If I die young....

Listening to this song and thinking. Life isn't guaranteed for anyone, is it?

I don't believe that thinking about dying is morbid. If I talk about dying with some people, they get all antsy and upset as if I might be plotting my death, or as if the universe would come to a screeching halt should I cease to breathe. I'm no fool. I am aware that is far from the truth. Dying is a reality of life. It would be foolish to pretend that we could be invincible or immortal, imperfect and broken humans as we are. Shouldn't we, rather, accept the fact that life inevitably ends so that we may embrace what precious little time we have now? Shouldn't we hold our loved ones that much closer and dearer in appreciation of that singular truth?

I wonder what my parting wishes would be.

Top priority, obviously, goes to my children. I love them fiercely. I want them to be happy, to be cared for, to know that I loved them better than anyone else ever could. I would want them to know that I struggled through pregnancy and labor and birth and endured that awful pain, and that I felt it was completely worth every single itty bitty second. I would never take any of it back. Love like that comes once in a lifetime, that is, the love of a mother. So many children suffer through life without, and that depresses me on an incredibly deep level. I want my children to know that they are special and valued and that I would willingly give my life for them. I want them to grow to be happy, productive adults, pursuing the service of Jehovah. Nothing could make a mother happier, could it?

I have so many other friends and loved ones. My husband. My mother. My siblings. My extended family. My close and distant friends. I love them all. And shouldn't they know it? Perhaps they don't know how I appreciate them, even the slightest of acquaintances. I would do nearly anything for any of them. (Float you a hunned til next week? I'd love to... if I had it!) I don't think people understand that about me. Some do, some take advantage of the fact, but I can't say no. I can't turn a person down if they really need me.

I want my friends to know I'm sorry for withdrawing from them. For pushing them away. I don't keep in close contact with anyone anymore. I should. I know. I get so distracted with life. With the struggle. With depression. But despite all that, it doesn't mean I love any of them any less. I do. Just as fiercely as always.

I want people to remember the good things.

Like how dearly I love my children. How I love my friends. Even though I have a bad habit of saying stupid things. Being impatient. Pushing people away. I hope they still remember the good.

Or how I love to write. And the fact that I am fairly decent at it. I'm not confident in my ability to write a full blown novel. I have difficulties with plot. Developing it, using it to captivate an audience, being believable, flowing smoothly through the story. I'm working at it. One day, maybe.

Or the patients at work. I hope they remember that I took their problems as my own and went out of my way to help them as I could. I hope they say that I was pleasant and helpful and maybe sometimes entertaining.

That's another thing. I'm no comedian, and I have a weird sense of humor, but I do my best to make people laugh, sometimes to the extent of looking like an idiot. I hate to see my friends sad or down. Sometimes a good, listening ear is required. And sometimes a goofy face or stupid joke suffice. That's my favorite thing to do. Behave like a goon.

When you think about it, a post like this sounds a lot like a self-horn-tooting. And it is, really. But more than that. A request to be remembered and loved. Isn't that what we all strive for? I'm not sure of much of anything, but I know this for a certainty. If you leave behind no love and no good memories, you leave behind nothing at all. You could be the richest man in the world, but unless you love and have been loved, you are easily forgettable. You fade away into nothing. That's what matters. Love. Family. Friends. Heart.

I'm a sentimental goober.

This is true.

Til we meet again, blog friends,
Alex.Is

To. Me. It. Looked. So. Pretty. Burning.

Have you ever listened to a song and suddenly and immediately remembered things from long, long ago, a lifetime ago, even?

I'm having one of those nights.

Let's be real. I've also had a glass of wine (one, I promise), and I'm feeling all sorts of ups, downs, lefts, and rights. (Thanks, Aunt Flo. You're not my aunt anymore.)

And I suppose this is a safe place to vent. The general subject(s) of my rant doesn't (do not) read my blog. Or probably anything involving my life. Let's be real... hardly ANYBODY reads this blog. (Until today and I'll be hearing about it...)

I think that people think they really know me. And thus far, I've been pretty okay with allowing people to think what they want.

There's the kind folk who only see the good and think I'm a happy, sunshiney sweet, goofy, silly, vapid, empty headed girl. Let me stop you there. You're dead wrong. I'm highly intelligent, first of all, if I may toot my own horn. Secondly, I'm intentionally full of empty headed pointless conversation because if I said what I really thought, I'd probably hurt a lot of feelings and likely shock a lot of people. I generally have a low tolerance for people. I'm pretty impatient. I never said it's a good thing. It's why I generally keep my mouth shut. Cuz I've learned long ago being mean and angry doesn't give you the right to vent on the entire world. Also, I'm a dark, sarcastic, broody individual, but that creeps people out, and they quickly lose interest in your existence if you're too sad all the time. So if you fill the conversational voids with goofy, pointless chatter and blather, people are generally happy and leave you alone for the most part. Cuz let's be honest, I don't wanna talk about why I'm such an angry person.

Moving on. There's the people who think I'm not worth a thing. That I'm only gonna screw up continually and endlessly for the rest of my life. The people who whispered behind my back *She's turning out just like [insert relative here]* when I got pregnant at nineteen (gasp) unmarried. Congratulations, pat yourself on the back, you were right about me - because yes, I DID hear what you said about me growing up, when you thought no one would repeat your harsh, judgmental words. Say and think what you want, but I'm keeping my head above water, and just because you feel you do no wrong doesn't mean you're better than me. So stop condescendingly asking me how I'm doing as if you care and as if my response matters. (I really do hate that, pet peeve.)

There's probably a lot of in betweens, a lot of not sures, and a lot of don't care either ways.

True story?

I'm a loony toon with a pretty, smiley mask plastered on my face. But, hey aren't we all though? We pretend to be happy and okay for the convenience and happiness of those around us, generally speaking. It's easier just to survive. Easier to keep it moving. Easier to just keep scrambling and climbing. And trust and believe, I will. I probably won't ever stop fighting, even against my better judgment.

I didn't have a hard childhood. My dad bailed early and has yet to own up to the fact that he actually helped create an entire other person whose life might actually matter a little bit. Ridiculous as it all seems to me, I bear no ill will. I had a step dad who literally stepped up. He was my real dad. Except I lost him before I could realize that. Before my daughter could meet him. Every time - EVERY time - I remember, it breaks my heart all over again. I miss him. I lost a central part of my life, and I never even knew I needed him. I named my son after my brother, but his middle name is my step dad's, James.

My mom did what she could.

Childhood wasn't impossible. But I almost didn't survive. I was a horribly, insanely depressed teenager, and hardly anybody knew. It used to make me so angry that people didn't notice. It took me a long time to realize that I'm just too good at hiding and covering up. How could they know, I suppose? I'm sure there must have been signs and clues. But I wonder all the time... I never took pills. (Not until I got pregnant and had a few too many anxiety attacks and near breakdowns...) So what made me keep going when so many give up under even less pressure? Blind optimism or stupidity? Honestly, I couldn't tell you.

I've had a lot of fake friends. People I trusted with my life turned out to care nothing for me. I used to be the girl who gave everybody my everything. I could be your best friend in the whole world. Now? I'm nobody's best friend. I trust nothing and no one. A handful of people to blame for this one, but what they've done to me I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. (Actually there's a lot I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Just cuz I don't like them doesn't mean their life should suck.) I'm disillusioned and jaded and haggard and old.

There are some who wonder why I put all of this out there. It's cheap therapy. Pulling apart the insides of my brain and baring it all in an online blog somehow makes me feel better. Until a week or so later when I look back and read it and realize I sound like a whiny emo kid. But I'll never delete the post because it's honest, if nothing else. If it has no entertainment value whatsoever, it is at the very least brutally honest. And maybe I'm one hundred percent wrong. Perhaps. Still how I feel.

I'm so, so tired. Mentally and emotionally worn. Sick of self doubt and self hatred and self consciousness and generally insecurity and insanity. I'm sick of all these people who have taken away little pieces, big chunks, bit by bit and time after time. I don't know when to stop giving. And eventually I turn into a toddler and sit my temper tantrumming butt in the middle of the floor and pout and cross my arms and say NO! and then forget it cuz nobody is getting anything out of me. I wave back and forth between the two extremes.

This is a thousand years long. Hey, in my defense I've done fairly decently at maintaining an upbeat air on this blog. I completely put away the last blog (think: post-baby, post partum depression mania) because it did nothing but depress me. (Yeesh.)

I'm sure there's someone out there who genuinely, deep in their heart believes I have no reason to be depressed or sad at all ever. And if so, thanks. I've done a great job at it, then.

I don't think I ever stop. I think I just keep running and running from all of it, and I don't stop, and I don't look back at the avalanche piling up behind me.

I just keep running.

Always running.

Sigh,
Alex.Is

Candy Crush

I'm gonna say it.

I'm addicted.

I'm at level 105 and probably will be for the next year. (And can I just say level 100 was absolutely ridiculously evil?)

I'm so entirely addicted, I'm dedicating a whole blog post to it.

Candy Crush.

The name itself is notorious at this point. Ask any single CC player, and you will get the same response: "I HATE that game!!!!" Subsequently ask if they are going to stop playing, and you will get the same response: "NO!!!"

Why is that, anyway? We're all racing each other in Candy Crush, seeking to prove that we can crush those little candies and advance to the highest level before our friends do.

It's really a stupid game. The more I sit here and think, the more I realize it's a stupid game. But it's challenging. And the further you advance, the more strategy is required. And whenever you pass a particularly difficult level after being stuck for a week or two or three, you enthusiastically jump for joy and pat yourself on the back for being smart enough to outsmart the game.

Whenever you meet a fellow Candy Crusher, the first question becomes: "What level are you on?" It's almost like a badge of honor. Your chest puffs up with pride as you share your puny, insignificant number. (Have you SEEN how big that board is???)

And the songs! The Loser Song - you know which one I'm talking about. It makes me sad. It makes me wanna throw my phone, actually.

Also, everybody agrees that Candy Crush cheats.

CHOCOLATE!!!!

I'm done. I hate that game. Which means I'm probably going to go play right now.

Crush me?
Alex.Is

I'm so SMRT.

I have come to a realization quite suddenly and quite recently. It's something I should have known all along, but it's something I allowed myself to forget.

I. Am. Smart.

Sounds pretty simple and easy to remember, doesn't it? There's many things about myself I had buried and forgotten. Like the fact that not only do I love to write, I am also very, very good at it.

You see, for a while now, I have had certain people in my life who would like for me to believe otherwise. And will tell me so, flat out. They will tell me and anyone who cares to listen that I am dumb, I talk too much, I don't ever know what I'm talking about, and that I am annoying.

I could never, ever be smart. And the fact that I might allow myself to actually believe such a thing is absolutely laughable.

So I believed that as I got older and had children and stopped using my intelligence on a regular basis, I got dumber and stupider.

There's a flaw in that belief, however.

I believe myself to be average. Simple-minded, even. There's nothing special about me. So everyone must be just like me.  Right?

WRONG.

I have trained several people over the last year at work. I have found myself to be a terrible trainer, and my sudden realization told me exactly why. Not everybody picks up on things as quickly as I do. Not everybody retains new knowledge as easily as I do. Not everybody has above average intelligence. And since they do not, I get frustrated and hate training. But it's not even their faults. They're just normal people.

I hate to say this because it really sounds like I'm tooting my own horn, but I have to say it because I've believed this untruth for too long. And I've allowed myself to think less of myself as a result. I'm not super model thin. I'm not movie star gorgeous. I'm average, and I wear glasses and have freckles. I have the body of a mom. I'm socially awkward and clumsy, and I'm easily depressed.

But this! This is something I can claim. It's real, and it's mine. I'm smart. I genuinely believe that, had I set my mind to it, I could have become whatever I wanted to become in my life. And I could have excelled intellectually.

However, I am a mom. I'm a proud mom. But even moms need some bit of self esteem. Something to which they can hold tight when it seems their sanity is escaping them.

Maybe that's why I'm so depressed all the time. Lack of mental stimulation. I used to be smart. Advanced classes. Straight A student. And I've let myself become boring and average. What a pity! One should never do that to oneself. We should all embrace that one thing that is ours, our skill, our talent, our right. We should never allow someone to make us feel like less of a person for it. And that's what I've been doing. Hiding and suppressing my intelligence for the comfort of others. Now that is stupidity.

My little girl is brilliant. Absolutely gifted. I can tell already. My son is a much more leisurely learner. He'll probably be gifted at sports, like his father. I guess time will tell. But I feel like I need to embrace this part of me so that my daughter will be able to do the same as she gets older. She's going to be a nerdy girl like me. I can see that so very easily. Looks, acts, talks, laughs just like her mother. A smaller, better version of her mother. I can't wait to see the person she becomes.

Some people are beautiful.

Some people are musically talented.

Some people are amazing athletes.

Some people are leaders.

Me? I'm a smart girl. A nerd, if you will.

And I am finally, finally proud of it.

Xoxo,
Alex.Is

Awake at 5 am.

The sun tricked me.

I woke up to sunlight shining through the windows. And then I thought maybe my alarm hadn't gone off. But I shoved the thought away and tried to relax and wait for that stupid jingle to begin on my phone.

It didn't happen.

I tossed and turned, wide awake and more than slightly confused. Why isn't my alarm going off? There's sunshine out there!

So finally, finally, I gave in. You win, sun. I'll check the time.

5.50 am.

So I've been awake for *at least* half an hour tossing and turning for no reason. And my alarm is set for 6.30. And I was up until midnight.

And. I'm just tired.

I'm completely drained.

Stupid sun.

Stupid mornings.

Hatechu.

You're evil.

Vent over.

Good morning, loves.
Alex.Is

Storms.

Today was a terribly stormy day.

Driving through Millsboro this morning, the sky was black, the clouds were relieving themselves in a torrential downpour, and it looked like 8 pm rather than 8 am.

Last night, the storms woke me from a dead sleep. I remember being scared awake by a clap of thunder so loud and so long that the house shook. My heart was racing so fast that it seemed to take forever for me to calm down and fall back asleep.

When I was little, I was terrified of storms. (And everything else in the universe. I had a vivid imagination.) I remember my mom telling me it was nothing to be afraid of, but I didn't dare believe her because as soon as I let my guard down, I knew the thunder was gonna get me. Or that maybe God was angry and was heading down to seek vengeance. Either way, those awful sounds couldn't be good.

My daughter was in tears last night. Cold sweats. Whimpering in my lap. It made me recall being a little girl so terrified of storms. My little girl and I, we're a bit too much alike. I explained how Jehovah makes it rain, and the sky gets too hot, and the clouds rub together and make electricity which makes big scary noises, but that we were safe in our house. She fell asleep with me holding her. I don't recall having that as a child. Maybe that will make all the difference.

The truth is, I'm still scared of storms. At least the night time ones. You can't see what's going on outside. You only get brief, sharp flashes of intense white punctuated by a resounding clap of thunder. And you have no control. You're helpless.

I've said before I'm a complete control freak. I'm finding with self reflection just how true that statement is. It's so bad that I cannot allow myself to be vulnerable around others in any way shape or form. I'm terrified of what might happen if I allow someone to control me in that way.

Life is full of all sorts of little storms. I suppose that's the best part of the journey,  isn't it? Riding or the storms and learning more and more about yourself as you go. The bigger the storms, the greater the character. Or perhaps some of us build character, and some of us buckle under the pressure.

Well that's a whole other discussion completely. I'm tired. It's been a stormy day.

Love etc,
Alex.Is

Running running running.

I ran my fastest 1k tonight. I ran an 11.5 minute mile. True story that I run fastest when I have something from which to run.

I spent a lot of time running trying to figure out what it is that has me running. We missed the meeting again tonight. Another case of screaming toddler and full time working mommy syndrome. And I let it drag me down. After a while, it gets easier to keep missing them. After a while, you don't even need an excuse.

Anyway, sitting on the couch trying to ignore my life, it felt like an intense bubbling in my chest just boiling up and up and up until I finally decided I couldn't take it anymore, and I had to get away from it.

I've figured out from what I'm running.

Myself.

Such a short and simplistic answer, isn't it? I ran in metaphorical circles around our neighborhood hoping to escape the one thing I never have and never will be able to outrun. Me. Myself. And I.

Motherhood makes some people nicer people. More patient people. Calmer people.  Not me. I've been on a dinosaur-like rampage for over four years, and heaven help anyone who gets in my way. I've been angry and overwhelmed and sometimes agonizingly depressed, and sometimes, let's be honest, I don't believe they're my kids... and I gave birth to them. I look at them and feel lost, wondering where they came from. (Kicking myself for ending a sentence in a preposition, but sometimes perfect grammar sounds stupider than the alternative.)

I have such unreasonably high expectations for myself in everything I do. And when I fail to meet those expectations, I begin to doubt whether I should even try. I work full time, so I can't be Mrs. Milk-and-Freaking-Cookies Cleaver, although my terribly old fashioned self can't imagine anything better to do. I don't want to work. Not because I'm lazy. I had kids because I want kids. And I'm eaten alive by the guilt that comes with not being able to devote every waking second to those children. Not being able to see every single itty bitty milestone. I feel like I've missed so much already. And I'm failing, so I withdraw emotionally, and then it all just falls to pieces, and nothing makes sense.

Some moms can't stay home. Some moms have to work to keep their sanity. I'm not one of those moms. I love and adore my kids more than I ever imagined I would. It literally kills me to be away from them for more than a second. I can't be a working mom. I just can't. I love my job, and I love the patients, but they don't deserve the attention I feel my kids should be getting.

I've been told I'm an old soul. I believe it. I was raised by an old-fashioned man, and I never knew how much he really influenced my life til I was grown, and he was gone, and now I can't tell him how grateful I am that he stepped up to be my father when he didn't have to be. But I owe my sarcastic, snarky, old fashioned hag mentality to that wonderful, beautiful man, and I don't view it as a negative for even a single moment. Things were better in the good ol' days. Easier. Simpler.

I'm rambling.

Le sigh.

I need focus in my life. I feel like a stretch Armstrong, pulled in so many different directions, that I can't sit still, can't focus, can't figure out what I'm doing. I feel like I've been kicking and screaming for help and attention, when, in all reality, I've gotten so good at wearing my fake happy upbeat front that I can't seem to wear anything else. And people eat it up like candy.

I haven't been genuinely happy in a long time.

Vacation. I was happy on vacation. No obligations. No pressing urgent matters that were really somebody else's problems and not mine. Just me and the hubby and the wide open sea, and it was simply amazing, and I can't wait to go back.

Life just gets heavy sometimes. And tonight, I'm all over the place with my thoughts.

I'm still running. I'm not sure I'll ever stop.

I.

Just.

Le sigh.

xoxo,
Alex.Is