Auld Lang Syne: A Year in Review a Month Late

Hi! It's the second week in Feb. and I'm just now posting this. :)

My all-time favorite Christmas song, actually has nothing to do with Christmas, but instead, is about the New Year. It's a Dan Fogelberg song about running into an old lover in the grocery store. Don't @me. It's a great song about looking at the past and how "doing the right thing" or what was expected, doesn't lead to happiness. And, oh, boy, I feel that in my bones. But it has me thinking more about the real Auld Lang Syne song. So New Year's is my jam. Auld Lang Syne literally means looking back on days gone by. As another year draws to a close, I've started to recall the last twelve months. So what have I done? I turned 38. I ate too much cheese and laughed a lot. Cried too. I discovered a huge, life-altering deception. I learned to forgive when I was still angry. I saw that even parents are flawed and can lie to you your entire life, and yet you still love them. Realized what it really meant to care about someone who didn't give 5% of that back. I saw how someone treated me in a time a family crisis and emotional turmoil, and it taught we to walk away from something toxic and hurtful, even when I didn't want to. But getting out of that lead me straight to some sunshine. I found love and have built a family. 2018 started out rocky for me, but it's ending with a bang. I mainly found my center and learned to say no. 

In the past, I have let people and their attitudes and actions affect me. This year I have learned the beautiful attribute of not giving a fuck about that. And it's been the best thing to ever happen to me. Don't get me wrong, I still care, but I'm not letting other's negative harsh my good vibe. I've always had the ability to find the good in everything. I could prob be cool with the Devil. I could prob even hang with Kayne. (I draw the line at the orange dictator. I'm not a saint.) But in January 2018, I was having a rough go. There was a lot of toxicity in my life and instead of clearing it out, I swam in it. It took me a few more month, and a stranger, who is now a friend, pointing out that if the toxic thing made me so unhappy, why did I allow it in my life? 

So why the hell did I? Honestly, I don't know. I'm going to chalk it up to temporary insanity. I'm a happy person by nature and I was beyond miserable. So I looked at everything in my life, all the bad juju and what wasn't working for me, and kicked it to the curb. Work stress. GET OUT! Unhealthy drinking? GET OUT! Pity parties? GET OUT! Dwelling on the negative. GET OUT! Hating my slightly chubby body. GET OUT! Poisonous relationships. GET OUT! Coke. Fine, you can stay. The rest of you, GET OUT!

Things aren't perfect. I'm not completely happy all the time. I still get stressed out and want to run away to France. But the good part is that I don't let any of that consume me now. I feel the feelings. I say a few cuss words. I eat a wheel of brie. I breathe out the bad vibes and breathe in the good. Then I let it go. I forgive and forget and I move on. 

So, here's to Auld Lang Syne, y'all. Raise a cup of kindness. We've all been running on the hamster wheel of 2018. We have wandered and are weary. We paddled on the stream in the storm while the waters between us roared. But you reached out your trusty hand toward mine and pulled me back to shore. 

And I am so happy now. My house is truly a home. My family is complete. I am at peace. 

Poison

My first memory is of my knees throbbing, head bent, hands clasped over my heart,  praying, listening to my father telling me I was born too pretty for my own good. Born bad.
That I was a malignancy to mankind, a temptation, a harlot. I was three years old and
I was poison.

I raised my hand and disagreed in Sunday School when they told me to cleave to a man, to always obey. I asked why women were second-class, why we lacked power, and they told me not to worry. Have faith. Be pious. Good girls don't ask questions. Smart girls go to hell.

behind a locked Sunday School door, the man used to tell me that I was as beautiful as Bathsheba, as sweet as Ruth, as pure as Mary. He grabbed my hand to pray but pressed my palm against his pants, and I cried. I was fourteen and I was poisoned.

Daddy forced his whore of a daughter from his house. I was a shame, a blight, a sinner, and a virgin all in one. My aunt found me, loved me, told me I was good. And I was happy. I could be wild ask questions, take the Lord's name in vain.

But I wanted my father to love me, to be Daddy's girl again so I went back, and he gave me to a man. I tried to love him, and I was blessed with a baby. But she was born wrong, suffered before she could walk, ruined, and then she was taken from me, back to heaven.

I gave him more children because that's what I was supposed to do. But we were rocks around your neck, one, two, three. We drag you down my babies and me. I was oppressed, his will forced upon me, and I stayed silent to protect my children, to protect myself.

So I used drink to silence all the demons, the voices, the verses telling me I was a sinner and that God hated me. I was sick. I let the acid of his lies and my own self-hatred eat me from the inside until there was almost nothing left until I was alone. I was thirty-eight and I was poison.

But I refused to die here so I turned my heart away from him, iced him out until he froze. Then i finally realized, what if the poison I'd been drinking didn't come from the venomous snake inside me, but from the man dressed in white, standing before me with the ladle of water pressed against my parched lips?

Semicolon

 A semicolon is used in writing when the author could end the sentence with an abrupt period but chose to keep going. So why did I get a semicolon tattoo? Because the pause and continuation of my story means a lot to me. There have been many dark times in my life that I wanted to suddenly end everything but for one reason or another found the strength to go on. Living has been so much harder than I ever thought imaginable. Life truly is a bitch. Sure there are bright spots, but on the whole, it's kind of bullshit and sucks. Maybe that's on me and I need to find a balance and a happiness. But this gloom and doom is a part of me. Sometimes my demons roar louder than anything else.

Semicolon tattoos are to bring awareness to suicide and mental illnesses, to remind those of us who suffer that there is hope, but I sometimes I feel like hope is a dangerous thing. There are a lot of times that I feel hopeless. Most people do not understand suicide. People who try to kill themselves often do not want to die. I've never really wanted to die, but I did want the pain to stop. When I am at my lowest, I am in such an altered state that I cannot think clearly. I cannot move nor speak. Everything is too heavy, my words, my body, my mind. I am stone. I have experienced this too many times in my life to count. Depression runs in my DNA like a cancer. The light that I radiate to the world is all too often swallowed up in the black hole of my own self-hatred. I know it's madness. I know I go to a dark place, but I can't get myself out of it sometimes. The madness seems to be a never-ending cycle from which I can't escape. I so badly want to feel the love that I give to the world, but sometimes I don't. I think that's what gets me down the most. Sometimes the ones you love the most do not love you back, or at least not in the way you need to be loved. 

Self-harm is another thing that is hard to explain to people. Why would you inflict pain on yourself? Why cut through your skin? It's to give the overwhelming pain you feel an outlet, a name, something tangible. I have scars on my wrists, other parts of me too, a results of trying to give my pain a name, but also a form of self-punishment. I'm not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough. The list goes on and on of the ways I fall short. I am my own worst enemy. No matter how many people tell me differently, I only think the worst of myself. This is something I am and will continue to work on. It's why I've started taking medication. It's getting better, but not by much.

So check on your friends, even the seemingly happy ones. When the thought pops into your head that you wonder how someone is doing, you have that thought for a reason. We're all fighting battles that most people don't even know about. We all struggle so it's important to remind people that you love them. I tell everyone I love them all the time because I believe that if you love someone, they should know it. It's important to feel loved and valued. My main goal in life is to spread the love I feel for others, the love I often can't find for myself. So if I love you, I hope you know that. If you ever are having a hard time, reach out because I've been there. I know how the depths of darkness feel. If you think I'm in the upsidedown, tell me that you love me because it makes a world of difference to me. And I'm in the upsidedown right now. With my parents falling apart, I'm falling apart with them. I'm doubting everything and everyone. The person I need the most isn't there for me, and I'm worried, so worried that I can't sleep.

Sometimes I think love is a poison, a poison I willing seek after. But in the end, love is the answer. Love is all I've ever wanted. Love is still something I need, everyday. I need to hear those words. Feel the softness of lips against my temple, a brush of fingertips against my skin. I wonder if I will ever get the love I've always wanted or if I am bound to walk this world alone, unloved and unheard. You see, that's the madness talking again. It's like living on toxic ground. Even though it is buried beneath the surface, the threat of radioacitity is always there. Waiting. Waiting to kill me. 

I have this semicolon to remind me that my story must continue.  It's to remind me that cutting myself up, literally and figuratively isn't the answer. Maybe I need to pray more and meditate or take time to learn to love myself again. Whatever I need to do, this little tattoo is a constant reminder that I am worth it and that I need to be kinder to myself. This isn't the end, even when it feels like it. The day will break and life will be good again.

Serendipity and a Spark

Serendipity and a Hurricane

Do you remember the electricity in the air the night we met?

Thunder and lightning, a storm no one can ever forget.

That spark is still between us, a fire in our eyes,

Drawn to you like the tides to the moons on the rise.

That night you were a stranger, your name unknown, your story untold.

But there was something familiar in the way your eyes took hold.

Hours and drinks later, your hands were in my hair, your teeth against my throat.

A happenstance meeting right before a hurricane, a history rewrote.

You opened up, invited me into your life, your bed, your home.

You steadied my nerves and stilled my restless need to roam.

In your arms, you filled the empty spaces that were never whole.

The walled off words unsaid, you could always read them in my soul.

You are the poem I could never find words for,

An unsung song, a forgotten melody at my core.

Every day, I thank serendipity for that hurricane.

It brought us together, flooded the city, and I’ll never be the same.

Distance

Lately, I've been thinking about distance, measured in inches and miles and also the metaphorical space that can divide. Have you ever lay right next to someone, but felt like the span of The Great Wall of China separates you? Or have you literally been 4,681 miles away, but felt like they were everywhere, surrounding you? 

I've also been thinking a lot about love and what it actually means. I used to think that love was a meet-cute, a tight 90 minutes of troupes and misunderstandings, and then a happy ending, all tied up with a kiss and pretty red bow. But love is nothing like it is in a rom-com. Love isn't a fleeting feeling, but a decision you make every day. Every morning you wake up and choose to love the person beside you, even when they are as grumpy as a grandpa who yells at cats for stepping foot on their lawn. Or they always have a million chores when you just want to snuggle and watch Netflix. Or they have an opinion on literally everything but are shit at expressing their feelings. You accept their flaws and faults, stick by them when they have a fire inside. You love them anyway, no matter what, through the dark and the light, until the end of time. Sometimes I don't know how to love him, but I stand still and love him the best way I know how.

Distance

When I met him, his eyes were filled with war,

Of heartbreak, broken homes, of a slamming door.

A caustic man, he tasted of chaos and pride.

I didn’t know how to love him but stood by his side.

He twitched in his sleep, trapped on the battlefield,

Still fighting, always fighting, the wounds unhealed.

He was breathing fire but freezing in the cold.

I wanted to be the warmth, so I took hold.  

And I wouldn’t let go, even when he went quiet and dark.

I kissed him, trying to revive him, to bring back a spark.

But sometimes distance isn’t measured mile by mile.

It’s a world away, behind the emptiness of a smile.

But I remained, held on tighter, felt his heart begin to beat.

Leaves fell, leaving branches bear, the rain turned to sleet.

As the sun reached full tilt, he came closer, little by little.

Then I waited through another Fall when everything was brittle.

His world shifted, and finally, his soul opened to mine.

The baggage was checked, the past left behind.

Now the darkness is gone, replaced by a golden hue.

There is only sun and love, and me and you.

The Shape of Water

The Shape of Water

You are the shape of water but frozen solid through.

Your heart sealed up tight, your color a deep blue.

I turned the orange sun to you, hoping you would melt,

But you stayed locked in ice, hiding everything you felt.

So I climbed onto the slippery surface of your frozen lake,

Pressed the heat of my heart to you, praying it would take.

Slowly, you thawed, took on a liquid form, but I was so scared you'd leave,

So I fell through your shallows, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

I sunk down to the bottom, wanting you to surround me, to draw me in.

Before you I was wandering in a desert; I never knew I could swim.  

But you are the shape of water, ever flowing, always slipping through.

You have the power to cleanse or kill, and I can’t get ahold of you.

You boiled, spun me around, set your brackish waters to churn.

I sank deeper and deeper, lost in the darkness, making my lungs burn.

But I found your lakebed, and I kissed the glowing pulse of your core.

I sang to you a siren song as I calmed the waves at your shore.

You are the shape of water, the spring of life, a peace, and I could finally inhale.

For you are the harbor I've needed, always here when the others fail.

Water is a catalyst, changing everything it touches, tames the lands that roam.

So I grew gills, soaked myself in you and in you made a home.

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked as the moon sank, its time done.

“Because I was bitterly cold my entire life, and you brought me the sun.”

You hold me tight, buoying me up, weaving through everything I see.

You are the shape of water, the shape of love, the shape of you and me.

I just bought The Shape of Water, and it's a beautiful love story about a mute woman and a fish god. Bear with me for a moment, if you will. I know the premise sounds bananas, but you have more in common with that mute girl and the fish man than you think. Her love for him, this violent creature, changes him. Love saves him. It saves her. Love. Love will always be the most powerful emotion in the world. It changes men, changes worlds, changes history. Every person in this movie is lonely and looking for love. Some live for it. Some die for it. But like water, love can give us life or take it away. Love can be dangerous yet beautiful. The scariest thing that we constantly chase after. Water can be violent or calming, depending on the circumstances. Waters flood and destroy, wash everything away. Rivers can drown. Love has the same power. One time it can rip you apart, but the next it can rebuild. We live with the risk of love because, like water, we all need it to survive. 

Love can make you look past layers of a glass wall, into the frigid waters, through the hazel eyes of a tortured soul, to a man with war inside his heart, but it's a good heart, a kind heart. If the woman from The Shape of Water can love the monster out of a man, surely I can help carry some baggage, relieve some of the burdens, and love him out of the arctic abyss and bring him into the summer sunshine. But what if this love changes me, too? What if I shine the sun on him, and he sucks the rays of my light out and leaves me? I guess that's the risk. I'm diving into a frozen lake that might not have a lakebed. I might get lost in the depths, too. But maybe the water will thaw and nourish me, and I can make a life by the lake. Or I could drown. So you see, water and love are much alike, and I'm still trying to figure out if the water is going to sink me or save me. 

Living with a Monster

There are nights my dreams wake me past midnight.

I sit up with a start, heart beating in my chest.

And I still feel him, pressing me down,

Even though he is a thousand miles away.

The sharpness of his tongue still cuts into my soul.

When will he go? How many times do  I have to bury him?

Bruises heal, but those words stay forever, stuck in my side

Piercing my lungs.

The soles of my bare feet fall against the earth

As I try to outrun him. But there is no exit clause.

The monster is all I can see.

Then a hand reaches out in the darkness.

He doesn't use words, doesn't have to

Because in his silence, with his eyes on mine,

Everything is understood. Everything is bright and pink and love.
And the monster goes away.

Monsters aren't what goes bump in the night. They aren't hiding beneath your bed, in your closet, or down in the deep, dark basement. They come dressed as people, pretending to love you, only to gut you with a few well placed words. For a decade, I lived with a monster, tried to love him, tried to make madness a home. I was trapped inside the Twilight Zone, lost in a nightmare and it took a slap to the face to rouse me, to bring me back to life. But there are still days I live with the ghost of myself and a monster of a man. Most of the time I can fight him off, drown out his voice, but then there are days that I find myself back in the hellish dreamscape, down a darkened hallway with no window or doors, no way out. All I can do is curl up in a corner, eyes turned away from the monster, let the fear wash over me, let him say his piece and pray he's scared off by sunrise.

When you survive a trauma, especially one involving a war of words, you question everything. You live in constant fear. Your world is built on ever-shifting tectonic plates. At any moment, everything can collapse, and without warning, you're plunging into the black abyss. So when you rebuild on a stable mountain, you still have vertigo. You're phantom falling. You're still scared as hell.

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one? That's the hardest part for me. The part I'm still learning, even after four years. That's the thing with monsters, they never go away, not really. He still uses words against me. They come via texts messages, attacks on every part of me, and then the next is him telling me he still loves me. We owe it to our kids to be together. But then I'm a piece of shit mother and it's my fault he doesn't call or see his children. I try not to read the messages, but there they are in black in white, still tormenting me when he's three thousand miles away. Every time that monster sneaks in, I have to fight him back, and every time I do, a little piece of me blackens, turns to dust. It's never over, not completely. So I fight the monster everyday. Most days I win, but sometimes I don't. And that's okay.

Just breathe. It's my mantra. You wouldn't think I needed to be reminded of the simple act of breathing, but I do. Just breathe, Lauren. Live in the moment. Actually, enjoy the moment. And I guess that's how I survive. Keep going, keep living. Continue to love, despite that fact that it's terrifying. I'm learning that actions truly do speak louder than words because that's what really matters. The action, not the words. So thank you for loving me when a war still rages inside me. When the light in my eyes snuffs out. When I bristle and rage for no reason. Thank you for reminding me to breathe. Thank you for making love a little less scary.

Because you loved me at my worst, I will always love you best.