Romanticizing Reality

…My response? "YOU REALLY THINK I WOULD BE LETTING A “HEADACHE” KILL 9 DAYS OF MY LIFE, INCLUDING WORK AND TIME WITH MY KIDS??" *** DISCLAIMER (and I don't just say this because the post is long): There are lots of curses and capitalized words. Continue at your own risk. *** Some of you have asked how I am doing, and in an attempt to not use my eyes and brain too much, I haven’t answered. I'm sorry if that has worried or offended people. I'm just doing what I can do. So I figured I’d type this up, send it out collectively, and I won’t have to answer over and over again (with the exception that I miraculously get better and actually CAN type individual responses. In which case, I would gladly do so.) WARNING : some of you (if not most) will find this offensive. If you’re one of those people, then stop reading and don’t blame me for writing something that offends you. Because, truthfully and to the core, I don’t care. I can’t anymore. I don’t have the capaci

I just need to vent. Take that as your warning, I guess. The venting is toward my body, but mostly toward doctors. More precisely, MY doctors. At Kaiser. Yeah, I'm calling Kaiser out. I'll get to that in a bit.  I am so, so exhausted of struggling through pain. I've had to just "deal with it" since moving back to Colorado last December. Most the time, I can deal with it; I've learned how to deal with it over time, and accepted it as a part of my daily life. I suppose anyone who struggles with chronic pain has to reach that point. It took me two years to accept it. Honestly, that first year I got it, I never thought I would accept it. So that's definitely something. But, holy shit, does it interfere with my life sometimes. Holy shit, does it take all my spoons. Times when, like this weekend (and past week, really), EVERYTHING hits all at once. Because autoimmune disorders do that. Everything is affected by them. Just to list this weekend's specific pro

Her eyes have been opened, again. She had a mental breakdown, the kind that left her literally gasping for air. But first, her eyes were opened. Again, and again. They’ve been opened wider and wider during the past few years; the past year alone was a clusterfuck of eye-openings itself—more eye-openings than one should have to see in that small stretch of time. Human nature, religion, love, the world. Self. Self. So much about self. She can breathe and see somewhat normally now, so she takes another gulp of bittersweet, chilled wine, the crisp fuel washing its way over her tongue, tingling her taste buds, up to her palate, and mingling with her teeth, before it falls down her throat, less smoothly than the sips before it. She only wanted to be left alone. To figure this journey out herself, apart from the culture. But this life she was a part of won’t allow that. Can’t allow that. And opening eyes don’t wait. They don’t wonder when it’s convenient for

I was looking through my old files, and I found this character interview I wrote, back when HEMLOCK VEILS was released and when I was editing Book 2. I never posted it, probably because I either forgot about it or I thought it sucked (It kinda does). Either way, I'm posting it now. So, here's an interview between Stephen Ashton (Elizabeth's father) and myself--Stephen being the interviewer and myself being the interviewee: My interviewer sits casually at the other end of the square, wooden table in Starbucks. His plaid shirt is tucked into Levis, and his hand scratches the back of his head, ruffling brown hair. He clears his throat and opens his leather-bound journal. The end of his Bic ben has been chewed on, mauled. Strange, for someone who’s so laidback. But the old journal doesn’t surprise me; it’s just his style. He’s probably recorded most his findings of the Magical Realm in books just like this. I try to hide a smile as he flips through to find an empty page

In 2011, I struggled. I shared my struggle with no one--no one but MS Word. I had expectations to keep, people to make happy. I had to be strong. I had an image to keep. So I vented to my laptop (as I've done many times), vowing to never show a soul because of how hard on myself I was--and worse, how deeply I believed those cuts to be true, and that exposing them would only solidify that truth. Well, this week, for the first time ever, I allowed other eyes to read what I wrote--one of the essays from a dark time I thought had to be endured alone. The essay, though, is realistically just a journal entry--to me, anyway. It was a venting out-pour of the pain in my heart, and a rather sad one at that. I was encouraged this week, by these dear writers with whom I can share my soul, to share it with the public; to let others read the words they can probably relate to. I promised them I would. It's nothing more than a blurb from when my life was so utterly different than it is no

I know, I know. Just bear with me, okay? We've probably all heard the flack Bella (or really, Stephenie Meyer, author of the Twilight series and creator of Bella's annoying character) has gotten for being an enabler in an abusive and/or controlling relationship, or for not being strong enough. For being too dependent on her man-vampire. I love the empowerment women are finally getting in our culture and society--right now is the best time in history to be a woman, and hopefully that only continues. It is due to this wonderful influence (and the tuning out of negative influences) I have come to know my own strength as a woman, as well as my own worth. That my feminism is strength. But is it really so pathetic for Bella to be completely crushed when Edward leaves her in New Moon (the second book in the Twilight series, for anyone living under a rock)? I read the Twilight series as the books were first released--before it was cool. I was a Twilight hipster.  They were e

Do you ever need to release your anxiety or emotions as badly as you need a breath of fresh air, but can't because they're not for the world--or anyone, really--to hear? Do you ever feel the need to scream or shout at the world for all it's done to the battered, scarred victim you are, but at the same time feel the need to weep tears of gratitude to all those people, truths, and beauties that have, in turn, made you find just one more nugget of self-awareness or appreciation for who you've become? (I'm trying not to shudder at my cliche decision to open with a question. Hopefully you can get past it, too.) My path of self-discovery has been a long one. It's been trying. It's hurt myself, as well as those around me. It's put other people's happiness at risk. It's been brutal. And wretched. And left me wondering how I could go my entire life before this not being able to see myself, and the world around me, more clearly. It's been a journey

Dear [insert culture, society, family, or name of choice] , I want this stage of my life to be over, this stage of being beaten down by the measurement you've set. I'm ready to move onto the next: to the one where I don't allow my worth to be dependent on how you view me. I know, I'm living a dream if I think I'll ever be to that stage. But maybe someday I'll be closer, hopefully much closer than I am now. Maybe someday, when I'm not enveloped and pressured by your view that is meant to make my  view and desires feel guilty, I'll be a little closer to that--a little more sure of myself than I am right now. Because right now , I'm feeling the weight of the shadow you've created. The one you've tried to mold me into. Right now , I'm feeling the years of conditioning, ready to--hopefully--break loose. Right now, in your eyes, I'm a woman who's walking a thin line into an unacceptable life. If I want to be accepted, I must fi

Before I learned I had to be a paying member wasn't cool enough to attend one of the writing sessions I was going to attend in Denver last week, I was tasked with writing an essay titled The Greatness of Flaws . Naturally, when I found out I couldn't attend the meeting, part of me was relieved to not have to write the piece. Then my mind got stuck in it and I couldn't stop thinking about it and what I would write if I could go. The problem was, I couldn't think of anything worthy or noble to say about the greatness of flaws. Nothing. And of course, because that troubled me, I decided to write a post on that topic, and try to articulate the best I could how I really feel about the greatness of flaws. So here's this: First, I will talk about my own flaws. My distortions. My ugliness. Because I see no greatness in my flaws. Almighty Heaven and Earth, life is hard, and finding my strengths right now seems impossible, and seeing my flaws as "g

I miss writing. But since starting my full-time job, brain cells are hard to come by at night. So I'll count this blog post as my writing time tonight. I just wanted to put a beautiful thought out there I heard/read today. I came across this little excerpt from Nikos Kazantazakis while at an afternoon appointment, and whether or not one believes in his philosophies is beside the point; no matter your beliefs, this parable speaks truth. And mostly, it applies so much to what I'm going through in my life right now. Patience. It's never come easily to me (thanks for the impatience, Dad). It's one thing I'm being tested on constantly right now, and one thing I'm trying to learn so I can move to the next stage of my life (I don't have very much patience while trying to get through this trial of patience). In all seriousness, though, I've had to mostly learn how to have patience with myself . And then I read this today: "I remember one morning w