I’ve been re-reading a book called The Monster is Real. (if I had it next to me I’d tell you the author) It’s on uncovering, or dealing with your worst fears, or anxieties, or whatever the thing it that’s causing you to live in some sort of darkness. It’s a Kaballah book/ self help. It was given to me years ago, and helped overcome jealousy that had been tormenting me for way to long.

Last night it taught me something again. If your depressed it really does hurt other people. Not because the depressed person is cruel, or intentionally hurting others. It’s because you not sharing any sort of joy with anyone. Depriving others of the good things with in yourself.

It just gave me one more reason to snap out if it when I’m in a funk. See, the thing I love about life is sharing it with others. Sounds odd coming from me, I’m a bit of a loner. However, when I let people in, it’s because I enjoy sharing something with them, also I enjoy whatever they have to share. When I see people I love happy, it makes me happier. When I see them hurting, it makes me hurt worse.

So there’s my two cents for the night.


Things have picked up a bit around here for me. I know I keep being a “Debbie Downer” but really, things are turning out to be okay. I’m actually not that bad at going through some kinda hell, and being able to patch myself together again.

Me and Adam are doing pretty good I think. The lil ones are getting along. The house is half way clean the majority of the time. I get to work, and I come home.

I’m not saying it’s a picture perfect life, but it’s getting there.

I’ve been considering so many things. Writing all the time. Drawing…

Tomorrow I get more tattoos.

I keep saying this, and mostly I’m saying it to myself. You have to have something to look forward to. A pay off. Something you get in the end, on a regular basis. Tomorrow is mine, after work, getting some fresh ink. That’s what will make me smile for another week. I know I need more than just that, but at least for now, it’s enough for me. More than enough really because I’m pretty excited.

Feeling alone

Feeling alone in the world has to be one of the worst feelings I have, and it has followed me off and on through out life. I’ve always hated it. It’s much worse than actually being alone.

Being alone can be really nice, I like that just fine. That’s when I get to write, or draw, or do whatever it is that drives me to create something new.

Feeling alone is when some one you love makes you feel rejected, when you can’t find a single soul in this universe who you can open up to and they actually get it, or at least try to. When you feel a loss. When nothing seems to line up with what’s in your heart. When you try to change things about yourself and realize they are unchangeable.

It comes in so many forms.

On Monday I was feeling them all I think. I got the kids to school okay, but then I shut myself up in my bedroom and make drawings all day. Nothing great, just traced lines with markers, them more over top of that, then outlined some shapes, until I covered a couple sheets of paper with insane details, and it was time to get the kids again.

I stopped at the tattoo place and got this on my arm.


Two feathers. it took about an hour. The lils paid no attention to what was going on because their was a Chess game in the waiting area, Lil Fella thought he could teach Lil Guy how to play. I actually wanted to get more, but their wasn’t enough time, so I’m going back on Saturday for a dream catcher at the top of my arm, then more flowy feathers and stuff.

One whole arm dedicated to Native American looking stuff…

I wanted to vent, to talk a bunch with the tattoo artist, but I didn’t. I know how it is. I’m a hairdresser. Those are places people go when they’re feeling down, to distract themselves from what ever it is that’s getting them down. It works, you change something about yourself like that, your looks, makes you happy, at least for while.

My tattoos don’t have any super thought out deep meaning behind them. Really, they just represent times in my life. That’s all. I have to admit the book I’ve been writing has influences my appearance lately. (But my character is basically me anyways so… )

Thoughts on the Bible, church, “Christianity” etc.

The Bible. Church. Christianity. Religion.

They all offer hope, but in return they ask you to give up yourself, and conform to their rules, because they know best. They know you better than you know yourself.

I used to buy into it too. I used to… Notice there is no mention of God above…

I used to think these things were God speaking to me, and so I listened, and I followed, but I never reaped that rich reward they all promised. I never felt that hope. I never felt forgiveness, or acceptance. Instead I always felt I messed it all up. I always felt guilt. I always felt shame. I hated myself for the person I was on the inside, although I could almost portray a decent Christian on the outside. Almost is never good enough in this society. Nope. I was never good enough.

Not good enough for marriage, not good enough for kids, not good enough for love, not good enough to preach, to speak, to sing in a choir, to play in a band, to be any part of anything beside an audience member. I was never good enough because I would never lie about myself. I just wouldn’t. I was honest, to honest for any of them. I made everyone uncomfortable. That’s the one thing I have done right. The one thing I didn’t lie about ever.

I never promised to be perfect.

So I was cast out.

I never did stop believing in God through all of that. Never. I never have stopped praying. That’s the funny part, I’ve never stopped praying, and I never stopped believing, or receiving answers to my prayers. Even so called “Christians” wouldn’t believe the strength I’ve found in God.

In God, not the church, not a religion, not a book. None of that. Just prayers.

Today as I sat in the psychiatrist office, questioning my every thought, move, and motivation, I picked up one of those hotel room bibles. You know the ones. Every page I landed on said to follow the rules. Follow the rules. Follow the rules and be blessed.

The problem is that I have followed them before. And I have strayed from them before. It didn’t matter to me in the end. I was the same person no matter what. Nothing improved, nothing got worse. I was still me. God was still there when I prayed.

I’m not saying I haven’t found hope in the bible. I have, but not every part of it. I’m not saying that a church never gave me a little motivation, a little happiness, it has. It has all gotten me by from time to time.

In thee end, there are only a few constants in life. I am still me. God answers me when I call on him. Life goes on. Certain things always disappoint. A couple people will always love you, and accept you no matter what, a lot more people will reject you. You will feel sad. You will feel happy. Nothing is forever. Hang in there no matter what…

I try to hard

Ever feel like you honestly just don’t know what to do? I feel lost trying to figure out what people around me actually need from me. I think I know sometimes, but then I turn out to be wrong. Or my efforts will prove to be ineffective.

I don’t know when I should keep trying, and when I should back off. Maybe I’m not the right person, like I can’t do anything because I’m not the right person to fix whatever it is thats wrong. I have a habit of habitually trying to fix things because I hate to know that someone is hurting or in pain over something. I’d  feel their pain for them if it’d make it better.

My fix-it attitude never works anyways. It always back fires and makes things worse. Maybe I’m to desperate to make people happy. Either way, I’m never sure what to do, and doing nothing doesn’t feel any better.

Just rambling thoughts

If  emotions could be counted like money in a bank account, balanced like a check book, or turned into a monthly budget, that would be great. Unfortunately they can’t.

But if it were the case, my account would’ve been jacked up for a while. Now it’s just starting to get a little bit on the positive. It’s crazy how up and down I can get. Adam says it’s because we’ve never faced so many things at one. (of course I haven’t blogged about everything in life) I’m not the only one with issues, Adams been going through it too, but it’s making us so much stronger.

I feel like I should mention that it’s not all bad. There’s been a lot of blessings in there. A lot of happiness. A lot of good times that will be remembered. We’ve been communicating as absolutely honest as we possibly can. With out filtering what it is we want to say. We don’t re word things to make them easier to hear. We just come out with it. When it’s a little tough for me, I’ve been writing it down for later.

So that’s me. I’m going to go work on my book finally. (I’ve been saying that for several days) I might be back later today with something fun to share.

Me and Jim Morrison

“Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself – and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.”
                                                                                          -Jim Morrison
   Jim Morrison was the lead singer of a classic rock band named the Doors. When I was in middle school I watched a special on VH1 about them, and I kinda fell in love with them. My facts might be a little off since I studied these things when I was only a kid, but I think he died at age 27, in 1971 (maybe). He was “allegedly” in Paris, and overdosed. I say allegedly because some people don’t believe this story.
   When he was young his family were driving through the desert, and they passed by a horrible car accident involving a group of American Indians. He saw the ghost of one, and swears he was possessed my the spirit of this man. Through out his life people seen the ghost around him. It changed his life.
   He was actually shy. He had to turn away from the audience to start singing. Once he got lost in the music, of course, he acted like a nut case. Sometimes he’d sing in a series of sounds and grunts. When I was a kid, my brother learned to play guitar. I remember a couple times I’d try to embody the spirit of Jim Morrison, turning from my brother, and beginning a song, I’d get into it a little, and begin to sound like him. I did this to entertain my brother really, but I bet that would be a sight to see.
   I had learned to write poetry when I was really young. Jim Morrison wrote poetry, and actually wanted to die as a poet, not a musician. I wonder if somehow, that was me in a past life. Of course it’s hard to ever say for sure, maybe we just have a lot in common. Maybe in another dimension we are best friends. Who knows?