And you missed out on all of it. I hope you’re happy with your life, because I know that I sure as hell am happy with mine.

Doesn’t that make you jump with joy, dad? Aren’t you proud of me and how far I’ve come? I did it. I made something of myself. I became everything you said I never would be.

I just wrote this to say thank you. Thank you for showing me what a parent is NOT. Thank you for showing me what NOT to look for in a man. Thank you for showing me that I can live without you and still be okay.

Love always,
K
(Your youngest, strongest, and most successful daughter)