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Showing posts from November, 2018


I don't cry much. I've always felt the need to appear like I always have it together.

I was thinking about my mom last night. She's been laying in the hospital for a few weeks, again. I haven't seen my mom outside of a hospital room more than a handful of times this year. Things are getting worse before they're getting better.

I thought about how I haven't been able to go to my mom's house to pick her up and take her for a drive. We missed the farmer's market in Barberton this year. We didn't go to Amish Country to see the giant Cuckoo Clock. She got to see the seasons change from either windows on the 10th floor in downtown Cleveland, or from the screen of my phone.

There have only been glimpses, brief moments of the outdoors. Otherwise, it's all indoors. In a bed.

I cried the kind of tears that come from really deep within. Those grief tears. Those tears where even if you try and stop them, they keep coming.

I really needed to cry like that.

Feeding What Hurts.

Yesterday was my first food centered holiday since making peace with myself.

I had dinner with my best friend and her family. We've been friends for a really long time, and have similar hurts. We've been discussing our pasts in really raw terms, and it has been immensely healing and helpful for me to be able to open up like that. So, what better way to celebrate than eating homemade comfort foods. I got a little bit of each and picked through it while we watched Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. I had a piece of pie. I ate too much spinach dip.

But I didn't leave feeling too full while simultaneously feeling empty. I didn't have to endure attacks on my weakest parts being disguised as kind hearted joking. We ate, we laughed, we talked a little when our husbands were downstairs, and we had a good time.

I've always struggled with the holidays, because of my family dynamic. We've always been poor, so holidays became just another day a long time ago. Even as adults…

Things I'd Like To Be Writing About (once the funk lifts)

Writing is always the first thing to go to the wayside when I'm in a major funk. Depression is stupid, and adjusting to new meds is even more stupid.

So, when I'm ready, this is what I want to write about:

Malls (history, architecture, the death of the third place, personal stories that may feature Rolling Acres Mall the most)

Cannabis (personal anecdotes, medicinal use, cannabis tourism)

Mental Health (living with PTSD, what happens when I find myself triggered, what works, what doesn't)

Music and Pop Culture

SNL (I watch faithfully every Sunday morning, have for a long time)

I find myself wanting to blog again, because nobody reads blogs. But that doesn't mean that we have to stop writing, does it?