100th Post: Finding my voice

Finding my voice means saying 'fuck you'

Happy hundredth post!!!!

When I started this blog, 100 posts ago, I honestly didn't really know what I wanted out of it. It was something to do, a way to take my mind off everything else, and maybe a chance to rant and vent a little bit about the craziness of being a single mom/student midwife/business owner.

What I ended up getting out of it was something I lost somewhere along the way: writing! I know, it's stupid, I should not be surprised that I got writing out of a blog. I mean, a blog is writing, so....duh? When I was younger I wrote all the time, I wrote everything. I kept journals, I wrote poems, I wrote stories, I wrote songs (terrible ones). Words, words, words. I lived for a clever turn of phrase, or the art of putting together a string of simple innocent and harmless words that could bring a person to their very knees. Writing was an outlet for me through everything I ever went through. I could always turn to pen and paper to find the answers and the relief I was looking for.

Over the years, and primarily during my relationship with The Jedi's father where I endured abuse physically as well as mentally and emotionally, I lost touch with writing. The Jedi's father (who I think we can appropriately call Darth) was controlling, manipulative and jealous. The stacks of old journals and poems of mine in our closet were too tempting for him, and he would read them while I was at work and then interrogate and harass me over their contents for hours when I got home. One day, and much to my regret now, I threw all those notebooks in the trash. I didn't write a word for two years.

And then I made this blog.

Little by little writing has come back to me. I am not as eloquent or articulate as I once was, and maybe I lost that edge and "gift" I was accused of having some time ago, but I'm starting to find my voice again, and enjoy writing. Finding your voice sometimes means being able to say "Fuck you" and stand by it. Sometimes it means being honest when you don't want to. Sometimes it means talking about things only 5 out of every 200495955 people will care about. And I love it. Sometimes I have to stop myself from writing several entries in a day because....well, come on. Who is that pathetic?

This blog, whether it gets read by even a single person or not, has been a shoulder and an ear for me to lean on and cry to and laugh and celebrate with. And a safe place to begin speaking again, from the heart. A safe place to find my voice, and try this time to stick with it.

No longer do I want to be a famous writer, nor do I even care if I am ever published. Most of what I write are journal entries anyway, and who publishes those? But I am happy to be writing again, and I can feel myself healing. Remembering the good parts of who I was, and becoming stronger, little by little after all the shit that's happened over the last two years.

So, to anyone that reads this, thank you for sticking around and listening to me. What I say might not always be the most profound or the most important, but every word in this blog means the world to me, and so does you reading it.

And to my blog (yes, I talk to my blog like it's a real person) thank you for everything, and congratulations on 100 posts together. Here's to 100 more, and a voice that's stronger than ever.

Sleep

Sleeping past noon

In a half shuttered room

Where I can lay down beside you

In the din and the dark

And the pale blue light

Of the sun barely leaking through the shades.

It crawls across the floor on it's hands and it's knees

Like a child sneaking into our room.

We hide under cotton and white linen bed sheets

And whisper as if anyone might hear us.

This is the only place I can find you,

And this is the only place we call home.

A world apart and a sanctuary together

We stay here until the day is unavoidable.

Until the bells in the street begin calling my name

Until all the unseen roads with their many hands

Beckon and call you onto them

With bleary eyes and wild hair

We drift in this bed

Lost at sea.

Mama Never Said Shit About This!

As I get older, I encounter more and more baffling, confusing, difficult, heartbreaking and enlightening things about life that I never planned for, expected or even though possible. Call me naive, call me stupid, but some things I just wish someone would have told me about. Like the fact that white jeans don't look good on me, and flats make my calves look huge.

I wish someone would have told me.....

Guys are not 'just friends' with girls: I never deal in absolutes, and there are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part, guys are not just friends with girls. Guys are friends with girls that they would like to fuck. At least a little bit anyway. For years I honestly thought that all my awesome guy friends who would come pick me up at 2 a.m. when I was drunk or bring me food at work when I was hungry, or cuddle with me during naptime with all their clothes on and without making a move, were really just awesome best friends, and had no desire or intentions of sleeping with me, and certainly none of them had feelings for me. Over the last year, I have learned the hard way how very wrong I was.

People are going to disappoint you: Not everyone, and not all the time, but sometimes, even when you really really really need them to come through for you and do the right thing, or just be there for you, they are going to let you down. It's going to suck, and it's going to make you feel pretty alone and maybe a little betrayed. This won't be the last time.

Not everyone will treat you the way you treat them: This is an area I am probably especially naive about, and over the years it doesn't seem to get any better. I am almost 24 and I still honestly expect people to treat me the way I treat them. To hold honesty at the same high regard that I do, to be loyal all the time even when it's hard like I strive to, and to accept me and love me, the good and the bad, all the time like I have committed myself to doing. No matter how amazing you are to someone, they might still be a total dick to you all the time. BUT those people aren't worth a damn, and you should move on with your head held high.

Just say it: I wish someone would have told me that when it comes down to it, if you need to say something, just spit it out. Even if it's a bad time, even if it might not be well received, even if everyone in the room will disagree with you, say what's in your heart, and defend it to the fucking ground. In the eternal words of John Mayer "Even if your hands are shaking, and your faith is broken, even as the eyes are closing, do it with a heart wide open. Say what you need to say."

At some point you will have to choose between buying diapers and paying your electric bill: And it will suck. There's no easy answer. Only a right one. And you will know what it is when the time comes.

Ask for help: Nobody will think any more of you if you struggle through every day of your life miserable and alone because you're too scared or proud to ask for help, and no one will think any less of you for admitting you can't do this all by yourself.

Just because you love them, doesn't mean they will love you back: And when you realize that it's going to hurt. Like hell. Like no pain you've ever felt in your life. But you have to let go. You have to move on, and you have to remember that somebody out there does love you. You probably just haven't met them yet.

Kids actually aren't very good for relationships: And if your relationship is a mess, your parenting will be too.

It's not about being scared, it's about being brave: Be afraid all you want. There is a lot in this world that is going to scare you. It's about being brave. It's about knowing you might fail, but understanding that you have to try. It's about accepting that you might get hurt, but knowing that the journey is what matters. It's about taking a deep breath, a big leap of faith, and doing it anyway.

Happy F*cking Father's Day!

Well, Fathers Day in the house of Sarah is coming to an end. I spent the entire day today with my dad, and...well, it went exactly like I thought it would. Holidays and birthdays with my dad are complicated, and to put it simply, I never look forward to them. I in fact didn't have a birthday that he didn't ruin until my 22 birthday. And he tried to ruin that one too. Every year on my birthday, either he would be depressed and not get out of bed, be manic and wanting to fight, or calmly and quietly tell me what a terrible disappointment I was, and how my birthday used to be something worth celebrating, but he just didn't feel that way anymore. Thanks pops. Love you too.

To be fair, he does shit like that on his birthday too. So at least nobody gets to happily celebrate the day they were born.

Holidays with him are always stressful and complicated and something I usually save my one Xanax refill for, mainly because he is NEVER HAPPY. By never I mean never ever ever in the history of ever, and by happy I mean easy to get a long with, cordial, polite, cooperative or even in a half decent mood.

The day starts out the same for his birthday and father's day:

Me: Happy birthday/father's day Dad!

Dad: *grumbles* thanks

Me: What do you wanna do today?

Dad: *LONG AWKWARD SILENCE WHERE HE LOOKS AWAY A LOT OF SEEMS MAD*

Me: We can do anything you want. Wanna go out to eat? Go see a movie?

Dad: *grumbles* Idunno. *long silence*

Me: Ok......*looks away and tries to make small talk to no avail*

And it goes on like this forever. Sometimes hours. Oh I so wish I was exaggerating when I say hours. No, I mean it. Hours. Once he finally decides what he wants to do/agrees to do something I suggest, and we set a time for me to pick him up, I can guarantee without a doubt he will absolutely positively with 100% certainty, be just getting out of the shower when I get to his house to pick him up. Not dressed. Not anywhere near ready to go. And the remainder of his getting ready process will take until. the. end. of. fucking. time. It once took him an hour and a half to get out the door when all he still needed to do was put his shoes on. You know how I say getting the kids out the door feels like herding turtles? Ya, I think they learned that shit from him.

Once we're on the road, and the day is underway, it becomes a long, seemingly endless day of pretending to have fun, faking being in a good mood, and hiding my frustration as he sits there quiet and pissed off looking, only smiling and conversing with the children, while acting like I'm not there. And God forbid I discipline the kids for something he doesn't agree with, or the house isn't as clean as he'd like (this coming from him, a bipolar hoarder) for all hell will break loose and he will spend the rest of the day telling me what a failure I am. Thanks again pops.

Assuming we can avoid that, and the day goes without a fight (which is so rare, I can probably count on one hand how many times it's happened) I spend the day catering to him, getting the food and the drinks he likes and enduring whatever he wants to spend ALL DAY doing, like today when we spent almost $100 on food, and 4 hours swimming and BBQing with the kids, and at the end of it, when I drop him off at home, he stonewalls me.

That's right. A BBQ in his honor for father's day. An entire day with his daughter (the only kid he has who still speaks to him) and grandkids (the only two out of the 8 he has that he actually gets to see) and we did everything he wanted to do, and at the end, no thank you, no "I had a good time" no "I love you" not even so much as a "Bye" or a mumble or anything. He kisses his grandkids, gets out of the car, and without looking at me, waving or acknowledging me at all, he goes inside.

Love you too Dad!

So, yet another holiday where the only family who still tries to have a relationship with him, spends the day doting on him and loving him, and at the end the person who put it all together and made it all happen AND didn't stab him with a fork in the process, gets stiffed. Not so much as a fucking goodbye.

And I ask myself: Why do I even fucking bother?

Happy Fucking Fathers Day!

Thank You Daddy

Father's Day is Sunday, and while seeing as how I have completely procrastinated and not planned anything so far for my dad, I am completely filled with anxiety over what to get him, where to take him and what to do.

Bigger than the stress of gift giving and entertaining my father for an entire day, I am more perplexed over something bigger....an issue that stems from the complicated relationship my father and I have had since I was little.....

What do I say to him?

Things between me and my dad have never been....easy. We've always had a complicated relationship to say the least. He's bipolar, as most of you know, and he didn't receive treatment, medication or counseling of any kind until I was 12. By that time, he'd been a father for 22 years to my brother and sisters. He'd made a lot of mistakes, both with my siblings and with me. He was angry most of the time, irresponsible and self centered pretty much all the time, and from the time I was 9 years old I felt more like his parent than his child. He could be vicious when he was mad (which was often) and emotional abuse became a near constant in our house.

Over the years, things were up and down. He got better for about a year when I was 12, and got sick again when I was 13. This is the year he moved me and him into the shop at his junkyard, where we lived for 9 months with no shower, no heat, no oven or stove until my sister came home from college and moved me into her apartment with her. There are, needless to say, a lot of things I still struggle to forgive my father for. I am not bitter, or angry, but despite his best efforts (and believe it or not, he did try his best) he left me with some serious issues that still come back to bite me after all this time.

And still, we fight like cats and dogs. He stresses me out when he's around for more than a few hours. I know that sounds heartless, but I have been taking care of him since I was 11, and as much as he's grown and changed, he is still very hard to deal with. He's mentally ill and that will never change. We don't get along the best, and we don't see eye to eye, and we can't spend much time together without fighting, and the list goes on and on. But still. It's Father's Day. But still. He's some of the only family I have left that I can trust even a little bit. I should say something.

So, on this Father's Day, the 23rd Father's Day we've spent together, I want to say this to my dad:

Thank you Daddy, for never giving up on me. When my mother didn't want me, you always did. When you were too sick to get out of bed, you still never sent me away. When I got pregnant at 15, you told me we were in this together.

Thank you Daddy, for always trying your best. Even when you were so sick you couldn't think, even when we had nothing, even when you wanted so badly to give up and cash it all in, you didn't. You knew I needed you, and you tried your best to be there.

Thank you Daddy, for teaching me everything you knew. I can change a tire, I can jump a battery, I can check my oil and my brake fluid and my tire pressure and my tranny fluid too. I can stretch a canvas and gesso it smooth. I can do a lot of things, because you taught me how.

Thank you Daddy for giving me words. I would've never wrote a poem, or a song, or a story if you hadn't put a pen in my hand and showed me the power of words on a page. Without the gift of writing, there is a lot in my past that I honestly don't think I would have survived.

Thank you Daddy for making me strong. Maybe you fucked up a lot, and maybe you did everything "wrong" but you made me one tough mother fucker and I appreciate that more than you know.

Thank you Daddy for showing me that people can change. For making me more accepting, more open hearted and understanding. For showing me that the mentally ill aren't incapable or untrustworthy, and that they need love just as much as anyone else. You showed me how to love from the very bottom of my heart, Without question, and without holding back. I couldn't do the job I do if you hadn't given me that gift.

I love you daddy, and even though I might have told you otherwise during all those temper tantrums I threw growing up, I really wouldn't trade you for any other father in the world.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

xoxo

Sarebear

Music for the Masses

I am a self proclaimed music junkie. I listen to everything. Yes, everything, even country. I cannot function without music. Music makes the world go round for me, as much as love made the world go round for John Lennon.

When I was growing up, as messed up and chaotic as my childhood was, music was everywhere. Music was food and water and air and shelter. Music was what we had when nothing made sense. Music was how my father communicated when he was too sick to find his words. It makes you feel. It makes the little moments in life that pass before our eyes and touch our very hearts and souls, seem real. Seem tangible and immortal. You can say anything with a song.

I like everything from Frank Sinatra to AC/DC to Tim McGraw, and a million bands and artists in between, and nothing makes me happier than sharing new music with people who haven't heard it before. Helping them discover a new genre or a new artist or a new song that changes their life in a place they didn't expect it. I'd like to share with you today a list of songs and artists you may have never heard, or may have never heard of period, who can infinitely change your life. Even if it isn't your type of music or something you would normally listen to, give it a chance. You never know when the moment is right and the right door opens, when something new might shake you to your core and help you see the world in a whole new light. Enjoy.

Bonobo- a.k.a Simon Green. A one man show consisting of amazing instrumentals and techno undertones. Black sands will absolutely chill you out and expand your mind in ways you didn't think possible. Don't worry, it's nothing like doing acid.

Hybrid- Much like Bonobo, but more advanced. If you already know you like music like Bonobo's, then you need to listen to Hybrid.

Bright Eyes- This is poetry in motion. Sure his guitar is out of tune and his voice is a little twangy and hoarse, but his lyrics are mind blowingly real and raw and completely open. If you can't find a single song of his to relate to, you've never ever lived.

Florence and the Machine- This band gained some fast popularity with their single "Dog Days" but their entire album is truly incredibly and sadly overlooked. Their sound is unique and entrancing, and the lead singer is truly gifted in a way that no pop star that has emerged in the last ten years is. She has soul and body and force behind her voice and the product leaves you completely hypnotized.

Chris Garneau- Heavily melodic and much like a lullaby his songs are relaxing and peaceful on the surface, and deep and meaningful when you get into the lyrics. He sings from the heart, and his delicate piano notes and soft voice take you to a place inside where we as a society rarely venture. A place of quiet introspection and solace. Listen, and reflect.

Manchester Orchestra- Again another band that got some radio play for their single "I've Got Friends" and then was widely overlooked. While "I've Got Friends" is a great song, it is not nearly, not by any means their best song. With deep Catholic childhood roots, their songs tell a story of angst, love, sin, loss, guilt, grief and the torment we all go through (especially those of us who went to Catholic school) while coming into our own. These are stories of sex, love and pain. What other stories are really worth telling, anyway?

The Airborne Toxic Event- With "Sometime Around Midnight" being overplayed to the point of making potential fans truly hate the song, it was sad to see nothing else really come "above ground" with this awesome band. Definitely one of my favorite bands of all time. Each song is different, yet similar to the others in such a way that listening to a whole album all the way through is like weaving a delicate and mysterious pattern. You can't see the whole picture until it's over, but once you do, you can see into the very heart of this band. Putting it all on the line, and writing honest, biting and touching songs with kick ass beats and a wonderful use of violin makes this band truly truly special in my so humble opinion.

I hope you've enjoyed this installment of "Sarah and her iTunes". Listen to some new music today. Go change your life.

Frustrated

I'm frustrated.

Frustration is probably the most difficult emotion for me to deal with, because there never seems to be a good way to express it-not deal with it, express it. The two are very different. I am an expressive person, and until I can express whatever is bothering me, vent it, get it out and all that, I can't begin to deal with it. How do you express frustration except by crying and throwing a fit? I haven't found a way.....

I am frustrated on so many fronts it's overwhelming. I don't like complaining, really I don't, and I'm not trying to throw myself the world's biggest pity party but this blog is my escape, my shoulder to cry on and my incredibly impersonal diary, so if you don't want to hear my whining, go away. Here it is: I am frustrated because right now business is slow for me (It's summer, I expected that, summer is always slow for the field I am in) but with the current daycare situation, I can't pick up a part time job to supplement the missing income so I'm stressed out about money pretty much ALL THE TIME. I hate worrying about money, probably more than anything else you can worry about ever. Money seems like a stupid thing to worry about because it's supposed to be so trivial but money is our survival and when you raise two kids by yourself, that doesn't seem so fucking trivial.

I am frustrated because things haven't been awesome in my house for the last couple weeks. The house has been a mess, and despite being here 3 days during the week, I can't seem to keep up with it. It's mostly laundry too, and I loath laundry. The washing and drying is ok, but there are FOUR people in this house and folding and putting away laundry for all four of us is more than a 1 person job. Fuck, it's more than a two person job most days (it seems like anyway) and two of us are small children who can't help. There is an infuriating cycle at play here: We wash and dry everything, there is a mountain of clean laundry, we get through folding maybe 1/4 of it, get tired/lazy/busy/distracted, pile the rest on our bed, and by the end of the night, when it's bedtime and I'm exhausted, it all gets pushed on the floor. It then becomes walked on and mixed in with the now accumulating dirty laundry, and the whole thing starts all over again.

It's maddening!

My last and probably biggest frustration is also with the current condition of my home, and it is the status of things between The Roomie and I. Don't get me wrong, we love each other very much. We are best friends, really, and we care about each other more than I could possibly express with words. Batman, if you're reading this, don't worry, no romantic feelings whatsoever. We are just truly very very best friends. However, we have a serious tendency to piss each other off. As much as I love Dear Roomie, he can get on my nerves, drive me up the wall, and send my bitch level from 0 to 60 in .2 seconds flat. It's a talent, really. Lately, and by lately I mean the last two weeks (at least, could be more) it's gotten worse. Every conversation turns into a fight, everything I say pisses him off, every time he gets mad he shuts me out and won't talk, every time he shuts me out and won't talk I get mad and blame everything on him and act like a little baby. Nothing has gotten resolved, nothing is getting worked out and the cycle is perpetuating at a terrifying rate. We tried today to work things out a little bit via email which turned into a cluster fuck of mile long emails, a lot of bitterness, anger and blame shifting and no real resolution. What does that all amount to? A seriously frustrated, pissed off Sarah who doesn't want to deal with it anymore, and begins retreating into the Crystal Palace, A.K.A. her mind, for solace, reflection and some fucking peace. It helps no one.

At this point, I am at the end of my rope with it all and ready to walk out the door, leave all of it behind and hide in the nearest bar until they run out of wine or kick me out for flashing everyone too much. I know I'm not ready to give up, I never really get to that point, and I know when The Roomie comes home I will want to try yet again to talk things out and find a resolution. I know tomorrow I will wake up and want to tackle the laundry and be brainstorming marketing strategies to boost my business for the summer, but right this moment, I'm frustrated.

Thanks blog land for letting me get that all out. It's time now for some ice cream, a little peace and quiet and maybe time to watch Benny and Joon for the 92982938291029th time. Goodnight.