Time

“You can get most things back. The only thing you can’t get back is time.” - a wise friend, today


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Lessons

Yesterday, I was sad. That deep sort of overwhelming, penetrating sadness racked my soul. I went downstairs to get a hug from Hope and she told me, because I drank the night before, “alcohol is a depressant; this isn’t you. It’s ok I know what it’s like to feel sad for no reason.” Then she gave me some healthy suggestions of things I could do to help myself. She is so wise and so comforting to me. The relationship I share with her is unlike any other in my life and I feel grateful for her as a teacher and as a friend. She’s my greatest teacher, actually. I remember telling her that a couple summers ago as we sat under the trees and I watched a tear fall from her eye as the words hit her. Yes, she is my greatest teacher. And I’m glad she knows it.


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Surgery

My mama went into surgery today, a bilateral hip replacement. I am insanely nervous for this, even though I’ve been reminded countless times by countless people that she should come out of nothing but perfect again, able to walk again without hobbling around like 90-something year old woman like she has been the last six or so months. Still, prayers please for a safe and healthy recovery. Om shanti shanti shanti. Blessings to you and yours.


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Intuition

I had such a strong feeling this morning of feeling like I had forgotten something I needed on the way to work. Immediately after this intuitive feeling came on I realized I had left my make-up bag at home. I usually put my make-up on in the car on the way to work and was bare faced all day. I don’t wear a lot of make-up but my staples are cover up and mascara and I had neither on. But it was ok. I’m just weirded out by how strong my feeling was of having forgotten something — my intuitive senses really freak me out at times ... more later, when I can think of how to make this post more interesting


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Dreams 2

I awake suddenly from a nightmare, drenched in terror and sweat. It’s come to me again. What do I do with this? I have dreams of my family dying, of the future in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. Robots everywhere. Bees extinct. The dreams are tragic and difficult and I don’t know how to navigate why I’m having them. My mom says they’re just nightmares; “do you know how many times I had nightmares of my Grandmother dying and gosh, she lived to 75.”
I’m not convinced. My dreams take hold of me, these ... nightmares. As I was just typing ‘nightmares’ my phone autocorrected to ‘blessings’. Are they blessings? Warnings? What?

I cry for hours in my bed, tear soaked & mascara stained sheets. I’m training myself in how to be lonely while alone. That it’s ok. It is ok.


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Do you?

Things that should be asked, often, in every type of relationship: how is your heart? Is your breath happy here? Do you feel free?
—nayyirah waheed


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Grandpa

When my grandfather died when I was 13, I can remember my dad turning around in his seat to my sisters in the back of the car telling us, girls, this isn’t grandpa anymore, what you’re going to see here is just his shell. That stuck with me. We have these human bodies we walk around containing the entire universe inside of us. When we leave our human bodies, all that’s left in this physical world is our shell.


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That Inner Voice

I was talking to a friend earlier today about the curiosity that our inner selves have for traumatic or extreme situations, even when they’re going on. We spoke about how interesting is that, even during some sort of crisis occurring, that there can be that ongoing narrative that removes us, just a little bit, from the crisis at hand. I believe it’s this voice that can keep us complete succumbing to the tragedy (or even triumph and beauty, depends on scenario at hand). I believe this voice in the back of mind, is the one that keeps me writing and just teetering over to the side of the sane. Perhaps madness is genius though, as the saying goes. Who’s to say a crisis so pervasive and LARGE couldn’t topple me down to the other side. I do know that the curiosity to experience all things, though, would still be present. At least, eventually.


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A Dream

“What does the ice cream represent?”, she asked. “Blessings and good fortune”, I answered.
This was met with a skeptical gaze. “I think you misinterpret my dreams. That’s why I don’t like telling them to you.”
In the dream, Hope had silvery white hair and was in some sort of ski village, in an ice cream shop. She got to the front of a very long line and was greeted with a less-than-friendly ice cream-scoop-wielding sales clerk. “What would you like?”, she asked my sister. Hope asked for a flavor and the girl behind the counter began to scoop ice cream into a cone. Scoop after scoop, my sister says to her, “I don’t need that much.” The girl behind the counter retorts with a smirk and hands Hope her tower of ice cream. As she heads towards the exit, the ice cream begins to fall off the cone. Standing at the threshold of the ice cream shop, Hope takes a look behind her, back at the long line. She knows that she doesn’t want to wait in line again for more and so she takes a step outside. There, the rest of the ice cream, melting already, falls off the cone onto the ground at her feet.

Now, I have a different interpretation of the Dream, and it’s much more sinister than blessings and good fortune. This scares me but I don’t know, knowing what I do now, how else to interpret it.


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Artistry

I often wonder about if people who are totally secure in their beauty find it easier to create because they don’t worry about how they appear to others. That their inner voice doesn’t nag at them to do anything different than create from their own little sacred heart space. That creativity is born more easily for the secure. Or is some art born of insecurity and that is beauty in its own right?


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Pier 2.

I’ve been so impressed by my sister lately. Always nudging herself closer and closer to her truth through big steps like apologizing when it’s warranted and being honest when she’s asked the tough questions. She is becoming more open to all that she has to feel, especially in a wake of a tragedy that rocked her to her core. She told me today, “I may not have been as delicate with my words as i should have been ...” in reference to a rude comment she threw at me the other night. I told her it was okay and thanked her for apologizing. Of course it’s okay; apologizing is an act of bravery and who wouldn’t accept a sincere one?
She also is so good with silence. The space between words. Knowing when to talk and when to stay quiet, to listen. I’m learning so much from my relationship with her and feel so lucky to have her by my side, riding these rocky waves together, hand in hand; we got this. I did a lot of damage to our relationship when we were growing up and I feel that we are truly and fully repairing now. I am so grateful.


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Darkness & Light

Back when I was in OkCupid for a brief stint, one of the compatibility questions was this: if you had to choose one, which would it be; always night or always day? I immediately selected “Night” without thinking much into it.

What I did immediately consider is that nighttime is when we rest. When the world around us slows down for a little while. We cozy up in a dream-filled state and let ourselves hang out there for a little.

Daytime? The daytime is tricky. You get the bad news in the daytime; the calls that bring you to your knees. But it’s also when the sun comes to kiss the fields it rises upon. It brings hope for a new day.

There is a crack in everything; that’s where the light gets in.


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You and Me

The totality
Of my
Oversize & obscure presence

Might be too much for you but
Underneath your sarcasm is a small
Child waiting to be
Held by someone you once said was too much


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Growing Bravery

Presence. What a thing. Deb says I need to “grow the muscle” that brings me back to the present when I’m immersed in worries of the future. Again and again, come back to the present. Can I engage my cynical, intrusive thoughts? Can I argue with them, challenge them, tell them they’re welcome here but let them know when it’s time to leave? Am I bold enough for that? A strong personality I have, yes, but boldness, bravery, speaking up to the voices in my head — am I bold and brave enough for that?


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Thank you

Last night, across the table where we sat for my dad’s birthday dinner, Pier reached across and gently held my hands. Alix, she said, focusing directly on me. “It doesn’t help anything to worry.” She calmed me, my sister. On the way back to the car, she said to me: “you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” So is she. So is she.


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Tonight

Tonight is terrifying to me. Full moons always are a little eerie to me, and with everything going on, too much to put into words right now. I feel so scared. So sick. So sad. It’s hard to describe what being psychologically and emotionally overwhelmed really feels like. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be right now. Trying to call in healing.


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Threw Stones at the Stars but the Whole Sky Fell

I’m not sure where to begin with this post so I’m just going to begin here. I just got up to Mike’s and am waiting for him in his driveway. I’m realizing this delay is so I can write this post. On the way here, I got a notification that there was a Psychic Expo at 3:00 in Grand Rapids. If I had planned better I could have gone to that until 4:30. Mike and I are supposed to go to LCD Soundsystem tonight and I don’t know if I really even care for their music that much. Mike could have sold the ticket he’s going to give to me but he said he wants me to go with him. Feeling confused about where I’m supposed to be tonight. A friend told me yesterday that my sister (Pier) might need me tonight, but I think she’s going to go to a movie with my mom and I can’t sit through movies. I told the guy at Wildside, Hank, about Holly when I was in there the other day getting Cool Whips (a current addiction of mine) and he hooked up a friends and family discount today. I really need to cool it on the cool whips. For real. I also stopped by the Neutral Zone to see if I could sign the last form for my volunteering shifts but it was closed. Mike just called me mid-writing and now I’m all distracted. I pulled into his driveway and pulled against the stone wall and scratched up my car so I’m all upset about that as well. My dad will flip his lid if he sees it. I can’t believe I just did that. Fuck.

I accidentally called Mike my “ex boyfriend” in passing to Hank and wonder if it was a Freudian slip.


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Daytime

The people close to me can’t understand what I’m going through. How this feeling hits me every morning within moments of waking up. I remember a few years ago, when I was on Ok Cupid, I answered the question “If you had to choose, would you rather it be always nighttime or always daytime?” with the answer of night. Night is when, in general, people are safe. Everyone is cuddled up in bed. No news is good news. Daytime is when you get the phone call that brings you to your knees. The knock on the door. The news that breaks you. Daytime is when it hits; nighttime is when you rest.


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Pier 1.

It’s an almost-full moon in Taurus tonight. My north node.

Pier and I walked down Barton Nature Trail and talked, Scout running ahead of us. We talked about how November could remind us that death is actually beautiful, that impermanence is what drives us to want to live more fully. This was her saying this — a big deal.

On the way back, she asked about if I was talking to a therapist and I mentioned my conversation with Deb last night and how we covered a lot of ground, mostly around my feelings about being “too much”, how I’m always apologizing for it. I started to cry a bit and said, “but I’m never too much, it’s just the way I am.” Without saying a word, Pier reached her arm around my waist and held me. It may have been the sweetest moment I’ve experienced with her since we were kids. She then put her hand around mine and we walked back to the car, talking about Holly. Healing is already happening here. <3


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Too Much

I had solid session with Deb yesterday. We covered a lot of ground around my feelings of being “too much”. I always apologize for being “too much”. Often this is verbalized as too “needy”. My whole life I’ve been shown that I’m too much, that I need to hide, to be less than. By society, by doctors, by my own insecurities mirrored back to me in relationship. It’s all bullshit. A poem is going to born of this. I can feel it growing within me. I am never TOO MUCH.


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Living a Dream 2.

This is just a wild time of year, when the veil is thinnest. I wonder if my “spidey sense” is off the charts now because of that, or if because my worst fears will actually come to fruition soon.

Every time I leave this blog page, I get redirected back here whether it be an Instagram meme reading “Stop doing anything that doesn’t serve your goals” or my own guilt about having gone so long without writing. Every moment is precious, so I’ll keep coming back here.

Ascha, the Witchy Intuitive lady up in the mountains of Colorado, told me this: “Death is just a reminder.” I understood instantly what this meant. That “spidey sense” I mentioned earlier gets kicked into overdrive whenever a death close to me occurs. It becomes suffocating and almost unbearable. Still, I know I have to carry on. I know I have to keep writing.


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Living in Fear

Someone once told me something: the fear of an actual event occurring (prior to its occurrence) is worse than when the event actually occurs.

This feels true to me. I’ve spent so much time riddled with anxiety and fear, not recognizing what a strong person I actually I am. I have a far-reaching support network, loads of people who love me and will be there when the other shoe drops, if it does, and a very far-reaching social circle who will hold me if I fall. I am lucky. I pray that everyone on this planet has people who love them, support them, and hold them, especially in times of great need. Everyone deserves this. <3


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Maybe, maybe not

“I’m sorry I’m so needy. I feel like I’m too much for you.” I cried to him on the phone.
“No, babe; I’m not enough for you.” He softly explained.

My voice catches in my throat and for a moment, I can’t speak. What do I do with this? I love him so much and am so grateful for his support in my life. But perhaps it’s true. I told him I wanted him to be enough, that I wanted him to be the one. But maybe it just isn’t so — and so it goes.


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Holly

My sister’s best friend killed herself yesterday. She jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. All I can think about is the fragility of life and how it is like tissue paper, can crumple at any time at just the lightest touch. I feel pain for my family, deep pain for the planet, and pain for myself and I wonder how I hold it all sometimes. I know I’m becoming a stronger, wiser, more resilient person because of all of this.

It’s so hard to witness my sister in pain. She is strong but I think she is strong in the ways that our society teaches one to be strong, which is not soft. She doesn’t experience emotion in the ways that I do, which is very fully, so to experience her breaking down and really letting life — and death — in, is very powerful. I am proud of her and love her so deeply.


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Living a Dream 1.

“Mom, do you promise our family is strong enough to get through anything?” I ask her, a look of fear and desperation painted across my face.
“Alix, what is going on?” My mom says, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the kitchen so our words don’t wake my dad.
“I smoked a little bit of pot this weekend, Mom. Just the tiniest bit, but it was a dab, which is the wax on the cannabis plant so it’s more concentrated,” I explain, probably unnecessarily.
“Alix, you have to give your brain a chance to heal. You can’t be doing that. Every time you do, you set yourself back again.” My mom says.

I know it’s true.


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“Listen, honey. Don’t knock the valleys. Everybody wants to be on the mountain tops but up there the air is so thin and all there is to do is stand still and try not to fall. But in the valley, that’s where the river runs. That’s where the power is.” - genius cashier from podcast with Glennon Doyle


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Location:YES ...

The trouble with wanting to write your story after going for a long spurt without writing is that you just went for a long spurt without writing. How to get back into this process in the most seamless and efficient way leaves me at a loss. I guess just continuing to write short blog posts like this one (always with potential to grow them into longer ones) and little notes to myself is how I need to go along right now. This feels good.


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Location:On Writing

So a big part of why I haven’t been writing recently is because — I’ll just come out and say it — I’m really fucking lazy. But I have one wild and precious life [this time around, if you believe in that] so what am I going to do with it? I’m going to write my goddamn heart out because I’m my own soulmate and my words will allow me to touch her. And that’s what I need — true, outrageous, full-on love for myself.


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Location:This

Love

Love is a strange thing. I am finding that my capacity to feel and express love ebbs and flows much like the weather. It's heartbreaking sometimes when I consider the breadth of love that I feel for a person and that sometimes it's less than more. Am I falling out of love or deeper into it? Half the time I don't even know. I don't totally know what I'm trying to say but I needed a place to put this and haven't been long hand-writing in my journaling lately so this is the next best thing. - more later -


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Addiction

I relapsed on Monday. Memorial Day. A day I remember used to be filled with pizza at the pool because school was out and we were free to dip into that timeless summer haze. I now have 5 days sober (again). Fuck, this feels hard. Why do I have this disease? My sponsor, Nicole, tells me that alcohol and drugs are just a symptom of the illness. That addiction is a disease like any other. This makes sense to me and I hate it. I'm meeting cool, strong, amazingly enduring people in the program, met a guy I really like, feel supported, connected. Yet I still grabbed that bottle of whiskey and returned to a state of powerlessness that overran my entire being and reduced me to tears and a vomit stained shirt. Powerlessness. It's a thing. Here I am, sober today though, smoking too many cigarettes and sitting with my shit. All of it. And I'm writing again. It's a start.


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