I haven't used this blog in ages. I would like to assume that is because I just don't have the time like I used to, and that may be true in some aspect, but the truth is... I've merely had a lack of inspiration. That's mainly because, I can't write unless I am really thinking about something that usually brings me deep pain, sadness, or an overwhelming feeling of lack of control. Today is one of those days, years after I wrote the last post on this blog. It is to my greatest displeasure that I have returned, to be quite honest about it, but I really need an outlet to pour all of this emotion into and there is just no easy way to speak to anyone about it; I have never been the best at conveying my emotions during conversations. I have very little confidence that this will have any direct point or even sound coherent, so please, bear with me. (that is a red flag for all of you coherency critics. Go away.) As I'm sure if you are living anywhere near or on Planet Earth, you have heard about the horrible tragedy that struck a suburban area in Colorado on July 20th. I honestly wish I had never had to wake up to it. Earlier in the week, my boyfriend and I had decided to skip the midnight premiere that we were highly anticipating and chose a time frame that better fit our 8 month old son's schedule. He was visiting his Grammy for a few early hours and we were going to sneak off to the 11:10 am showing. I had to wake up early and it was nasty overcast... So I could already tell that it was a terrible day. We were already running late and I had decided I REALLY needed to clip his nails... I decided on a whim I would just sit in the back seat with him and clip them on the way. (Just so you know a person in their right mind should never do this. I never have my right mind.) Unfortunately, I accidentally over clipped and he began crying. Not just crying... Crying like he was in severe pain, like most mothers I can differentiate my son's cries. I saw blood pouring from the tip of his finger and I just lost it! I think I was crying harder than him. Scrambling for a tissue I somehow managed to find one and applied pressure to the wound... It took a very long time, but I finally managed to get the bleeding to stop well after we had arrived at Drew's parents' home. I could finally tell that the cut was at least minor, even if it took a long time to stop bleeding - not that it made me feel like I was any sort of a good mother to my son after causing him pain... So obviously my day was already a horror, and I couldn't even fathom the horror that I would be overcome with in just minutes after, when I learned of the terrible fate of these poor innocent people that just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. That place was a movie theater, and a midnight party for "The Dark Knight Rises." Seventy-Two, completely innocent people who just happened to all get lucky enough to score a ticket to a very highly anticipated movie premiere. I just wish that I didn't know them. I wish that I didn't have to know anything about these people that live many states west of me. I wish that I didn't have to read about what amazing, beautiful people they were. I wish that I didn't have to mourn the dead, who I had never met, but wouldn't have minded meeting: A six year old girl who should have seen a movie with her mommy, and then went home to cuddle under some warm covers. Men who were American heroes. Men who became heroes. Mothers. Fathers. Husbands. Someone's babies. Siblings. Aunts/Uncles. A very interesting sports blogger, who had an unfortunate run in with fate for the second time. A young man who was barely a legal adult who was ready to start college. A witty man, who just loved comics and was expecting a great birthday. A young woman, having fun with friends. I wish I didn't have to shed a tear for any of them. I wish this... Because I shouldn't. I shouldn't have known about any of these people. They should have just been another group of people, who saw a movie they were excited about and then went to their homes, unharmed. Now all of these innocent people, who were so very unique now unfortunately have to share a statistic in Colorado history, as part of the deadliest shooting in Colorado since 1999; Their blood on the hands of a 24-year old, who has honestly shown Americans, who hadn't come to the conclusion yet, that no matter how thin a criminal file is, there is no telling what capabilities lay in the hands of a seemingly innocent person. My heart breaks for them. I could never imagine in a million years what the families and friends of the victims are feeling. I can't imagine what the city is feeling. I can't imagine what the witnesses and bystanders are feeling. I won't. I don't want to. It hurts enough just to realize that these innocent people were ripped away from us. So many wonderful people that had so much to offer this cold world. My heart breaks for the families involved. There are no uplifting things to say to these people. It's hard. Impossible. There is no reason. None. This was senseless. It was a terrible horrible crime against strangers. My heart especially breaks for the family of James Holmes who had to receive this horrible call. In some ways I rejoice for the families who know that their boys saved lives of those around them. They died heroes. At least they can be proud of this. James Holmes parents will likely spend the rest of their days wondering what they did or didn't do that would have caused or prevented this tragedy. The truth is... Probably nothing. Unfortunately, parents aren't always to blame for what their children do or don't do. Personalities and strengths and weaknesses are forged through our life experiences. Honestly, I really don't know where I'm going with this. Senseless babbling. I do wish that people would stop taking this political, or using this as any argument for anything. People should have respect for people. This is most important. It could probably solve every problem in the world. Please respect these unfortunate, innocent people. Pray for them. Think of them. Write about them. Do whatever it is that you do. I pray that peace finds them soon. And as for James Holmes... he deserves nothing more than air to breathe at this moment in time. I hope he begins to talk soon. I hope our government will do what's right with him. I will leave my opinion out of this, but I believe we all really know what should happen to him. Please Heavenly Father, help these Victims. All of the Victims of James Holmes and their families/friends. Help them all find peace. Open your arms to welcome the spirits of these deceased people, Lord. I pray this of thee, help us find answers.Amen.

I often wonder who I truly am,

If I truly am, I wonder often.

I often wander down the path less traveled.

The more the wear, I walk upon it much less.

I often make eye contact with myself.

When I do I turn away.

I have my share of doubts and fears,

And I fear my doubts,

And I doubt my fears.

But I’ve never once ignored these tears.

They stream down my face,

Into my morning coffee,

They travel through the drain,

When dumped and I’m jealous.

Why are they free?

Can I be let free from you?

Like these feelings are free of me?

This.

Is.

Me.

I’m high strung, I’m pessimistic.

Optimism left me long ago,

And stress free?

Well I’ve merely grasped it.

I think myself a basket case.

Others see me as a writer.

I see myself jumping off the edge.

Others see me writing sonnets.

About all of the wicked things from my life.

So they can read my thoughts and feelings.

And twist them into things that fit themselves.

When deep inside these are true to me,

They are not to tangle up with others.

This is me.

This is who I am.

I’ve never written a word for others.

Even when I write to you,

Every sentence belongs to me.

Every line I write about you or he,

Or she or they or it or we.

The memories are mine to weep out.

Or smile about.

Or laugh about.

They fit me.

They are mine.

They are Me.

I am this.

THIS is me.

This is who I am.

Every word.

I am a sheet of paper.

I write myself down.

I tear myself to shreds,

I hang myself up.

I take myself down.

But I allow others to read me.

Hoping that they might GET me,

Only to be disappointed by the image in the mirror

That no one but I myself can see.

I turn away.

Not ashamed.

I know me.

I don’t have a need or want to look again.

I just am.

I just want to be.

This

Is

Me.

Today, as I was wrapping Christmas presents, for seemingly the entire world, I glanced over at the bottom drawer of Drew's desk, that had been cracked open for weeks now, neither of us eager to figure out the block behind. Agitated at the world due to some odd shaped gift that had me swearing that next year everything WILL be shaped perfectly, OR ELSE... I decided today would be the day that I set whatever was trapped behind the drawer free. Little did I realize that I would waste an hour or more reminiscing about the nearly four year relationship with the love of my life, with a love stupid smile, falling deeper with every page, card, or picture that we had thrown in the desk drawer over the years; It seems as if it had finally decided to overflow.

As I reached behind and caught my arm on the desk, I pulled out a few things, a couple leftover prom pictures, first anniversary card, and a note that I had written, describing the things I learned in school that day, of course a large portion of the middle was dedicated to the "I love you" phrase written over and over, all over the page were "notes for the mortal." I had to give a side-smile to myself, and wonder, why did he keep this? The card I had given him for our first anniversary was a musical thing that terrified me when I opened it, the card itself was a disgusting green, with barbecued wings on a plate, nothing that would signify an anniversary. In fact, the message read: They gave their lives so that we might celebrate, let us dance to thier memory; And of course it played the chicken dance song. The message I enclosed was very deep, (sarcastically, I might add.):

Hey Honey,
Betcha' wanted one of those lame mushy cards, eh? Hah. =)
I love you so much, you're my everything. Barf. Kidding. Wanna
kick my butt at halo now? For Old times sake? LOVE YOU!<3

PS here's money for Wild Wings, next time.

Remember that one, Drew? =)

The worst part of it is that I had to remember why I would even write such a silly little enclosure. I felt horrible when I did remember. Drew asked me to be his girlfriend, after he totally pissed me off while playing Halo 2, and we used to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, constantly. How could I have forgotten? That's a huge part of us. As I moved on through the receipts, and bills, and other that had also fallen, I stumbled upon a movie ticket to, what I believe was the first movie we saw together, Pirates of Caribbean 2. I also found our second and third year anniversary cards a few notes, and a handheld video game. I was disappointed to find that the cards and notes progressed further and further away from the girl I was at the beginning. It's as if the girl I used to be was gradually shoved into a drawer, and fell behind, trapped.

It's not that I dislike who I am, it's that I just experienced in an hour, three years of growing up. Growing up. Don't you hate that word? It's like remembering the summer days I used to spend playing with ninja turtle action figures, Hotwheels, Power Rangers, riding my bike, not having much of a care in the world, but every day I was getting older, and I didn't know it, until I turned 18, and realized that I was legally an adult. I used to feel and think youthfully, but that didn't get me very far as an adult. I realize that I am not by any means "old." But it's the thought that lays in my mind always, that I am just growing up, nonstop, uncontrollably flying through my life; it doesn't seem like it's going to be long before I am.

I guess I just realized that five more years from now, I could be looking at more memories, memories that have yet to be made. Or even 50 years from now, If I'm lucky, I'll have grandchildren, and I'll be remembering my own children, when they were young. Absolutely insane.

But as depressing as it sounds, I was so happy looking back on the silly notes that helped build our relationship together, Drew. And I intend to make many more years of memories with you, so that I can always wear that "stupid in love" gaze that you seem to make magically appear when you're around. I love you.


I wondered what was going through your mind.
As you brought your hand to my face.
I wondered what it would be like, if you could just ask.
Maybe you could ask me to help you take your belt off backwards.
Sometimes, I just don't understand the cues you show.
But I forgive you before and after every fit you throw.
Many think that you're defective,
But I don't know what they're expecting...
You were just built with a beauty that most don't understand.
Even I don't understand you sometimes.
And I can't feel the pain you have inside.
I can try express to you that you hurt me, with your hand.
But, like me, you don't seem to understand.
It's like a language barrier has been built by some force out of our hands.
That blocks our minds from understanding each others pain and plans.
But even though I don't quite get every thing you do.
Like hitting me accidentally while you're twirling your shoes.
Or Pulling out my hair, when there's just nothing else to do...
I know that I'll always be here for you,
I will not walk out or ever give up on you,
I have a love for you that goes the deepest in my heart,
and I don't have to understand it for it's been there from the start.
It's ever growing, every day it's stronger than I can bear,
And Typical and Autistic do not hold a meaning there.





At 5 every morning you roll out of your place.
You're never home anymore, you're not even sure what to call home.
It's been weeks since you've welcomed the warm sheets on your own bed.
You feel like it's calling your name.
But you're not yourself these days.
You shake on your jeans and give a disappointed look to yourself in the bathroom mirror.
"Who are you?"
Your eyes gaze upon the being looking back at you.
Every move you make is her's, too.
But the cold brown eyes gazing into yours...
Are not a pair you care to own.
You skip breakfast to get a few more minutes of sleep.
And go out to your car, though you're dead on your feet.
The voices of instruments guide you to contentment,
and the words of 5 angels, leave your mind to it's thoughts.
At work you are joyful, or you seem that way.
It seems there's no one around who can ruin your "good day."
And after, you walk, for a while before leaving.
Kicking leaves, sticks, and water.
You shiver at your thoughts.
The graveyard is where you spend 5 minutes to think.
"I'm dead in my mind."
You can't remember how it happened.
You don't remember when it happened.
But it's been months since you were in your own being.
You're dead and gone now.
You're walking back now.
And you thought you saw the girl you once were,
but she was just a reflection, in the muddy waters.
So you leap into the cold waters of the winter,
Trying to let the hypothermia claim the breaths that you take.
But your old common sense finds you again.
As you climb, trembling out of the below freezing slush,
you feel anger at yourself for the save.
You know that you're dying, you're dying inside.
And you've made yourself a slave to your emotions, and stress.
And you've only yourself to blame.
And the words you write now, they've lost their luster.
And the person you were, is lost in the clusters,
of people you used to befriend, that you let walk away.
You're nothing right now.
You've lost sight of yourself.
You've unhinged your mind.
And you've unplugged yourself.
"Who are you?"
Maybe in the days to come, everything will fall into place.
And maybe you just need some space.
Maybe you're just hiding yourself.
Hiding in fear of hurting yourself.
Or of being hurt again.
You'll find yourself.
You will.
Have faith.