Sometimes friends seems like a hot commodity.  Buy and sell until your heart’s content.  Other times it feels like there’s a severe friendship drought and you’re not sure how or when everything dried up and went to brush fires.  The worst is when you call someone your friend only to find out it’s a facade to keep their numbers up.  It can be so painful to reach out to people you’ve held in your heart only to be completely ignored.  I’d rather a violent slap in the face with them telling me they loathe me.  Being ignored just says you’re not even worth their time to tell you otherwise.  And all you’re left with is to wonder why?  Why did I hold you in my heart and think something of it?  At what point did you turn everything off and not tell me?  Did I actually do something to offend and remain completely oblivious?  I’ve never been good at friendships, it’s like I’m always the last to know something’s wrong.  Or everyone is exceptionally unforgiving when they learn that I’m not perfect.  It doesn’t help that my beginning years were spent raised in a cult where all my friendships were in said cult and when I broke free I was starting from scratch.  I’m strongly aware how much my social skills were affected by my upbringing, but I’ve come so far.  Without the couple best friends that have been in my life for the last few years I don’t know where I’d be. I can’t think that I’ve done something right with them, it must be that they’re just that amazing.  It seems impossible to make friends and keep them from this point forward and I can only find fault within myself.  I’m not sure what I’ve done or if that’s just how it is, but I feel helpless in this empty friendship circle.  The numbers have dwindled over the years.  Where do I go from here?  Nearly friendless is a very lonely place.


I’m broken.  There used to be a time when I wished I was, but now it true and unbearable.  Watching positives pop up left and right; up and down bobs my head.  Finding a cause is not always the cure.  Nothing is so simple as an injection for immediate relief.  Then there are the mental repercussions.  This is what is wrong with you and there is nothing you can do about it.  All of a sudden you’re a lifer.  And you can gasp for air all you want, but it’s not going anywhere.


There’s this biting hunger, an instinctual urge towards motherhood haunting me.  It never occurred to me that it would be so hard to achieve.  It’s been a year of trying to conceive and meanwhile everyone I know is getting pregnant.  The bliss they must be experiencing seems unattainable.  I share their joy with them while I break inside for failing.  And my sorrow and shame won’t allow me to divulge to them this journey of attempts.  It’s better kept a secret that a year has been spent trying to create a miracle without success.  Oh the questions they would have that I could never stomach to answer.  Oh the advice they would try to offer up that has already been tried a dozen times over.  And  the questions I ask myself, “Is it me?”, “Is it him?”, “Is it just not meant to be?”  You can hang yourself in a noose of those questions.  I even started praying for the first time in over 10 years.  And there’s guilt from the selfishness that comes from that.  I don’t know where to go from here except to keep trying.


No one wants to take the first dive
No one wants to get their toes wet
Until the first plunge has gone live
Then we’re fighting and taking bets

No one thought this day would come
We stare each other blindly
No one knew we’d come undone
And not take to it kindly

Now we’re dodging missiles
Now we’re rotting inside
Begging here for whistles
Not paying any mind

Oh how we’ve fallen
My, look at us now
Dripping with pollen
And wondering how

This is the due
Here is the rest
It’s changing hue
Under your crest

How we are
Now alone
Calling far
Throwing stones

It is
It was
We miss


apology pt. 2

Apparently one wasn’t enough to rid my sorrow today… It turns out I’m the bitch when I’d been blaming you all this time.  One apology just won’t suffice.  And words won’t help explain something you never even noticed.  Today I saw you in a different light, and in a way that cast a dark shadow over me.  I’m compelled to think the worst no matter how much oxygen is in my lungs, but I’m a fool time and time again.  I held it over you that you never noticed me, but frankly I didn’t deserve to be noticed.  Now my heart breaks for you, as I repent for who I was, who I’ve been, and who I never knew existed.  Under a veil of denial I’m coming out to accept the disgrace that’s been me.  I pretended to know everything but I know absolutely nothing.


All I could think about was myself.  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, but this time I’m especially disgusted with myself.

The nerve I could have to hate a pretty face just for the sin of being perfect.  I suppose it goes much deeper than that and beyond the borders of what it seems, but the judgement deserved should be equal to the degree of my hatred.  It should be punishable.  Does my own self-loathing somehow give me permission to hate freely?  Am I allowed to misconstrue someone else’s blessings and hardships just because of my artificial inner-turmoil?  I’m disgusting.

Dear Angela, I am so sorry that I am a terrible human being.  I am so sincerely sorry that I assumed the worst just because you’re beautiful.  Our whole lives that’s the only way I could see you.  And perhaps that’s because you didn’t see me at all, but that’s no excuse.  Your loss and the pain you’ve endured is unfathomable and I’m so sorry for a lifetime of judgement because this time should be a time of love and support.  This doesn’t have to make sense to any other single soul in the world.  And you won’t even know it’s happening because you don’t know I exist.  Whether you know or not, I am truly sorry.


There was so much hatred in her voice as she said it.  My skin still trembles at the reverberation escaping her throat.  It’s not the first time in my life I’ve been haunted by a similar inflection drenched in loathing, but this one lingers.  It hums at the nape of my neck; it drones in the deepest part of my gut.  We used to be friends and now she hates me.

“It’s not any of your business!”

I hate you, you have no right to talk to me, don’t ever look at me or think of me again.  That’s what she was saying with those words.  A month earlier we were on the fast track to becoming best friends, but somehow I’d messed things up.  It’ll never make sense to me.  We had built such a strong bond over the difficulties of past friendships and how it seems all girl friendships are inevitably temporary.  Surely our bond over this put us above the detrimental nature of being girls.

But here we are.  Thinking of each other with contempt and disgust.  And yes, my former friend, I have a great amount of detestation for who you became, the things you did and said about me wreaked havoc on my reputation and self worth.  Yes, my former friend, I’m deeply saddened that it came to this and that we couldn’t be above it all as we had hoped.  For a moment you were a very dear friend and I couldn’t have gotten through that period without you.  Trying to step out of this cluttered mess of anger and sadness from our broken friendship takes so much strength, but with every step I will try to be grateful for the moment we were bonded.  Crumbled now or not, when it was one piece it was rather grand.

monster mutation

When did we change? At what point in time did we go from adorable, innocent creatures to vicious, vindictive assholes? Is there a specific point in each individual’s life that serves as a pivot point for the turn? My best guess is around the age of 13 but it’s hard to be certain.

This just so happens to come from watching the TV shows Master Chef and Master Chef Junior. If you haven’t seen the latter, you must, strictly for the sake of inspiring yourself to be a better human being and to attempt reverting back to before you reached that life-changing pivot point in time. When comparing the shows side by side, on one hand you have the “adult” version:  A typical competitive, vengeful, over-my-dead-body cooking contest.  So many of these types of shows end up with a lot of two-faced sabotage and pompous, arrogant attitudes.  While I still thoroughly enjoy the cooking aspect of the show, the psychology of the Junior Chef fascinates me far more than any show on television.  In the Junior version the kids are cheering for each other from day one.  They compliment each other, they cry for each other, they love each other, and when someone gets eliminated they are genuinely heartbroken for that person.  They practically forget that they came to the show to win something, and it becomes caring about their new friends and supporting each other.  It’s kind of amazing and something you don’t really see in the adult world of life.

It makes me recall something from childhood; a moment, albeit brief, when I was selfless.  My best friend and I entered a poster art contest in elementary school. While we were anxiously awaiting our honors at the awards ceremony it came down to 1st place, both of us still waiting with nerves running rampant, and at last…they called her name. We were both so equally excited, I was cheering for her with every bone in my body. And while a deep part inside of me was a bit sore at not winning any prize, it didn’t matter, because SHE won! Nowadays if I was in that exact situation, I’d be pissed & overwhelmed with envy. So much so that I’d feel that bitter taste of hatred lingering in the outskirts of my throat, waiting to seep past the barrier.  (Be warned, I’m revealing my inner monster.) Let it be known for the sake of this story, it turned out there was a Best In Show prize that went beyond the ol’ 1st place ribbon…that went to me.  I bring that up now only to prove that I’ve already mutated.  If I was pre-pivot point in my life right now I wouldn’t even mention that tidbit.  I have already gone through the monster mutation so it can no longer be helped.  For I now am also one of those vicious, vindictive assholes.  At least in the typical adult sense.  I long to reacquire the skills of selflessness from days of yore.  Is it possible to revert?

ray of sunshine

The news on television or radio or web is something I usually avoid at all costs.  It’s inevitably depressing, horrifying, or disappointing and hard to absorb.  It leaves me with a dark shadow hanging over me that I can’t shake off.  So then I wonder why do I only write about sadness?  Motivation to write always stems from inner-woe or a vapid desperation I just can’t scratch.  If I don’t want to read or hear about sadness, why do I write about it?  To focus on happiness and inspiring things would be so much more productive but I don’t know how to break this pattern of sad=create.  There are so many things in life to be happy and joyful about if you count them.  An attention diversion and commitment to the cause can allow you to capture even the smallest things that will keep your eyes bright.  And then write about it.  When read, hope it spreads.  It’s like a smile domino.  If for even one moment a person can be distracted by something they’ve read or heard and find a glimmer of happy or sliver of inspiration, the job is done.  And it spreads from one to the next.  And for one moment, even if only temporary, everyone is happy.