belated update.

it has seriously been wayyy too long since my last post. sorry, bb's. i'm doing fair. not much has happened, really. family drama (on my mom's side), health issues, and a lot of internal dialogue (soul searching) is really all thats been going on. i have found forgiveness, lost some more sanity, found truths, amongst other things.

grace.

i entangled myself into jane eyre, then soon found myself ensnared in a novel entitled finding grace. it was as if some cosmic energy meant for me to read finding grace immediately following jane eyre. it was amazing, to say the least. a breath of fresh air.

i'm doing okay. my outlook on things is still quite bland, but i have a shimmer of hope, guiding me from somewhere beneath me. twelve days until my birthday. having much trepidation about it this year. its not like its the big 3-0, or anything. i don't know. right now i feel as though i'm just skating by on grace, and hanging on by a wing and a prayer.

gray.

Today I’m feeling very depressed. Upon my research, I saw a note in the symptoms of Holt-Oram Syndrome that was called “Psychological Morbidity.” What in the fuck is this shit? Could this be why I have chronic and clinical depression? That it is attributed to this syndrome, as opposed to an alcoholic abusive father who loathed me from the second I was spat into this world?
I don’t know what to do to pull myself out of this hole. The world is gray. Gray skies. Gray outlook on life. I have no hope. I’m not suicidal, don’t misconstrue my words. But I do not dream of goals for myself. I see nothing in my future. I am one of 100 or so people in this universe with this thing (being that the geneticist confirms it.) It has taken away the one hope of having children, which was my dream. That dream, like my heart when I was born, has a hole right through it. I just feel like I am at a standstill in my life and I absolutely despise it.
I don’t know if this is a product of my depression or if this is my devastation taking hold to me like white on rice. I don’t know what to do with my life, with myself, with my future. Del said to write. Well I’m writing. I’m pouring the feelings out of me as tea from a pot. I was born with said hole in my heart, however, I still feel as though I’m not whole. And I haven’t the foggiest as to what to do to rectify this situation.

update.

Its been a while since I’ve written, and for that I apologize. I’m still settling into this singlehood and am loathing every blasted moment of it. I had this first date with this supposed “soft butch,” who smoked reefer like my Grandma chain smoked cigarettes. Seriously. That most definitely goes down in the handbook of worst first dates EVER.

My depression and anxiety have taken hold to me like Blanche to a new Marine in uniform. I’m actively trying to cope with this thing. I was also diagnosed with high blood pressure. However, because of my “disability,” medical staff have always had to take my blood pressure via a leg cuff. A trip to my pediatric cardiologist this week spawned a new idea; to use a newborn arm cuff on my left arm. And whadoyaknow, my bp was pretty much normal. Said trip to the pediatric cardiologist yielded perhaps a final diagnosis as to what all of my birth defects is. Its called Holt – Oram Syndrome. Quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me. This means that I’d pass it down to my children. I’m exploring my feelings on this.

I contacted a celebrity that I know asking him what direction to go in, because he is a fantastic writer/director/producer. My idol. Del Shores is a beautiful man. My being gay or straight or bi doesn’t matter; he is beautiful. He said to write. So here I sit, writing. A newfound friend told me I needed to peel back the layers of the onion of myself. However, to realize that the outside is the same as the inside; its still an onion. That means I’m going to cry. Damnit to hell, as my Grandma says. Anyways, I bid you goodnight. I am alive, my fellow bloggers.

just breathe.

starting over. its a blessing and a curse. breath taking and suffocating. sometimes i wonder if i'm doing this damn thing right. where's the guidebook? two steps forwards, five steps back. i outlived the hell that sorry ass son of a bitch put me through to get to this point? why am i having such a hard time now? hell, this shit should be easy. that used to be me. i used to be the queen of starting over. it used to be so easy. (coincidentally, so was i.) i know what it is that i want, but honestly, i'm so damn jaded that... i don't know. i just need to catch my breath.

on with the show.

its friday night, i'm wide assed awake, theres a girl in my bed with my two furbabies sleeping, a dr pepper by my side and here i sit frumpy as can be. alas, its a 7 year old girl my mom is babysitting and i have to a) sleep on the opposite end of the bed (but with this sprawling spider bed hog, thats not an option) or b) sleep in my sister's room. eh. joy. looking on the bright side, however, my sister did manage to perform a miracle tonight, though. i insisted she bring home a dr pepper for me (as she was out and about on the town) and she shot me down saying she wasn't in her car. after some good old fashioned sisterly brawling, a miracle ensued: she dropped off a dr pepper at my mama's doorstep like a redheaded stepchild on the front steps of a convent in the dead of night. the vatican would laugh if i were to approach them, claiming a true miracle happened: a thoughtful teenager. maybe i could claim mother theresa's characture on my dr pepper bottle? or that mother theresa's holy spirit engulfed my sister's soul, transforming her into a thoughtful teenager? who am i to question such miracles? on with the show!!

violet skies.

cheryl & i went to atlanta this weekend to see a very sordid affair. it got canceled due to snow but we met everybody at an elite hotel bar. everybody was so down to earth, it was unreal. i got the inside scoops on certain hollywood elites that were fascinating. leave it to me to have a clutz moment. i wore three inch fuck me pumps in a snow and ice covered atlanta and didnt slip. i get to cheryl's house and slip barefooted on a sock and landed on my knee. only me, i tell ya.


i got my truck back, for which i'm grateful and relieved. now i won't be trapped at home any longer. this coming tuesday i may have a possible run-in with my dad and step mom's daughter. we were both invited to a poetry night at a local coffee house. i'm a confirmed guest, she a maybe guest. i don't want any shit. no fake conversation, no nothing. i wanna enjoy my night with my friends and my cousin.

this week is vintage picture week on facebook. i'll leave yall with my vintage picture. its the first time i met reba.