When I am sad a lump grows in my throat.
My head feels heavy and my thoughts go to the places I think about most.
My face feels hot and my arms hang low and in the moment there is nothing I can do but ride the wave through.
I wonder why I haven't killed myself yet.
I wonder why I am no good at anything I've ever tried.
I wish my relationship was better and I stop talking to my husband.
I remember how easy it was for my mother to abandon me and I shy from my child.
My clothes get darker, and as if to say "Fuck it, I'm killing myself anyway!" I talk a little wilder.
When I am sad I cannot get out of bed. My head is much too heavy and I can't be bothered with the monotonous burdens of the day.
All I can do is succumb to the voices in my head.
Multiple voices that can shout and scream and sing all at the same time. I often wonder where these voices go when it's time for innovation in my life or to boost my confidence. Because as soon as it''s time to strip me of my breath and of my memories there they are like a chorus of eunuch.
It's so funny because I'll live like this for hours, destroying myself, destroying my family, shortening my life and then suddenly... The wave is gone.
The voices cease to exist and I am myself again. But not really myself because the damage is already done. My mind might be back but my body usually lay exhausted and shaking. I'm embarrassed because I put my family through yet another round of my debilitation.
They say they forgive me and they don't mind but in realizing that my sadness took me again I am ashamed and for the rest of the day I hide.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Last night I dreamt James Hetfield was my dad.
Last night as my body lay parallel on my mattress my mind conjured up a fantasy so hilarious it had to be recorded in written word.
*But first let me get a little high*
Now stay with me here...
I was James Hetfield's 13 year old daughter. (Yes of Metallica) And we were at the band's annual "Baby-Mama Weekend" In which the four respective members of Metallica got together with Their respective"Baby Mama's" and children and vacationed for a long miserable weekend. ( I "kid" you not! ) As many dreams go there wasn't much detailed filler, but I woke up as Hetfield( my not-real- dad-dream dad) was rolling his eyes hard because respective "Baby Mama" -woman I've never seen before in my life- was bitching him out about buying us children (3 of us) pizza for dinner.
Yeah... Dreams are weird right?
Of course when one has such a wacky dream and wakes up remembering it one has to sit and ponder on it all day. In order to pay homage to my transient hallucination I wore my "Ride the Lightening" shirt to work with high top Nike's complete with blue laces. I also took to Google to do some research.
Does James Hetfield even have kids?
Yes, he actually has three and not one of them is me. (Boo)
Does he have "Baby Mama"?
No, the mother of his three kids is actually his wife of 19 years Francesca. (Yay)
My deepest respect and apologies to her for this ridiculous post.
*But first let me get a little high*
Now stay with me here...
I was James Hetfield's 13 year old daughter. (Yes of Metallica) And we were at the band's annual "Baby-Mama Weekend" In which the four respective members of Metallica got together with Their respective"Baby Mama's" and children and vacationed for a long miserable weekend. ( I "kid" you not! ) As many dreams go there wasn't much detailed filler, but I woke up as Hetfield( my not-real- dad-dream dad) was rolling his eyes hard because respective "Baby Mama" -woman I've never seen before in my life- was bitching him out about buying us children (3 of us) pizza for dinner.
Yeah... Dreams are weird right?
Of course when one has such a wacky dream and wakes up remembering it one has to sit and ponder on it all day. In order to pay homage to my transient hallucination I wore my "Ride the Lightening" shirt to work with high top Nike's complete with blue laces. I also took to Google to do some research.
Does James Hetfield even have kids?
Yes, he actually has three and not one of them is me. (Boo)
Does he have "Baby Mama"?
No, the mother of his three kids is actually his wife of 19 years Francesca. (Yay)
My deepest respect and apologies to her for this ridiculous post.
Turning 25
As I turn 25 I begin to wonder what happened to 23...
When I was 23 I would see that meme on Facebook, you know the one about how when Oprah and Tina Fey and everyone else was 23 they were no where near the greatness we currently associate them with. And I tried nervously to shake on with the tiny dog poo hope that this would be true about me as well. It was hard because I was cleaning toilets in sweaty Orlando Florida and spending my spare time watching Girls naked on my couch while trying to keep the electricity in my crappy apartment on.
The transition to my current 24 I can't even remember but it was a much more positively rewarding year. After hitting what I (fingers-crossed) hope was my lowest point of adulthood I somehow was able to move back to my beloved California and regain control of the Apocalypse horse that was my life up until that moment. It would be foolish and ungrateful for me to not divulge that it was the blood, sweat, and commitment of my Skye's parents that both shielded us from the Orlando shelter system and allowed this re branding to occur in such a dignified consciousness.
Yeah, 24 has been a course correcting, re branding, restart of a year. But as it approaches 25 I can't help but wonder point blank "What The Fuck Man?" A year full of the highest highs coming to an end and along with it my youth... My youth, the very thing that separated my personal tragedies from those of the average masses and allowed me the pity of security. As I sit in my living room accompanied by my husband and child I realize that I am no longer a child and am fully responsible for every movement and breath I take. Worse yet for me, my career aspirations and creative output are completely in my control.
This scares the shit out of me.
Because I know it is all up to me now. If I want to sing all I have to do is sing. If I want to write all I have to do is write. The soul direction of my life is an imaginative footstep away. And while this may sound like the literal definition of freedom to some, for me it is a case study in mental aerobics enough to cause me daily panic attacks and late night food binges at the worst of times. One piece of me wants to have the creative output of at least a slow day Eddie Murphy while the other half sees fit to do nothing but pass the time away eating McDonald's and watching Weeds. (Best Show Ever).
At 23 I was still under the illusion, like most, that a major moment would define when my "real life" would begin, a starting gun if you will. Coming face to face with 25 I understand now that the race began day one and how far I go is completely dependent on how far I am willing to walk.
At 23,
Courtney had a one year old.
She had left her 6th college
without so much as an associates degree.
She to scrub toilets for a living
and was selling her furniture to move in
with her in-laws.
Starting 25,
Courtney has a three year old.
She has a better apartment in a better place.
She has the world at her feet and the desire
to move forward.
With an umbrella, a safe, and a gun
She has the courage to move on.
When I was 23 I would see that meme on Facebook, you know the one about how when Oprah and Tina Fey and everyone else was 23 they were no where near the greatness we currently associate them with. And I tried nervously to shake on with the tiny dog poo hope that this would be true about me as well. It was hard because I was cleaning toilets in sweaty Orlando Florida and spending my spare time watching Girls naked on my couch while trying to keep the electricity in my crappy apartment on.
The transition to my current 24 I can't even remember but it was a much more positively rewarding year. After hitting what I (fingers-crossed) hope was my lowest point of adulthood I somehow was able to move back to my beloved California and regain control of the Apocalypse horse that was my life up until that moment. It would be foolish and ungrateful for me to not divulge that it was the blood, sweat, and commitment of my Skye's parents that both shielded us from the Orlando shelter system and allowed this re branding to occur in such a dignified consciousness.
Yeah, 24 has been a course correcting, re branding, restart of a year. But as it approaches 25 I can't help but wonder point blank "What The Fuck Man?" A year full of the highest highs coming to an end and along with it my youth... My youth, the very thing that separated my personal tragedies from those of the average masses and allowed me the pity of security. As I sit in my living room accompanied by my husband and child I realize that I am no longer a child and am fully responsible for every movement and breath I take. Worse yet for me, my career aspirations and creative output are completely in my control.
This scares the shit out of me.
Because I know it is all up to me now. If I want to sing all I have to do is sing. If I want to write all I have to do is write. The soul direction of my life is an imaginative footstep away. And while this may sound like the literal definition of freedom to some, for me it is a case study in mental aerobics enough to cause me daily panic attacks and late night food binges at the worst of times. One piece of me wants to have the creative output of at least a slow day Eddie Murphy while the other half sees fit to do nothing but pass the time away eating McDonald's and watching Weeds. (Best Show Ever).
At 23 I was still under the illusion, like most, that a major moment would define when my "real life" would begin, a starting gun if you will. Coming face to face with 25 I understand now that the race began day one and how far I go is completely dependent on how far I am willing to walk.
Courtney had a one year old.
She had left her 6th college
without so much as an associates degree.
She to scrub toilets for a living
and was selling her furniture to move in
with her in-laws.
Starting 25,
Courtney has a three year old.
She has a better apartment in a better place.
She has the world at her feet and the desire
to move forward.
With an umbrella, a safe, and a gun
She has the courage to move on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)