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.

goodbye, 09.

timing. what a funny, funny bitch. she's perfect. perfectly annoying. and oh.em.gee. sarcasticly cynical in every way possible. she has slutty tendencies by screwin you every now and then. (bitch takes the $20 off ya night stand, too.) she does have a secret though,... she's a secret user. she's a profuse sweater with a ginormous b.o. problem. she's just so damn nit-picky about being exactly perfect. if you're late, you sweat. if you're early, you sweat. i'mma kick a bitch in her taco.

me and time haven't seen eye to eye much this year. this year we're both on crazy meds though. maybe we can get along and play nicely this coming year. ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes... bitch gonna fall down when i kick her in the taco.

here's to a new year.

my left tit itches.

today marks the anniversary of their deaths. two years, i think. it still seems unbelievable that he's dead. i wonder how long it'll be before he's gone. i let my mom read my story that i began. maybe i'll share some of it with yall. if yall have any interest, that is.

this being single shit sucks fat dick. seriously. but my singledom has given me a greater appreciation for my family this holiday season. especially given the bad news we received. its hard to muster compassion for an embodiment of nastiness, even when you know you need to. i feel better in knowing that i am not alone in feeling that though.

i'm uber looking forward to my mini vacation with cheryl to atlanta to see del shores and his husband on their sordid lives tour.

my butt STiLL itches.

OMFG. if i could get a tattoo again, i know what i'd be getting:

http://ugliesttattoos.com/2009/11/19/funny-tattoos-you-would-see-the-biggest-gift-would-be-from-me/

my butt itches.

things have been going much better lately. "Right back in my hometown, with my ...family, There’s old friends and new friends, and even a bear..." okay maybe not a bear, but still, it is nice to reconnect with old friends and new friends galore. i have to admit, though, i do feel guilty for going out and socializing so much when cheryl is sitting home. i know that we are broken up, and that it shouldn't matter but damnit, it just feels weird going through my days and weeks without her there day to day. i went back for a weekend with her. we had a blast but it was bittersweet. the dogs acted as if no time or routine had ever changed.

i'm having fun with my friends and family. so thats good. i went to a new doctor here at home and had a horrifical experience. first of all, mind you that i am 27 years old. the new doctor, Dr C, was who i was supposed to have seen and with whom my appointment was made. but the group he's in got it messed up and had me see Dr J. concerned about my anxiety, i spoke with him about my medication. i don't have many options there because of my addictions. he literally got in my face and lectured me on how to manage it. then said he wasn't the doctor who put me on the med i am on, so he couldn't take me off of it.

i take a deep breath and tell this fucker that i am managing my anxiety in the non-medication ways that he "suggested" and informed him that the doctor who placed me on the med for the anxiety is no longer my doctor because i'm no longer an inpatient there anymore. he sticks to his guns, refusing to change my medication. (what the hell is a general practice doctor for, then?!) then he wants to listen to my heart since i am a cardiac baby. after that, i sit up to jump down off of the table. when i did, he said, "good girl."

WHAT KIND OF OUTRIGHT GOD FORSAKEN FUCKERY IS THAT BULLSHIT?! seriously. what. the. fuckity. fuck. my BFF, ashes, went with me. evfen she was sittin there hopin and prayin i didn't kick this holier-than-thou man's ass. and believe you me, it was hard as hell not to do so. stupid fuck. he can go the fuck on somewhere with his bushy ass eyebrows that need to be mowed with a lawnmower. ugh.

pictures.

mah new hair color. (i was sleepy in this pic, was the reason for the eat shit look.)



Mine.


I present to you, the shrunken headed/lioness mythological creature, post FIRST haircut:


A more normalish looking Sophia that semi-resembles an alien life form.

breathing again.

things are getting easier. part of me hates that and part of me loves it. i am still sad and hurt; the only difference is, is that i can breathe again. it will truly be okay. i believe that now.

i'm still going stir crazy stuck in the house. the holidays are upon us, so i know it'll be easier soon.

onward st olaf, onward we go...

i am in my sanctuary, protected by my family. they stand as if they were guarding buckingham palace. as dutifully as they stand, i can't help but to wonder if they are aware of the ongoings behind palace walls. so much chaos, all perfectly aligned. an idiom in itself; the perfect dysfunctional family whose wheels keep turning like a ghetto rigged machine. i find myself knee deep in waters trying to forge my place in this new place. i'm still defying logic by relentlessly remaining stubborn that this is not my home.
my heart is hurting by more than the obvious. friends i thought to be real, was only a mirrored facade. i believed in them with my heart and soul, but to be shafted and cut so cold shows the true nature. old friends from lifetimes ago have reappeared and are helping this transition flow less harsher. its amazing how some friendships stand the test of time, even when you grow up and sometimes apart. its a beautiful thing.

observation.

observation: in a southern, sordid family, its secrets have become the glue that binds its lunacy, loyalty, and love.

nothingness.

i feel like a carcass that has been gutted. i'm empty inside. i am a hollow shell of myself. i cried myself to sleep last night, and i honestly want to again tonight. she is in charleston, three sheets to the wind, having a grand ol' time, living it up, partying, laughing, and carrying on. i'm at my mother's listening to one of my brothers blow his nose. when will this crippling aching subside? i cannot carry this pain much longer; every breath hurts, every beat of my heart cries for her, every dream yearns for her, for her touch, her caress, her kiss, her love.

i am not coming undone; i am undone. i am nothing. i am not a wife, i am not a partner. i am not me.

i am nothing.

every heart beat hurts.

tonight is a hard night. i am sitting at my new home alone, and she is off living her life. we both need to heal; i am not oblivious to this. but tonight i miss my now ex wife. i miss her terribly. more than anything, i just want to curl up into what was our bed, in our home, with our little fur baby family and go to sleep with the windows open and all of her quilts layered on top of us.

tonight, every tear shed hurts.

living again.

today was an okay day. i could have kicked my mama's behind from here to the mason-dixon line, though. my mama is keeping certain medicines of mine for me and disperses them to me as they are needed. well, she took the wrong medicines with her this morning, leaving the ones she was supposed to take with her. the thing is, is that one of them she took was my blood pressure medication. not. frikkin. good.
last night i had to go to the ER because i was almost positive that the headache i had was due to extremely high blood pressure. my bp was great, actually, so it was just a migraine/cluster headache. yucky. Cheryl took me to the er and had to talk for me until my headache eased off until i could formulte my words into a coherant sentence. it felt nice having her here for the day. i didn't realize until she was here just exactly how much i missed her. it also was not hard as i thought it would be, seeing her. in fact, it was surprisingly easy. (like your mama.) we've decided to heal ourselves before we even give serious thoughts to a possible reunion. which, i'm okay with. it may or may not happen. but my top priority is working on getting me healed.
for the first time in a long while, i can genuinely say that i am okay.

knock, knock. who's there? pandora's box.

have you ever reached the point of maximum capacity? the boiling point? have you ever internally (metaphorically, of course) exploded? i have. i'm now officially the poster child for "that crazy girl" in the group of friends you have.

i'm the girl who now adorns the name tag that says,
"HELLO MY NAME IS: slim shady crazy."

i don't wish to rehash the epic saga of a fairytale gone majorly awry; it still stings too much at the moment. my wife and i of almost five years are no longer. we are separated. will we reunite? i don't know. i do know, however, is that we both need time to heal ourselves. we are in no rush and are plodding along one day at a time. we still love each other with no shadows of doubt lurching around anywhere on that. that's never been the issue. marriage runs on more than love alone. sometimes we get so lost that we forget that and sometimes can't find a way back to where you started. so at 27 years old, i am back with my family; the exact place i need to be to heal myself inside out.
i've been newly diagnosed with severe hypertension, so i am trying to cope with that hurdle as well. i'm once again looking forward t seeing what life brings before me next on the merry-go-round. this experience is definitely not the end of me, no.

i merely was interrupted by lunacy faith, love, and hope knocking at my door to catch my attention.

hope is anew.

a new look, a new start, a new beginnings. girl, interrupted meet atonement, interrupted. onward we go.