Strangled with Panic

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes one feel like it might when a drowning man holds unto you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic. -Anais Nin

I wake up, and everything is normal. Making coffee, playing with my son, fixing breakfast. The clock is at 6:35 and I know it's coming. I kiss Jay goodbye and tell him to have a great day at work. Secretly telling him not to take the interstate, since our spin off last year still haunts me. The events of the afternoon come off our lips as if we've already seen the movie- what we'll do, talk about, and eat for dinner. Jay leaves the house.......and so it begins.

It's like a whole different person comes over me, a different personality.

It's dark, all the doors are locked, and checked again. Articles invade my mind like an archive from an old library.
 -The woman in NJ who was brutally beaten during a home invasion who showed no emotion through the whole thing so that her toddler would not intervene. I think about how much braver she is than I am, and how did she ever know to do that? How did she just know how to react.

As a parent, you know that it's your job to protect your child. It's all on your shoulders. But what if you just, can't?
When the smallest of sounds is paralyzing.....

I'm friends with the monster, that's under my bed. Get along with the voices, inside of my head. You're trying to save me- stop holding your breath.

And you think I'm Crazy..... Well, that's nothing. 

-Eminem 

Episodes of Criminal Minds torture me. I try to think of what I would do if I were them? If someone stuck a gun to my head in the parking lot of the grocery store, would I scream loud? Or let them take me? What if Braxton is already strapped into his seat? What if running away isn't an option?

What if I did nothing....

The truth is, these battle scars are never changing. The wounds of a childhood are there whether you know about them or not. Anxiety, stress disorders, disassociation and the inability to hold a conversation with a person are all on my list. It will never be over. I freeze, I panic.

---Don't let your car run with the garage door down. Lock all your doors behind you, even at home. Don't leave a child unattended-ever. Make sure all the nightlights are out of the walls when you leave the house, the hair straightener off. Alarm your house, alarm your car. None of it makes me feel safe.
Even with the whole checklist completed, 10 hours of my day is run by anxiety, Fear. I could only wish I were scared of spiders. Snakes, or mice. Instead, I am scared of living.---

At one point in my life, chaos was my only normal. Nothing made me feel a live and I wasn't scared of a single thing. I would drive down a country road in the dark with my headlights off just to see if I could make it home alive. Nothing scared me, not even dying. I guess now, I just have something to live for.

The best place to hide something is in plain sight...

-Jodi Picoult

We all struggle with something we don't show to anyone else. If you know me in person, I'm sure you'd be surprised to know any of this- that I am actually socially awkward. I can relate to anyone, because of my upbringing- and I have a lot of friends because of that- but nobody can relate to me, and that my friends, couldn't be more lonely.

The breath I've been holding...

It wasn't until I started writing that I started to feel okay with my thoughts. Writing has given me an outlet, a place where it wouldn't matter if someone never agreed with me, because there is probably someone out there who does, equally. It wasn't until I started writing, on and off blog, that I started to figure myself out. Putting feelings on 'paper' and letting them out has opened my eyes to a world of psychology I never knew was out there, and I never knew was okay to find.
Recently, I have been talking to a wonderful woman about a topic that is growing dear to me, memory.
The funny thing about memory is that it is always a mystery. Memory is all about perspective- which in my unprofessional opinion is not really arguable. Two people may be in the same place at the same time and remember it completely different, and they may not. The human brain is a wonderful thing, it fills in missing spots, and it works with our emotions, to twist memory to our liking. Our brains release different memories from childhood as we're ready to process them, and handle them. The slightest detail can be off, the slightest detail can change it all.
The craziest part about this is that memory is all about perspective.
How we think something went. How I, or you, remember it. But- neither is honest-not completely.

Ever since I started writing, I also started talking. When it began, I wanted to remember my childhood, simply because I don't. Good, bad, ugly- I don't remember. A smell, a taste, a picture can trigger a memory. Memories I didn't have, until I started writing.

When we grow up we think that we can finally be okay with the past. We can finally move on. We can finally grow up and be the adults we set out to be without a cloud of baggage over our head. Memories are the baggage we seem to never get away from- and when we turn 18, or 21, or 25- it's suppose to be snapped away- and replaced with resolution.

I don't know about you, but I thought I'd be further ahead than I am, and I certainly did not have an easy way to sort it all out. My biggest problem is that one word I've been using- perspective.
You see, this cloud of baggage has been hanging over my head for quite some time, but just today I realized that it isn't even mine. It belongs to memory. Ones which may be true, ones which may not be. I can't really remember. Some memories are things people have told me- that I believed, and some possibly happened.

Even though I'll truly never know what is real, and what never happened, I really wish I could.
A wise woman once said that our bodies protect us by not remembering until our brain thinks we can handle it. Going back and sorting through our memory is our adult self finally being able to save our child self. I for one, would like to stick up for that little girl- I'd like to remember her...

So here, I'll make her a promise-- a promise to that 2 year old girl who drank her first beer. The 9 year old girl in the car with a suicidal driver. The 13 year old girl in her dad's roomate's room. The 16 year old at her boyfriends funeral. Let go of the breath you've been holding- I will come back for you- as soon as I can remember.

Fitting in is failure

I am left handed, I was born on christmas day, I hate holiday shaped reese cups. I love to work with power tools, and I am terribly flawed. I say all sorts of awkward things, and I totally laugh about them later. I assume everyone is my friend, but then that they hate me all the same. I like cool whip in my coffee, and I eat way too much fast food. I am absolutely terrified of heights-and escalators- but I have no problems eating dinner in a restaurant alone, or speaking to a stadium of people. I am terribly flawed.

Last week, I went to a thirty one party with some friends from work. For three hours I sat on my friends couch thinking of ways to get out of buying a $30 utility tote with owls on it. For three hours I sat on my friends couch thinking about how abnormal it was to ponder spending $30 on a  utility tote with owls on it.

The other day I was thinking about my childhood and came across a memory from when I was 6 or 7 and dreamed of growing up to be an architect. I use to think to myself how awesome it would be-when I was old enough to call my own shots. I would make all the right decisions and I would have the perfect family.
Looking back I wonder where I went wrong, or if I did at all. I wonder what would've happened if I had stayed on the straight and narrow. Would I be an architect? A lawyer? Would I even be any better off?

I am always the girl with a story. I have a "make it out alive" mentality that I desperately hold onto. I am prone to checking everyone's intentions, and I am impossible to befriend. I say all the wrong things, and I get in too deep. Everyday is a struggle. I do not know right from wrong, and I do not want to be the girl with a story.

I want to be normal. I want to know where I came from without a preface. I want to look back and say that I went to one school, and my favorite part of growing up in this one town was getting ice cream at that one place. I want to walk down the street where I learned to ride a bike, and finally change that old wallpaper at mom's house. I want to get excited over utility totes with owls, or purse parties in general. I want to make friends and trust, just trust, that they want to be my friend too. I want to walk through life without sizing myself up. I want to know that what I'm doing is alright. I want a memory, any memory from being a child that is just good.

I want to be boring.
I want to give my son a boring life too.

Anything but Mine Pt 2

It had been years since we talked. To suddenly get a message on facebook from a person who had once meant so much to me, was huge. We immediately hit it off again and went over all the nights we had spent as teenagers.

At this time in life I was in college and getting out of an extremely bad relationship, and to be honest, I wasn't totally in the clear yet. I saw this as an opportunity to pick up where we had left off, and since it was good the first time, why wouldn't the magic be there now?

He had moved to college, and lived two hours away now. But the night we started talking again he told me that he had to see me and made that two hour drive right away.
We stayed up all night, in a twin sized bed talking about how great it had been. How we never fought and how destiny brought us back together.

His charisma and charmed worked the first time, and it was immediately clear that it would work again. It didn't surprise me at all that I wanted to jump into a relationship with him. I almost had something to prove. All those years ago came snowballing back into my life and I thought for a moment that I could have it all back again. I knew that the first time wasn't as magical as I remembered it being, but here I was, naively going back for more.

The beginning of the relationship was great. He again, was patient with me and helped me through the tough relationship I was coming out of. I met his family for the first time, and he introduced me as his girlfriend.
We went on small road trips together, and I felt like I had someone who really knew me.

We stayed boyfriend and girlfriend for months. I lived in Indy with my sister, and he lived at college two hours away. We stayed together on the weekends, alternating trips until soccer season started. It was 2008 at the height of gas prices rising to $4/gallon. It was tough for two college students, but we made it work.

There was one issue. I had a secret.
I had a secret, and he could tell. It had nothing to do with him but it was a big part of my life, and I did not want to share it with him. I was so scared of being vulnerable. This was one thing that I did not tell anyone, but of course, he pulled it out of me.

The night he found out my secret, we cried together. He was very sad for me and promised to be by my side through it all. I felt as though I could finally trust someone again. I was at my weakest, and I just gave him all my power.

After a year of dating, he started to change. To this day I am not sure why.

One night we were in his tiny dorm room, and he started to tear me down. A seemingly good relationship was ripped apart with words. He called me every name he could think of.
Every insecurity was thrown in my face. A cruel so casual, like he never cared at all. How was it so easy for him to say all of those things about me? What did I do to deserve it?

I started to pack my things, starting with my clothes, and then pictures. It was clear I was no longer wanted.
He pulled me back. By this time I was balling. Crying so hard I could not breathe. I though our relationship was wonderful, and here he is, dropping a bag of bombs.

I was devastated, but couldn't drive two hours, so I asked him if we could just go to bed.
He was puzzled at my question. Smirked as if he thought he got away with it. Nonetheless, we went to sleep.

The next day we woke up and went to McDonalds. At a four seater table we talked, but not much on the night before. I warned him that if he ever talked to me like that again we would be done. I don't really know if I meant it, but I wasn't ready to lose what I thought we had.

As time went by, it got worse and worse. He stopped wanting to come down on weekends and warned me that we wouldn't be spending as much time together. Out of desperation, and not taking his hints, I vowed to go to him every weekend, and so I did.

We started to fight, often. Breaking furniture, and mirrors, fighting.

For the first time in months, and the last time in my life he came to Indy to see me, and to bring medicine I had left at his dorm. We both knew it was the end, and we sat on my bed- The same twin sized bed where it all began, and agreed that we would be over. I could tell that he wanted it for a while, and I had purely been there for convenience. I strongly agreed to his terms, never talking again. We cried together, once more. Then he left.

That is the last time I ever saw him.

Shortly after I text him. I couldn't control myself. I said that we made a mistake and I wanted to stay together...... So the story begins.

He ignored me for a long time, hoping that my heart would heal and I could move on.
I wanted that too.

Break ups are fine if your'e on the good side of leaving.

Countless nights I cried, sitting on my bed convincing myself that people just change their minds.
I analyzed every minute of our relationship and wondered where and what went wrong. I couldn't help but think back to the night he tore into me like he had nothing better to do.
I told myself over and over that I needed to get over him, that he didn't want me anymore.

Later I found out that he had been cheating on me.
Later he leaked pictures of me I never knew he had.
Later, he told everyone my biggest secret.

He took my biggest secret, and broke me with it.
a straight cut to the throat, a pain so real, you can physically feel it.

By this time, the pain and rejection was so intense all I wanted to do was party. I was lost. I wanted someone to want me because the person I wanted didn't.

He not only took me once, but twice, and I blamed myself.

For the year following I was nothing but reckless.

We all have a wrecking ball, and he was mine.

Anything But Mine Pt 1

In light of all this Miley Cyrus drama-let me just tell you that I love it.
I am sure that it is all a ploy for fame, but isn't it all?


I can truly appreciate the vulnerability and honesty that anyone, even a star shows when they have a break down. That is the only time I can ever feel a connection with someone, especially on the radio....
There is nothing comparable to a song with pain threaded through it...and wrecking ball is just that, a story that nobody is reading.

Everyone wants to make fun of her hair, and the nudity, and her hair, and her licking a sledge hammer, and.... has anyone noticed her hair? That's all people have. She looks different, and her version of crazy is on display. I guess 'people' won't understand until they're in that state themselves.

My Miley moment came after a boy used me....and I let him.

You never know how rejection feels until you face it straight on. When you try to hold on to something and someone who simply doesn't want you anymore. That person who you gave everything to. The one you thought loved you as much as you loved them.



The first time we met was at a school dance I really didn't want to attend. It was homecoming and I stayed away from anything sports related, and dance related, for that matter. I was talked into going to the dance and I swore I would just hang out for a bit and then leave as soon as I could hitch a ride out of there.

I remember standing in the cafeteria and seeing him come through the crowd for the first time. His blonde hair was perfectly placed, he wore a light blue shirt, and his piercing blue eyes never left mine. It was almost as if he was coming straight for me, like he was on a mission-even though we had never met. He knew who I was, but I had only heard about him. As he approached me I just stood there, and let it all happen, a senior boy was about to talk to me.
 I was still trying to gather my thoughts as he introduced himself and asked me if I was Justine's best friend. I said I was, staring back. His eyes never moved. It was almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me. The foot of space between us was tense. One sentence from him and I was melting inside. He had this persona about him that reeked of seduction, and I wanted more of that.
Proceeding to ask me to dance, I turned him down, because, let's face it, I wasn't going to make a fool out of myself then. He took that as a challenge and put his arms around me, and then my waste. I tried acting just as coy as he had been, fighting for the upper hand.
After a while he realized I would not cave and released me. I thought I played it off well, until the next day. He was in a class of mine.
He told me soon after the dance, that he would make it a point to get me to open up to him. For an entire semester, he sat behind me. Messed with me, and flirted, making me secretly like him back.
For me, this relationship started out as an accident. My best friend had the biggest crush on him, and it was immediately forbidden to talk to him. Except, that winter, she and I had a falling out.
I can't even remember what we fought about but it was one for the books. We didn't talk for weeks, and she had seemed to move on from her original crush, which opened a door for me.
I had never given him my phone number, or purposefully acted interested in him, all the while he made it a point to partner with me on every assignment. I knew I shouldn't like him. I knew it was the start of something.
In December I passed out invitations to my 16th birthday party, and of course, he got a hold of one. From there he got my phone number and sent me the first text message I ever received in my life.
I remember running into my sisters room from across the hall and acting like a total 16 year old. I was the giddiest I had ever been, because the hottest guy in school just text me. 
He asked me out and I said yes.

The next few months consisted of countless dates. Multiple times a week.

I felt like I was in an 80's movie. I felt like he was different with me.
We talked on the phone every night for hours, playing the question game and laughing.
We laid under the stars in his truck bed and just talked about life as the fire flies danced over the corn fields. We listened to a lot of Kenny Chesney, and came home past curfew. We cuddled a lot, and I liked feeling close to someone. For once, I felt like I was an exception.

He was very patient with me. We made out of course, but never did anything else until I initiated it. I was surprised at that because I knew of his track record. It made me feel respected.

I knew this guy would be life changing. And after April 15th 2005, it did.

It was a Friday, and we'd be going on a date as usual. I didn't know what to wear so I borrowed a tank top and pink jacket from my sister's closet, and of course my favorite silver jeans. We were going to play putt putt so I wanted to be comfortable. I had a special feeling about that night, like something big was going to happen.
We went to play putt-putt, and I cheated, but won. We went to the park, and talked in the truck. We both knew what we were going to do.
Feeling overwhelmed and looking for a distraction we decided to go out for ice cream, and then back to the park. It was unavoidable.
He chased me around the playground like we were in a movie, and we danced. We danced, on top of a castle to Anything But Mine by Kenny Chesney. He had pulled the speakers from his truck so we could hear the music playing anywhere. I felt as though we were straight out of a Taylor Swift album, like pure magic.
You know what happens next.

When we left the park, I remember being calm, and relaxed- not like I had just lost my virginity. R on the other hand, was shaking. Somehow, it made me feel good that he was so nervous.

We continued our dating for months, and it remained magical. He was the first boy I ever snuck into my house, and I climbed an electrical pole into his. Pure 16 year old gold, right?

As the months passed, the dreaded time came where we had to say goodbye. He was a senior after all. This whole time we did not have one fight. We mixed well together, but I knew it was the end. Cold turkey, we stopped talking. No phone calls, texts, letters, or anything. We left each other to our memories.

Years later, when I was in college he contacted me on Facebook, and from then on, I never even had a chance.

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I miss you already.

As the "back to work" date potentially approaches I have begun to think about what "back to work" truly means for myself and my family. We seem to get these ideas and just run with them. Not really thinking of the consequences, good and bad.
Going back to work for my family is mainly beneficial. The money aspect especially. Then there's Braxton going to an all day learning environment which is wonderful, and mommy's self esteem of course.
The only problem I am seeing with it is this:

I am going to miss my kid.

Yep, that's it.

You're probably ready to jump through the computer to smack me in the face and tell me to wake up because we all miss our kids. duh.
But let me break it down a little bit here and explain why I am writing a whole blog about it.

First, it was best for my family at the time (almost 2 years ago) for me to be a stay at home/ work at home mom. You would think that was easy.
I was able to make home made baby food and nurse my son for 13 months. All great things.

Last night, I did something with braxton that I had never done before. I let him stay the night without me. He stayed at his nana and "baw baw's" house. just because.

I stayed up until 1 am worrying for no reason, but it did bring up my anxiety issues again, of leaving him.
When he was an infant I had severe post par tum depression, and I would get final destination style images of my son dying 10 times a day. literally.

For the first time in a while that happened again and scared the crap out of me.

You see, its scary. Once you become a mom you become, well, a mom. and that includes all these fears and anxieties you never thought you'd have.

I do know that Braxton will be completely okay all day without me. But then there's also the fact that Jay and I have been discussing having a second child (we have never entertained that idea before) and I wonder how much me going back to work changes that idea. I already know that every child is different and I would not be able to do the same things with her that I did with B. (yes, ive already decided our second child will be a girl, ha)

This whole mess brought me to the point. No matter what we do in life we feel guilty as a mom. PLEASE someone tell me that there will be an end to this?

If I'm a stay at home mom I feel bad for the material things, and opportunities we don't have. I feel lazy because I don't mop the bathroom floor everyday. I feel bad because I don't like to cook extravagant dinners, and have cake ready afterwards. I feel bad because I am not the perfect stay at home mom. I feel bad about myself because I was rushed and put my shoes on the wrong feet, mascara on one eye, and heaven forbid, forgot to wear a bra. Not to mention the 10 lbs I gained last winter. We feel bad about these things because stay at home moms are suppose to have all the time in the world, right?

Then, If I go back to work I'll feel bad because I am not spending 14 hours a day with my children. I won't have time to cook dinner every night, I might have to skip a PTO meeting, my kids will ride the school bus, and my bathroom floor may never be mopped again.

Although I am not a traditional working mom yet, I can't help but think that you just can't win here.

I am unsatisfied if I do not, and I am guilty if I do.

This is just one of those things you work through and figure out. You do the best you can for your family.
I guess I'll have to learn that perfection isn't possible, and I do not have to wear all of these hats and be all of these things.

:(

To B: I miss you already.