Diary of a Mad Woman Gone Sane

My mom recently sent me this picture of me from about 45 years ago. She found it in my grandma's prayer book. (She was a Catholic) It made me think back to this little girl. She was small and thin. She didn't smile often, because of silver caps on her teeth, thus the tightly pursed lips. Thankfully they were on her baby teeth. She was serious and contemplative, but could be silly and playful. She had a dry sense of humor. She loved who she loved, and protected those people fiercely. She was the youngest at this time. She adored her dad, her mom, her maternal grandparents and her brother. Her parents were separated by the time she was 3. She left her home when she was about 4. She was angry and scared, but she was excellent at hiding her feelings. She felt ugly and self conscious. She hated what she saw in the mirror, especially her hair. She was awkward and clumsy. She was already a badass, though, she didn't know that yet. She was intelligent and sharp witted.

Funny how we start a fairy tale with once upon a time. This is not a fairy tale, but I definitely got to have my knight in shining armor. He never saw himself that way, and he might not have known that he saved me, but he did. He didn't see his incredible magic,  and I didn't always appreciate it, but it was always there. I can't tell you when I stopped believing, but it was early in my life. My life seemed to be challenging from the beginning, but I am strong. Ridiculously strong. I don't know where that comes from either, yet I have it. I identify with ants. It seems that I can endure the inconceivable and stand again, seemingly unscathed. Of course, I have incurred permanent reminders of the harshness of life and people, but I have somehow managed to thrive, like a flower growing through concrete. I count myself fortunate to have survived, and for my mighty spirit. I come from a very long line of badasses.  When I met Joe, I had given up on ever having happily ever a

Very recently, unfortunately, we lost a member of the dog pack. Zoey Bear, who I just wrote about and who just turned 2, passed away. Quite unexpectedly, she got into mouse poison and was gone in 3 days. We are all heartbroken. She was born at my house, along with her brothers and sisters. 8 in total. I immediately fell in love with her. She was my smallest dog with the biggest heart. She was my cuddle bug. She loved attention. To me, she was a sweetheart. She was a bully to any dog smaller than herself. She let Luna and Roxy, her sister from a previous litter, pick on her. Her tail was like a propeller. She was a happy girl.  Life feels different for all of us. Like something is missing. It seems as though the dogs are looking for her. I did something I've never done before. I buried her myself. It was so difficult. It made it so final, but I can visit her everyday. I cry. I tell her that I miss her. I don't have any idea what happens when we die, but I know that she had an aw

Move on, they say. Go live your life. Get a man. Let go. I have no idea what any of this means. The old me didn't do feelings, except for the few people who got to see inside me. I cannot fill the void in my soul with things or people. My only option is to heal. To grow around the gaping hole, maybe shrinking it slightly, but never making it not be there. I am building a new life and a new me. I have no other choice. Moving on, no. Moving forward, yes. The loss of him ripped my life apart. Removed the very foundation on which I'd built my existence. Suddenly I had no purpose. I'm so grateful that many of you don't understand, but please know that you don't understand. Don't provide advice, as you don't know. I have always been strong and faked it until I made it at times, but I don't have to keep a stiff upper lip anymore. It is time for the truth. No more need to pretend that everything is alright. I didn't have any idea what would happen next. His