I have so much to say and cannot seem to find the right words. In my head they make sense until I go to form a sentence and then it all runs together. This may be my most rambling post yet, so bear with me.

This week has been a whirlwind, to say the least. The entire month actually. So much excitement and fun and spontaneity and gratefulness and lightness back into my life. So much energy and staying up until midnight and 4:30am, and being happy and awake anyhow. So much thankfulness to be alive and moving again. So very thankful.

Ya know, it's funny how many people in different areas of your life notice when your energy changes. For the past 3 years, I have been the quiet girl who internalizes a lot, and thinks, and gets inside of her own head too much, and posts quotes and song lyrics that reflect a deeper meaning of something going on internally. And eventually it just kinda blends into the background (unless you can relate). And then in a matter of a month, there was a BIG change. I finally felt alive again and externalized it to an extreme. And ya know what? It felt wonderful and it felt... well, like I was living again. No negativity around me. No second guessing (well, minimal, anyhow). Just living. Like my girl Kacey Musgraves says, "we can't do it over, they say it's now or never, and all we're ever getting is older." So, Yocarpe Diemlo (yeah?), get 2 hours of sleep and go to work. Your bed will be there tomorrow night and will feel even better.

Without getting into the nitty gritty, the change came from within and from external factors as well (as it tends to). But, as can be imagined, like any good and exciting whirlwind of emotion, it's done (for many understandable yet frustrating reasons). However, after a few days of anger and sadness and mandatory claw marks (as I tend to leave on things that I'm struggling to let go), tonight I'm left with a feeling of gratefulness which I don't think I'll ever be able to truly express. At least not in the near future. Gratefulness to have felt so alive and so happy again, even if it was for a short stint this time. And I just needed to let it out into the universe in some way.

So as the black cloud starts to rear its ugly head again over our friend group (Nik--where are your hand wipers?), I feel sad but hopeful. As noted today at work, I have been quieter and less antsy the past couple of days (which I'm sure isn't all bad haha), but I look forward to the time when I will have a hard time sitting still again and will ramble on and on to those around me out of pure lightness. Because how great it has been to feel happy and excited again, all the while being terrified out of my mind and ignoring it.

To end on an important note, remember to lean toward yes. Remember to lean toward openness and laughter. Remember to lean toward happiness and togetherness. Remember to lean toward hope and excitement. Fear is real, I get it. I have a lot of it in me. I'm terrified of a lot in life. Airplanes and roller coasters and scary movies and talking in front of people I don't know and sharks and heartbreak. Respect it, yes, but don't let that drive you, because feeling alive feels SO much better than feeling scared. I learned that this month in so many ways and I'm so very happy that I did.

I tried to sign the papers tonight. It was the second night in a row. Apparently it’s not as easy as it should be. Maybe that’s the intention but I know that it’s the right thing to do. At the right time. Finally. So I’ll keep trying.

A lot happens in 3 years. Or almost 3 years. But damn if 3 years doesn’t pass in a blur of madness.  It’s like I could describe every single day to you in detail but I also see it in a smudge of colors and emotions.

3 years. Wow.

Everyone says that once this is final I will feel relief. I’m not sure that is true. Maybe it will feel clear and blank. But relief? Nah. I’m not sure that word quite fits in this situation.

I came to the realization tonight that the majority of people in my daily life have only known me. Not us. What a strange realization to have. They know me with your last name but not you. And not me without you as part of my identity. What a strange, strange feeling to have when the old doesn’t fit and the current doesn’t either. Maybe I can start going by a single initial as my last name? Yeah, I’ve thought about it. But I’m pretty sure that won’t fly unless I suddenly become a rock star, which would also require me to learn how to play the guitar that’s been sitting still for over 10 years.

I also had the thought tonight that memories that used to be so vivid are now starting to fade and are hard to retrieve in my mind. I know that’s what happens as you heal and as time goes by. I’ve been there before. But the blankness feels so empty and I don’t like it.

                          

But I don’t really want to remember either. Remembering is too hard.

When P.F. died, I remember thinking that it consumed so much of our lives, so much of our daily thoughts, that eventually we were going to have to forget in order to move on. Not that we were forgetting him or his bright presence in our lives, but that we had to push it away enough from the forefront of our mind in order to continue surviving. And now, that’s where I am with the death of us. Do I love it? No. I never will. But to me you are no longer an option. How freeing! …and how very sad.

I recently heard about this new made up word "sonder." And you know I love me some words.

sonder- n.- the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

It’s fascinating to think that at this very moment, somewhere not far from here, you are living a life there at the very same time I’m living a life here. With people in your daily life that I don't know about and have never seen, but who know you well. And the separateness is ok. After accepting and unaccepting and accepting again, the sting has faded and it's ok.

Someone once said, “Never cut what you can untie.” I’d hate to see what our relationship rope looks like. Probably beaten and frayed and muddied all to hell, but damn if we didn’t try to untie the crap out of it between the insanity.

Oh, how insane it's been and soon, very soon, it’ll be completely untied.

I know someone.

I know someone who is clinically bipolar. Someone who battles everyday for “normalcy”, for happiness, for the pain to stop. Someone who is perceived as unnecessarily angry by others and as a failure to themselves. Someone who wants nothing more but to be at peace inside of their own head. Someone who I have seen cry themselves to sleep in their most vulnerable state and someone who has sang duets with me under the stars. Someone who is wrongly perceived by so many.

I know someone who has attempted suicide. Someone who battles everyday to feel confident in their own skin, to feel attractive, to feel like their life is going in the direction they want it to. Someone who everyone calls their friend but someone who feels quite alone. Someone who is beautiful to so many, but suffers daily from feeling quite the opposite.

I know someone who can’t get pregnant. Someone who battles everyday wondering if they will be able to have the family they have always dreamed of. Someone who has lived life as positively as possible and feels guilty about the anger they currently feel. Someone who is living in a world in which everyday another newborn is popping up on FaceBook. Someone who puts on a brave face to most.

I know someone who is dealing with family addiction. Someone who battles everyday for the words to express the pain they feel about a family torn apart. Someone who avoids certain places and people because the explanation is just too much to handle emotionally. Someone who feels overwhelmed about something they can’t control. Someone who finds strength in humor and silence.

I know someone who has lost a mother, 

a father, 

a brother, 

a husband--all before their time. Or, what we perceive as the appropriate time anyhow. 

I know someone who has battled addiction and succeeded.

I know someone who has battled addiction and failed.

I know someone who grew up with a Borderline mother.

I know someone who grew up in a home full of yelling and tension. 

I know someone who wholeheartedly loves two very different people in two very different ways.

Do you know someone? 

We are all so quick to judge without really knowing. Take the time to truly know someone. Only then can you even begin to understand.

For a just a few minutes picture a hiker who gets a blister on mile 26 of a 50 mile hike. When walking to the side of the trail to take care of the blister, they step into a divot in the dirt and twist their ankle. Finally hobbling to a tree to take care of the ankle, an expected thunderstorm comes. Before they know it, or have even taken care of their damn blister, they are now soaking wet, with a blister and a twisted ankle, and realize they still have 24 miles left to hike. After some bitching and crying and second guessing, they stand up and decide their best bet is to keep going because turning around isn't an option, especially when they are further toward their goal than they are to where they began. A month long hiatus is never a sign of productivity. In fact, it is a great indicator of something gone awry. Or off course for a bit. A metaphorical blister/twisted ankle/storm. But here I am with my toe back on the path, trying to get the rest of me moving again.

Tonight I got to thinking about the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life and something that I have all but accepted that I may battle with, in some shape or form for, well, forever-- accepting that you cannot make someone do something, or act in a particular way, just because you think it's what's best for them/you. 

Actually, let's be real. You don't think you it's best, you KNOW it is. But, unfortunately, no matter how many times you have done the math and reasoned it all out and come up with your arguments and it seems soooo easy to you, it's still the other person that needs to want the change. And, ya know what usually happens? It's not as easy to them as you have reasoned it out to be.

Utter nonsense I tell ya.

So how do you just let it go? How do you realize that you can only control yourself and not the actions of others? Maybe, if you're like me, you are stubborn, hard-headed, and an undercover optimist by nature, always seeing possibilities and you don't give up until you've tried it all. And I mean all (I can get very creative, ya know...). And then some more. 

Maybe you're not like me at all-- in which case, please tell me how.

I have this idea that if everyone would just listen to me, the world could be such a better place. Everyone would get along. Everyone would be happy. Everyone would be fulfilled. The stars would align, stress would disappear, smiles would rapidly spread across everyone's face and we would all sing Kumbaya by a campfire. 

Joking. But I know some of you have been there before with me. 

But, I guess, maybe just maybe, we need people on both sides. Ones that feel too much and ones that don't seem to feel much of anything at all. Ones that can find possibility in just about anything. Ones that feel stuck on a wide open road. Ones that say "I can." Ones that say "I quit." Ones that keep moving. Ones that look back. And maybe, it's ok to just live and let live.

But dammit, if I ever get that, someone please give me a medal. And maybe a really nifty lightbulb to hang over my head. 

Allow yourself to feel it. But allow yourself to keep moving forward.

You deserve that.

Have a story? Want to tell it? Want to inspire others while doing so?

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Looking for 30 awesome people before November who are willing to tell their unique story as an artistic therapeutic release and to inspire others.

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Everyone has a story "...This Is Mine." Coming soon!

*I'm writing this with 2 years of thoughts and over thinking, and analyzing and more analyzing and over analyzing and re-analyzing under my belt. Acceptance is considered to be the last step in the grief process for a reason.

The past 2 years have brought out the very worst and the very toughest parts of me. To say that I took notice of those parts in the thick of it would be a lie. A very big lie. And although the worst parts were probably easier for me to see, it doesn't make them go away any quicker. And taking note of the tough parts of yourself means very little when you're going through all of the other mental torture you place upon yourself day in and day out.

In English: grieving sucks. No matter what it's dressed as.

I have seen myself in the ugliest forms of all of the other stages of grief: denial & isolation, anger, bargaining, and depression. And when I say ugly, I mean it. And when I say I have clawed my way through all of them, and revisited a few of them many times, I mean it. I have a picture saved somewhere of one of the nights I cried so hard that I almost didn't recognize myself. I took it to remind myself of where I never wanted to be again. And although I have been at that point many many many many times since, I saw that picture the other night for the first time in a long time, and I am thankful I don't recognize that girl in the same way anymore.

My story is for another post (as I will start my "...This is Mine" section soon... so stay tuned! (and get ready to participate!)) and another time, but I really want to talk about "acceptance" because it's something I have been thinking about a lot lately... so much so, that I think I have said the word in my head and out loud more than I ever have in my 29 years of life.

Acceptance is a funny idea if you think about it. And a term that will piss you off if you're not ready to hear it or consider it. It's something that you have to come to on your own, when you're ready. But you will know when you're ready because there will be no way around it. Trust me on this. Everyone will think you should've been there a year ago or 6 months ago. Or because this has happened or that has happened. And that's fine, because they probably love you. But acceptance happens when you're ready. So wait for it. And know that it will come when it's time. You may still have those moments when you're crying after midnight on New Year's Eve because you're going to be 30 this calendar year and your life isn't where you thought it would be. But the difference between all of those other stages and acceptance, is that 2 minutes later, you're smiling again.

Acceptance is hard to describe without describing what it's not. Acceptance doesn't mean you have to like a situation. It doesn't mean that you don't miss things or wish something had been different. It doesn't mean that you don't play things over in your head sometimes even still. Acceptance is knowing that doing all of those things is ok. It's letting yourself off of the hook of guilt and sadness and whatever other yucky gut gnawing feelings you're having. It's being ok with where you are and knowing that it's time to start moving again. 

My best friend said something to me probably 6 months ago at this point. She said, "You need to say to yourself, 'this is my life. It's not what I thought it would be, but it's mine.'" After that she probably said something about moving on and making the most of it, but I don't remember that part. What I remember is someone who has had to accept a lot in life, telling me to be open to acceptance. And here I am finally, FINALLY ready. 

Grief sucks. It hurts. And it breaks you- probably in ways that you never knew you could be broken. But there's this funny little thing called acceptance. And, although not perfect, it's not a bad place to be.