Sometimes it’s not one thing, it’s all the things together, collectively, that really make the difference. And sometimes it feels like all those things are conspiring against you and your world is crumbling down before your eyes with no way forward and no way out. You feel like you’re a million years old, and weary of this world. The stars have lost their luster and the skies don’t hold any wonder anymore, and no matter what you do, above all, you’re just tired. Oh so tired.

And then sometimes it feels like all those things are coming together as the stars and planets align. Your walls are crumbling down to reveal all the wonder in the world around you. You feel like you’re a million years old, and in awe of this world. The stars shine with a light that’s so stunning it’s breathtaking, and the skies shine with wonder as you stand below in amazement at just how lucky you are. And above all, you’re just so grateful. Oh so grateful.

Just like that, in the blink of an eye, what’s lost is found, what’s old is new, and what’s ending is finding a new beginning again and such is life. Perhaps no one knows this better than me, or at least that’s what it feels like in my most manic of moments. Even in my most depressive of ones, too when I think about it. And that is all part of the wonderment of this life, and my brain, and this brilliant amazing incredible world that all comes together to make up my life. And I am oh so very grateful.

Man, these past years – and if we’re being honest, 2020 was just the harvest of what we sowed all those years ago – have been rough. So rough. I miss so many people, and somehow I managed to even lose myself along the way. But at the same time, it’s also all part of the evolution of life if we open our eyes and learn to not only be aware of our surroundings, but above all, of ourselves.

Self awareness is one of the most amazing traits to find in other humans, and even greater when we learn how to implement that upon ourselves. You see, I am surrounded with some of the most amazing people in the worlds. Not just this world, or this life. My soul is older, and I know that much. No, not just here and now, but some of the most amazing souls anywhere, and I get to call them friends. Friends who are family. And family who are friends. How lucky am I?

Pretty. Damn. Lucky.

Man, I have THE best friends. You don’t even know. Usually giving gifts is one of my favorite parts of the holidays – and this year was no different except I was really off my game for the first time in a long time. This past year threw so much at us, I am amazed we even made it through. Really. If you’re still reading this, take a moment and pat yourself on the back. Give yourself a hug. You made it through, you deserve it. Respect yourself a little more for making it this far and remember you are never alone. I’m here too. And so are you.

Anyway, as I was saying, gift giving and sharing joy with others is one of my favorite things to do. I don’t want to ever be happy in solitude – not because I don’t love alone time, I need it to survive! But because when I am at my best, I want all the best people in my life around me to share it with. Abundance begets more abundance when you share it with others and it is just in my nature to do just that. And so here I am typing away at 10:30 at night on a Wednesday opening my brain to share this abundance with you. Whomever of you may be reading.

So this year, I was admittedly a bit off my game. One gift I gave my all. Going to Universal with the kids to Harry Potter world. I gave that everything. 110%. True CJ style. From the entire house decorations, two Christmas trees, tickets for Hogwarts Express, welcome letters to Hogwarts, and even interactive wands. I gave it my everything. And I think it’s going to be a really amazing trip. But to the rest of my friends, I slacked off. Some I haven’t even given their gifts yet, and I am so sorry! They’re here and I will get them to you!

But you know what’s really cool? They were all there for me. From the little things to the big things. To listening and letting me ramble and barely even coming up for air long enough for me to ask them how they are. And it was okay. I don’t know how or why, but it was because they’re all amazing. Thank you – all of you. They also gave me some of the most thoughtful incredible gifts. And I’m not talking about something huge or extravagant. Nope. Thoughtful. That’s the shit that really matters. From hand balm from one of my fave companies to dark chocolate and hot honey to finding ghost pepper salt at my late fathers’s house (yes, he passed right before Christmas as well) sprinkled on top for an explosion of flavors that’s become my new obsession, to I don’t even know. Everything. All of it. They’re amazing.

And I am so lucky and so grateful to call them all friends and family. I’m staring down a year ahead with a great career, colleagues, friends, and family. Great prospects on where to live and where to go from here. The beginnings of roots to a home I can truly call my own, while also branching out into the beginnings of something amazing. Learning to open up to people for real – not just telling people what feels real without ever REALLY letting them totally and completely in, or ever actually having to be vulnerable. Truly learning to feel and process emotions, and show those emotions, and know that it doesn’t make me weaker, it makes me all that much stronger. To having boundaries and rules and demanding respect from everyone in my life, while learning how to live in respect in return. Empathy of experience and not just emotion, self reflection and not just withdrawal, and honest to goodness authenticity that only comes when your soul has aged enough to have no more fucks left to give, while giving all the fucks in the world.

And so I am here. Thank you. For all the things. Always.

I am my father’s daughter, after all. I always have been, really. Right down to the OCD and the little tics and hiccups, wrapped around the brilliance of madness, tied together with an incredible intelligence eternally tethered to the weight of insanity. It’s not what it seems. Not really, anyway. I mean I could have become that but I won’t, because I got help years ago in my twenties. In that decade that I lost years of my life, though I know it was a necessity to get better and after seeing what my father went through these last years, I am forever grateful.

Oh, I suppose I should fill you in. My father died. We’re not entirely sure when because he had isolated himself from everyone in his own madness. As far as we can tell he hadn’t left the house since sometime in late March or early April at the latest, and not because of the pandemic. He totaled his car and descended the rest of the way into the dark hell that became his every day life as he lost his little remaining grip on reality and whatever glimpse of daylight he may have still had towards hope was snuffed out for good. It was sometime in early December, we know that much. And while we were estranged, and walking into my childhood home to find it riddled with so much trash and filth and stench that even the maggots couldn’t survive (no – really – they were dried out and dead) actually was cathartic in a way. It let me see first hand what I had inherited, and reminded me of the demons I escaped in those years of my 20s I had lost. For good cause. For a good cause, indeed.

The house reeked. The air hung with the stench of rotting food and flesh so heavy with negativity and insanity that I was surprised to find the cats alive. Well, we saw one – the outgoing friendly one, Taz, shot out from under my brother’s childhood bed like a shot and hid downstairs. We eventually saw him but couldn’t get close. The other cat was entirely unseen. A few days later, after getting several dumpsters of trash out, with the help of two friends, we found Taz. He was in decent health and weight, but other than that he was essentially catatonic. I didn’t know that could even happen to cats, but apparently it can. I brought him home and he sat for two days in the bathroom wide-eyed and unmoving. I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten up to eat or anything except for we would occasionally catch him off guard wedged somewhere dreadful, wide-eyed and unmoving again. So we’d retrieve him back to his safe space in the closet until two days later he emerged a normal cat, starved for attention from any other living thing. It was incredible, really, as he had been through so much.

My father loved cats. He loved all animals. But those cats were his lifeline through insanity and his connection to the outside world. Caring for them became his sole purpose in his later years as he had lost a few friends to cancer and old age and ill health, and lost any remaining friends and family of his own doing. But as his moods became more erratic – and violent, my father always had an incredibly dangerous, violent temper that terrified me to the point of many recurring nightmares of where he would backhand me so hard that he would break my jaw and it would shatter and puncture the base of my skull and pierce my brain and I’d die, yes he terrified me that horrifically – I believe he redirected his anger at the cats when they would become fearful of him and hide. Not knowing if they were meeting Jekyll or Hyde, they found it safer to avoid him all together, and in his desperation he used treats and food to try and lure them out. There were at least 20 bags of brand new Temptations brand treats in the house, shiny and unopened, a stark contrast against the mountain of rot. But they were wary of him regardless. And it took almost a week before Taz would dare eat in front of us, for fear it was a trick.

But I digress. The cats survived, and Tiger Lily, always wary with strict rules like her littermate Aslan whom I have here, finally let me touch her today for the first time. Only if she was looking the other way, but she seemed happy for the human touch despite her initial hisses and spits. It must have been years – possibly as many as 4 or 5 – since she’s felt a kind human touch. She was far too smart to ever get hit or hurt. And I don’t think my father did that at all. I think he would just break things or throw furniture and it was enough to drive the cats into hiding anyway and she kept a wide berth as she was never keen on roughhousing or playtime but preferred dignified pets in the correct direction of her fur only. As such, that meant it was easier for her to go into hiding rather than risk unpleasant interactions of any sort.

She will come around. I have time.

There’s so much more to say, but for now this was what I needed to get off my chest. My father wasn’t the only person I knew to die this month. He was just one of several in what’s proven to be an extraordinary year where many people seem to have exited for better or for worse. But no matter. He is still my father. And I am my father’s daughter. For all of my 44 years, even through the ones that we were not speaking to each other. And that house still holds a lifetime of memories – good ones, too. Even though the air was heavy with the bad, at least at first. That energy is clearing out though now, and it’s better in there. It feels like a home again. For the first time in probably a very very very long time. I will be happy to sell it to someone to see it be filled with life and love and joy again. It’s a good home. My father built much of it, and those walls housed an incredible, if fragmented family. One that has, over time, grown closer today and with this chapter ending, the one we’re in right now has me and my siblings closer than ever and I couldn’t be more proud to call them family. Even if they can’t be at home.

I am reminded on a regular basis that where I live now is not my home. It is a house that I rent, on very nice land, in a very nice town. But it is not home. My childhood home is mine again, but I do not live there, and my life isn’t there anymore. My father always wanted me to have my own home, my own farm, and despite all of our ups and downs, this was something he fiercely wanted me to achieve. As such, it will be his final gift to me, and in turn, I will do everything in my power to make it my gift to my siblings and these two kids that reside with me whom I love.

I am tired of playing chess. I don’t care about poker or what cards you hold. All I need to know is that I have the means and the will to find my way home. And I do. Thank you, Dad. I am your daughter.

To my sister and brother – thank you so much for being there for me, for forgiving me my past, and trying so hard to be understanding of my struggles. We all have them – and each of our experiences affect us in our own way and no one of us – or anyone for that matter – is any worse or better than the other. We are only here to be judged against ourselves. I’m learning that, and working hard to be better every single day. I hope you are both okay with what I’ve spewed out here; it is my way of dealing and processing and keeping myself sane and accountable for my own actions and life, and I tried to make it as much from my point of view and respectful as possible. It’s really more about how my brain processes and deals and what not than anything else but here I am rambling again afraid that I may have done something wrong. I love you both. Thank you for being you. We will get through this, together ❤️.

And to my tribe, I love you all. I am who I am both for and because of you. Until tomorrow, or perhaps next year, goodnight.

I just listened to Pompeii by Bastille on repeat while taking the advice of my 13 yr old for the second time today. Earlier it was sometimes you just need to scream and get it all out – and I did and I felt SO much better afterwards. Now it was to just turn up the music and vibe. So I danced and jumped and generally acted like a fool which I take to mean I was vibing based on my best understanding of the term and I’ll be honest. It felt good. It helped. And now I am finally sitting down to start work to realize I need to get all of this out of my head so that I can let go and move on.

And here I am. On the border of insanity, functioning by the hair of a single thread, if that. So much for starting off today with yoga followed by a productive day of work (since I took a mental health day yesterday in the hopes of avoiding this mess I’ve made). Yet here I am, anyway.

Sometimes it feels like if I close my eyes, it’s like nothing’s changed at all. But in reality the walls keep crumbling down and there’s nothing that it seems I can do to stop it. And not for lack of trying. I’m trying myself to death. The problem is that I am not accomplishing and something’s gotta give. Right now that something is me.

Deadpool coming home

The start of what were to be many great adventures.

Always washed and cleaned and put away in excellent condition.

I am so disheartened. Deadpool, my quad, is in the shop again. It’s totaled. Again. For something that I saved up for and looked forward to for so long – and then to search and find THE exact limited edition quad I wanted. Not only was it for sale, it was for sale locally. And at a price I could afford, with cash in hand. It was an incredible stroke of luck – and just one of the two times I’ve had any luck with the machine. Cash in hand, I got it. I went to pick it up with my (then) boyfriend in what turned out to be the last time I’d see him before he totally ghosted me. Yup, I didn’t think adults did that either. But I digress. Anyway, Deadpool was perfect. Mint condition, shiny clean, and ran like a dream. Not long after getting Deadpool, we had a forest fire and that quad saved our asses (or woods). The fireman arrived ill equipped to head up the mountainside and their machines kept getting stuck. While they waited for the brush fire unit to arrive, I ran firemen up the mountain on the back of Deadpool to tame the flames. A day later I left for a work trip in Kentucky. Less than a week later I had bronchitis on the border of pneumonia from the smoke inhalation and insane work schedule. But we had limited the fire to some 8 – 12 acres (I think – I can’t remember for sure), when it could have been much worse. Thanks in large part to Deadpool.

A fire fighter tamping out flames on our mountain.

Since then, my mother has totaled the quad and our searches for a replacement came up empty. The only ones we found were out west, twice as much as I had paid for Deadpool locally without having to transport the machine here, and for the most part, sold before we ever saw the ads. Now the quad is in the shop again – this time from damage from Morgan. It’s totaled again. And there are none like it for sale again. Even fewer old ads even show up this time. It’s a really hard quad to come by which is why I was so excited when I found one for sale near me.

I even special ordered a helmet to match Deadpool specifically. I was so excited.

I bought it for $6,500 cash. It was the most money I had ever spent on myself in my entire life. Sure, I’d had vehicles that were worth more, and even my hot tub and horse trailer. But all of those were financed in some way. I had never bought anything worth this much for myself (or anyone else for that matter) in cash. It cost more than both of the Ford Focuses I owned that I had bought in cash. And it was a lot more exciting! I rode it all the time until the first time it got wrecked. Then I was afraid to take it out as much (even worse – my best friend died in a horrific quad accident that had made me afraid of the machines most of my life until the past few years – this quad was a HUGE accomplishment and gift to myself). So I let the kids use it. Morgan mostly, and his friends. It just went downhill from there. When – if I can even afford it – the work is done this go-round, there will be somewhere around $12k in work put into it. For something I bought for $6,500.

It may not be able to be fixed this time depending on how bad the frame is. I am waiting to hear. And I’ve spend most of the weekend in tears. Not just because it was a quad, or MY quad (as compared to Optimus Prime which was Frankensteined back together and used for mostly just farm chores). But because it was a symbol of my accomplishments that had turned into a reminder of all of my failures.

Jack and & I had miles of fun on the trails together in that first year when Deadpool was solely mine and taken care of.

After a successful outing together, before a bath and bed.

Washed and ready to go to bed, ready for our next adventure another day.

Sometimes when things break, they can be put back together but they aren’t ever quite the same. Sometimes it’s like toothpaste in a tube – you can squeeze it all out rather easily, but saying I am sorry doesn’t get the toothpaste back into the tube, and try as you may, it won’t  ever all go back in the way it was before no matter how sorry you feel or how much you try to fix things.

It’s not about money. Or even material things at all for that matter. It’s about working towards something and recognizing that accomplishment, and being really really proud of yourself to have that dismissed by not one, but two people in your family because “it’s just a machine.” Yes, it is just a machine. But it’s a symbol of so much more. And while I am very very grateful that neither person who wrecked Deadpool was injured in either case, and it definitely could have been much worse, that doesn’t mean it negates how I feel, or the disrespect I feel when my emotions tied to my accomplishment and my treat to myself are dismissed. Again. Twice. By family.

I keep reminding myself of this quote I’ve said a million times before.

“i’ve learned you can’t force negativity to leave you. you must leave it. if it’s still there in your life, it’s only because you have let it be”.

What do you do when you need to navigate around that negativity because it’s not the person’s fault – they’re just doing what they grew up with and the only thing they’ve ever known? We have this amazing therapist working with the family and I adore her. She’s become a lifeline (hopefully not to detriment of herself!) for all of us and is a welcome voice of reason when the voices in my own head can’t be trusted. I know when I am manic – and I’ve definitely been on the “high” side of manic for some time now. Probably a few months where I’ve been in this hyperactive overproductive state trying to get everything done and achieve what to others must seem like unattainable goals that to me just reinforce I MUST be better and I MUST do better.

I’ve been wondering when those cracks were going to show. Or give.

I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m doing my best to remain functional and keep myself out of a mental hospital. I hope you know I’m not joking about how close I am to that right now and I’m not saying it as a threat I just need to make sure that I am functional for all of our sakes. I love you both very much and will figure this out together 💙 We will get there. And I know that I CAN keep myself out of a mental hospital – as long as I remember to say no, or enough, or I need a break. That’s exactly what I did yesterday. And in taking Shell’s advice today, that helped a tremendous amount, too. And also being able to verbalize to myself here as well as out loud to Shell (and I will tell Morgan when I see him too, as he deserves to know why I am so upset out of respect for him), just why it hurts so much also helped a tremendous amount.

And finally, writing it all down here. That was the last piece of this puzzle that I needed to lie down to complete this episode. Hopefully that means I can heal myself from the inside out and begin to move forward again. There is so much to do, I don’t want to miss out. It’s gonna be okay. Better than okay. It just is going to take some time.

Don’t give up on me. I’m just in a rut. I’m climbing but the walls keep stacking it up…

And so the Killers give me a new set of words to the things I keep on doing to myself. You see, I never doubted you. I only ever doubted myself. Sometimes, more often than I’d like to admit, I still do.

It’s just who I am. It comes in waves. I’m not always this bad, just sometimes, and those sometimes are fewer and father between but they are real nonetheless. So please, don’t give up on me, I’m just in a rut. I’m trying to let these walls down. I’ll climb and I’ll climb. I won’t always have these walls forever. They just took so long to build, it almost seems silly to just let them down in a day, or a week, or even a month.

And so here it is, my old friend Fear, telling me to ignore Hope and Faith, and let all those doubts come rushing back in. I’ve had so many of them my whole life, that it’s become a part of who I am. A part that I’ve spent so many years overcoming. But given just this slightest bit of change and suddenly I’m doubting myself again.

Climb

I started writing this back in 2018, and could have sworn I published it but apparently I never even finished it. So now I am back here, in this same rut – or one that feels much the same from the hole that I am in – and revisiting things I’ve already said and once again finding their timelessness as it relates to my own state of mind a combination of comforting and weary all at once.

I don’t know why I end up back here. I do know that I expect too much of myself. That I try too hard, and push too hard, and do too much. I’d take on the world if I could, and even though I can’t many days I still do. I’ve been a warrior for so long that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to sit here and not bleed for a while. Or how to stop bleeding at all.

I pour my heart and soul into everything I do. I loathe laziness and doing anything half-assed or half way or just because. I believe in living life with a purpose, and a passion, and a reason. Even when the reason is just to be. To enjoy. To feel. To love.

Whatever it is in life, follow it. Chase that dream. I may finally get those words tattooed on my arms because I deserve it. And they are a constant reminder of who I am, and how much I’ve come through, as well as how far I am still going. You see, you can get everywhere from here, as long as you have hope and faith. Even when the world is trying to swallow you whole and it is terrifying to even remember to breathe. Just breathe. Just climb. One step, one day, one mountain at a time.

oh hey, I finally drew that tattoo I’ve been waiting for…