Fashionista In-Training

I'll bet you were thinking Abby, right? A likely conclusion, but you would be wrong, my friend. Oh, yes, my dear daughter loves to dress up now and then. Especially in her ballet clothes. I, however, am referring to my dear SON, Perrin.

Perrin likes to dress up. No particular style or anything, just whatever he finds lying around. He likes to wear pants. On his head. He likes to wear grown-up shoes. Mine are his favorites. He likes to wear gloves. On his feet. He likes to wear underwear. Doesn't matter whom they belong to. Again, on his head. The kid wore his Halloween costume for weeks.

Having said this, I wasn't entirely surprised when he crawled up beside me on the couch the other night, stuck his leg in my face, and said, "Feel my skin!". What made me laugh until I almost cried was realizing what he had on his leg. A knee-high nylon stocking. This,of course, belonged to me and so was actually more of a thigh-high stocking on him.

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

Naturally, Heath didn't find it amusing to see his son in pantyhose, but I thought it was funny. The little weirdo even wanted to SLEEP in it! Too much.

Poor Heath worries about Perrin's preferences. His love of sparkly things. His demanding to have his toenails painted when I paint mine and Abby's. The fact that his favorite color is purple. I had younger brothers though. I know that boys can dress up in little party dresses and high heels and still grow up to be 100% man. Perrin is my sensitive child, but I have great faith in him. In both of my children. No matter what they turn out to be like, I love them. Now and always.

Learning to Breathe


I know my last few posts have been a bit on the dramatic side. To be honest, it was my intention to delete them, but having thought about it for awhile, I've changed my mind. It's not pretty, but it part of who I am. As alone as I feel during those times, I KNOW that there are other people out there who struggle with the same thing. Other moms, even. If my baring my dark and twisty side to the world makes even ONE other person feel better or realize they're not actually as alone as they feel, then it's worth it. At least to me. We have to keep fighting our way back. Even without family or friends, there is a kinship among those of us who have been through the darkness without a light. We don't even need to speak. Our scars bear witness to the truth. We ARE family. We are the lost who have found one another when everyone else was afraid to venture in too deeply. We must always remember that we have each other. Even if we have never met.

I've started that climb back to the surface of humanity. My fingers are raw and bleeding from the digging and crawling, but I will not stop. I am not alone. This fire that has begun to kindle in my soul will give me strength. Holding me close and warming me from the inside. Its light will grow until it radiates from my body and I no longer need to fear the darkness. I am learning to breathe again, and breathe deeply. To breathe peace. To breathe love. To breathe light.

I've still got a bit of a climb ahead of me. I may never be what society declares "normal", but that actually appeals to me. Who wants to be "normal" anyway? I'm in a better place and that's a start. Not alone. Bound by scars. Learning to breathe again. Together.

More Disappointments


I know I should have seen this coming. It happens every time I try to get out and make friends. I start to come out of hiding and relax and I get blindsided. Like I'm standing at the edge of a precipice pretending I can fly and someone shoves me off. Obviously, I can't actually fly and my fear of heights keeps me away from such places, but I'm speaking metaphorically. I have real trust issues and I should have learned by now that people will never change. No matter how old you get or where you go, there will always be someone who is out to get you for some reason or another. Why do I keep letting my guard down? Why do I ever leave my house? At least here, I'm prepared. Yeah, I know. I'm paranoid and all, but you would be too if you were me. Count your blessings that you're not.

Now don't get me wrong. I know my life could be worse. I'm pretty damn lucky to have all that I have. That's one thing that makes me hate myself for feeling this way. It's pathetic to feel sorry for myself. If I could only turn throwing pity parties into a business, I'd be rich.

Why are you going off your meds, you ask? Why not? I mean, studies show they don't really do much more than placebo pills and my own "research" confirms that. I'm just so tired. Meds or no meds, I'm still a failure at anything I try to accomplish. I can count on one hand the number of times anyone has been proud of me. Let me assure you, I would need many, MANY more hands to count the times they've been disappointed in me.

I thought getting out and doing this movie-thing would be good for me. Right. Where do I get this naivete from? I made friends and started to really connect with people and then it all went horribly wrong somehow. I still don't know how. I don't even know if I have a job anymore because I feel like I'm being lied to about the whole thing. Everyone is avoiding me and, in spite of what I was told, I seem to be the only one who was sent home at all. I didn't buy the whole "you need rest for next week" line anyway. Why not just save me all the wondering and tell me the truth? That I'm useless and you're sorry I ever showed up? I know there are things just burning to be said by more than one person. I TRIED. I'm sorry I made friends and had a good time. I really wanted this to work. I thought I'd finally found a place where I fit in, but I see now that I'm not meant to fit in anywhere. The rest of the world will see to that. It always has.

Am I giving up? I don't know. I'm tired. So tired. It hurts all the time. I feel too heavy to keep carrying everything around but I don't know how to let go of it. I feel alone and defeated. This is the dark and twisty side that nobody likes, not even me. We're bound together though. Perhaps I would die without this other me. I shall surely die one day anyhow. Probably far, far away from today. Maybe I'll have learned to live in harmony with my dark half by then and have some semblence of happiness. Or maybe I'll just be too senile to remember I'm depressed in the first place. What's that? A ray of hope? I'm allowed to have a sense of humor about all this, you know. I mean, if we can't laugh at ourselves, who CAN we laugh at?