Recently, I bought a house. I’ve never done that before.

I never really thought I’d be in the position to do that.

But I did it. Alone.

I’m supposed to feel really awesome, right?

Right now, I’m sitting on my porch, smoking a cigarette and drinking a corona. And partly, I do feel awesome.

A year ago, I wasn’t planning on being alive very long. I didn’t think about a future because I was determined not to have one.

I didn’t want one.

Even with all of my misfortunes, though, I somehow hit the emotional jackpot with a couple of people who care about me for some reason.

They saved my life. Jury is still out on whether or not that’s a good thing, but I credit my beating heart to them.

I credit my ability to sit on this porch and drink this corona to them.

I’m not any less depressed than I have been, and I’m still not sure about my future – how do you start planning a future when you spent so long planning not to have one?

But this post isn’t about me or my sick heart.

This is about gratitude.

And love.

Even though my soul aches for the love it cannot give, I do not discredit the overwhelming amount of love that does flow throughout my life.


To the man who owns my soul and plays it like a yo-yo, sleeping it for days and then winding it back up into your palm, even though it means nothing – I love you.

To my friends, who are always there to laugh, to cry, to play video games, to help me move and encourage me – I love you.

To my family, who yell at me when I’m being too depressing, and carried me through my darkest times, who’s blood runs through me – I love you.

To my children, who always remind me that I need to stand up and keep moving, and that love can be as simple as saying goodnight and then good morning – I love you.

And to my roommate, who, even though I have my own house now, will always still be my roommate, who opened her home and her heart to me and made this life possible, who I could never be able to repay, who I miss every goddamn night in this new house – I fucking love you.

I am broken. I am lonely. I am strange and I am flawed.

But goddammit, I am so full of love.

And I’m goddamned grateful for it.


L. O. L.

It’s funny…nothing feels the same. Some things are tinged with sadness. There is music I cannot listen to, anymore. Places that I drive past, that make my heart fall to my stomach, like I’ve just gone over a hill on a rollercoaster. There are days of the week that feel hollow, no matter what I’m doing. Dinner feels unsatisfying. Kissing my children goodnight feels half-assed. I find myself watching television and looking over to an empty space, feeling that emptiness more than usual.

Other things are singed with anger. I congratulate acquaintances on their engagements and anniversaries with a bitter taste in my mouth. I see you smile, and I want to knock your teeth out. I think about my struggles, and my children’s. I think about the thirteen years of promises and lies, thirteen years of bullshit. I want to rip my hair out. I want to rip your tongue out.

I realized that I could not have changed your mind. I realized that what was, for me, was not, for you. You made it, for me. Made sure I believed it. I realized that I was lied to for over a decade. That the truth in my heart was not, in fact, truth. I realized that this story is one that only I know, and only I will ever know. Which essentially means that it did not exist. My life, my reality, my world, for thirteen years, does not exist. It made me insane.

I spent a year, struggling to find the will to live.

No, that is a lie.

I spent a year with no will to live. I kept myself going each day, with the promise of it ending with finality. There was a date. There was a plan.

Life After You.

So I kept waking up.

And one morning, I woke up and actually opened my eyes. I woke up, and actually looked at myself in the mirror. I woke up, and stayed awake all day.

I noticed that I could still find peace in the smiles of my children.

I noticed that I could still excel at my job.

I noticed that I didn’t have to feel alive, to live.

I have accepted that I could not have changed your mind. I have accepted that my truth for over a decade was not, in fact, truth. I have accepted that I was a number, and that you are a monster.

I will never “get over” you. I will never trust in love again, as you have made me distrust my own heart. I will never trust in happiness again, as you have made me distrust my own soul.

Thirteen years ago, I gave you my heart. Nine years ago, I gave you my body. Two years later, I gave you my soul. The scar on your shoulder was intended to be your promise of your soul, to me. It now serves as a reminder of how deep your lies can cut, and their permanence.

You gave me so many more scars, than the one we shared that day. Some will serve as a visual reminder. Others leave their mark on my soul.

There is no “getting over” that. I gave myself to you, willingly. I never lied to you, when I made those promises. They will not break – even if I beg for those tethers to snap. But I will stay awake.

I will continue. I will be as productive as I can be – and I will accept that some days, I will not be able to be productive at all. I will smile with my children – and I will accept that some nights will end in crying myself to sleep because I held in the pain for them. I will excel where I can, and push through where I can’t. I will keep pushing that date back. I will continue, dragging this weight with me as long as it takes. I will carry it. I will carry on.

Life Over You.

Clap Your Hands

Here’s a crazy concept….

….let yourself be happy.

It really is very simple. Be happy. Do what makes you happy. Chase your happiness.

Within reason, of course. Obviously, I’m not saying go out and kill people if that makes you happy. However, if killing people truly makes you happy, you should know that this is probably something you should get help for, and getting rid of that unhealthy urge would probably bring you happiness so…. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Seriously, though. Happiness is not some far-away concept that is unreachable. It’s right there, for the taking.

I have a very hard time understanding why people hold themselves back from their own happiness.

Sure, there are little unhappy tasks or moments that we all have to go through – waking up early for work when we really want to sleep in, doing the kitty litter, shaving – but no one said happiness was synonymous with easy.

There’s work to be done, and you’ve got to do the work to get to happy.

If happiness is having the money you want to spend on things, you get up with that alarm and get yourself to work.

If happiness is curling up with your cats and kissing their foreheads and hearing that cute little noise they make when they stretch, you clean their litter box when you need to.

If happiness is that amazing feeling of rubbing your smooth legs against your sheets, you shave your legs.

There is no need to keep yourself miserable for the sake of…what? Duty? Obligation?

No, sir.

Take a moment, and think back to a time where you were truly happiest. When nothing in the universe existed except for your moment. When your heart was full and your soul was singing, your mouth hurt from smiling and you couldn’t remember what pain or sadness felt like because you were just…so…happy.

Take it back. Figure out what gives you that feeling, chase that shit down, and tackle it.

There will be work, getting there. But happiness is worth fighting for, dammit!

So do it! Do the work and chase down your happiness!

Guess what? No matter what you think, you don’t deserve to be unhappy.

You deserve what makes you happy.

So. Get off your ass. Stand up. Remember your happiness, and go get it.

We all gotta fight. For our right. To party in our hearts (that’s happiness, y’all).

An Old, Beat Up, Open Book

I spent twelve years hiding, in one way or another.

For one reason or another.

Hiding is exhausting. Secrets are exhausting. Pretending is exhausting.

You know what else is exhausting? Depression. Heart-break. Stress. Pain.

I don’t have it in me, to add onto that exhaustion anymore. And I have no reason to, anymore.

I have nothing to lose, and nothing to gain. Therefor, I have nothing to hide.

I won’t sugar coat, or pussy-foot, or beat any bushes. Not anymore; never again.

I’m an open book, baby.

You want comedy? I gotcha.

You want drama? Oh, boy do I have you.

You want romance? You got it.

You want horror? I got that, too.

I will lay it all out on the table – whether you want it or not, there it is. Here I am. There I was. Here I go.

I have never been more stressed out at work than I have these past three months. I had never doubted my abilities at work until these past three months. Not a day goes by, that some new major issue doesn’t turn up. There’s always something that needs to get done, and it never gets done before three more things get thrown on me. I hate it. I love it. I’m doing the work.

I have never been more depressed (wow, I know. That’s saying something, right?) than I have been this past year. I saw someone post a pain chart on social media for mental health, the kind doctors use for physical pain. I have been steady at an 8 for all of these months, dipping into 9-10 every so often. I am not motivated to do anything I don’t have to do. I don’t want to be social. Being a “friend” is stressful and torturous at times. When I am not working, all I want to do is sit in my bed and binge-watch tv until it is late enough to take my sleeping pills, and then I continue to binge-watch until I finally fall asleep.

Being social is exhausting. And I apologize to any friendships I’ve neglected. Because I have, and I know I have. Yes, this is for you. I’m sure you will read this, so I want to make sure you know it’s for you. You’ve been nothing but an amazing friend, and I have been a completely shitty one. I don’t mean to be, and I know it’s not fair.  I just can’t. I’m sorry.

This blog is the best way I can be social, right now.

So lay it on me, if you want. Ask me whatever you want to know, and I’ll tell you the truth. Tell me all the horrible things you think of me, and I’ll take it.

I’m getting rid of my filter, and I’m stepping out of the goddamned basement. I am not hiding anymore.

I think this is going to be good for my mental health and well-being. Hell, maybe airing everything out here will make it easier for me to be social again, and actually function like a real human being again.

Hey! Maybe this blog will eventually become the blog it used to be – ranting and raving and puking (oh my)!

A message, to anyone who wants it, but especially to a particular so-and-so 😉 :

I’m letting it out, to try to begin some kind of recovery.

If you don’t like it, too bad. Covering your eyes doesn’t make something go away. The truth is there. And it’s painful. And it’s ugly. And it’s raw.

And it’s yours, just as much as it is mine. I’m facing it, embracing it.

You can keep living in the shadows if you want, and pretend that it’s not detrimental.

But I’m ready for some mother fucking sunlight.


Read It And Weep

On this day, I have gone over and over the words that were said. Thousands of words over thousands of years.

Some hurt more than others. Much, much more.

I read them, and weep.



“I don’t care what I have. And i certainly don’t care for who I have been before today. Today, I know I am at my absolute greatest when graced with your
presence. I feel alive, and complete. And that is a very embarrassingly short list of adjectives to describe who I am because of you in my life, and in
proximity. But if given the task to list them all, my lungs would collapse from the effort necessary to recite such an incredibly array of things I feel
with you. I can enjoy myself, and have a good time… But you have redefined so many things…. And there will never in this universe be something more
spectacular in my heart than us. I love you. I need you. God if you have any mercy; make Tuesday happen immediately.”


I tried typing up an email.  A long, this is life where do we go from
here email. I don’t have even an ounce in me.  I’d love to give you
options and courses… But all of them make me sick, and weak. I can’t
handle that.

I love you.

I need you.

On top of that… I need you to let me try and make you happy.  I need
to fight for your smiles, and know when I get them I deserve them. And
I need you to know that the times that you smile, you deserve to
actually feel good.  I need to continue to strive for a better life
for you”

“I’m aware that it’s asking a whole, whole lot to open your heart and
try to feel good about things, even if they feel second hand.  I’m
aware it doesn’t always feel like it, and it certainly never openly
looks like it, but the only reason I’m still trying in life is for
you.  Every hour I work, every raise I shoot for, every stupid project
is so I can give whatever piece I can spare of it, to you.  It’s
selfish, and stupid, of me to want you to feel honored and proud to
receive the hands and feet of the beast I’ve slain, knowing that the
whole body and bulk of it is going to someone else… But it’s the
only reason I hunt for bigger and larger prey anymore.

If you can only ever get 10% of the man I am, then I’ll die trying to
be 10 times more of a man, than anyone else in the world can be, so
you’ll always get 100%.”


“‘Day in and day out
I love you forever

You made me cry.

That’ll do

My God, I love you so much.

Ditto. Everything. I swear.”



It’s 1am; do you know where your home is?




1 a feeling of longing for one’s home during a period of absence from it.

I am homesick. I am homesick for a place I used to be, both in body and in spirit. A place where I felt whole. A place where I felt. I am homesick for a feeling. The feeling of belonging, and purpose. I am homesick for a person. A person that made anyplace feel like home. A person that was home. I am homesick for the hot, stuffy little room with a futon and a laptop, or the dark living room where no one lived and it was always freezing. I am homesick for the falls, where I began to live, and at the same time began to die. I am homesick for a swing set that knows all of my secret thoughts, or the diner booth that holds our impressions. I am homesick. I am sick; I have no home.




1 a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I am nostalgic. I am longing for the laughter, for the comfort, for the feeling of safety. I am nostalgic for the music and the poetry, for the art. I am nostalgic for the nights, and the mornings. For the routine, for the belonging. I am nostalgic for YouTube, and playgrounds. For the trees and the graveyard. For the drives, and the walks. For text messages and emails. For lunches, and desserts. I am sentimental; I am longing.




1 the passionate expression of grief or sorrow; weeping.

I lament. I lament over the loss, and the lies. I lament over my heart, which has withered and twisted into a rotting piece of muscle that barely functions. I lament over my mind, which has become a war zone with no sides. The neurons, soldiers, firing at each other feverishly in the hope that no one gets out alive. I lament over my soul, which has been battered and beaten so thoroughly that it no longer sings, no longer shines. I lament. I am sorrowful.

I have become a ghost.

I have become a shell.

I will remain a ghost, empty and homesick for a place that was never real.

I will remain a ghost, nostalgic for a past that meant nothing.

I will remain a ghost, lamenting over its wasted life.

I will remain a ghost.

I will remain.


One year ago, at this time, on this day, I was taking sleeping pills and trying to stop freaking out about my daughter’s surgery in the morning.

I was worried and nervous.

She was sleeping soundly.

One year ago, at this time, on this day, my grandfather was dying.

In five hours, it will be one year since he died. One year since the world lost an incredible, beautiful soul.

I think about the year that has passed, and I feel like losing my mind.

I think about all that I have lost in this year, all that has changed and all that never changed.

I think about Pop. I think about Nanny. I think about how much I let them down – and maybe how proud I might have made them.

I think about the past, and how you can never get it back. Those feelings and moments you take for granted, never thinking about how they won’t last forever.

I think about the future, and how much of it is beyond my control.

I think, sometimes, I’d rather just lose my mind. It’s all too much. All of it, all at once.

But right now, I’m mostly thinking about Pop. I wrote him a letter, back before he died, and I never got around to sending it. Because, among my many, many faults, I am a procrastinator. I will never get the chance to send it, now.

I’m going to post it, here. Maybe somewhere in the universe, out there or right here next to me, he’ll be able to read it.

Do you remember all of the trips we used to take?

Those are some of my best memories.

Bush Gardens, where Georgia and I dressed up as you and Nanny in the hotel room.

When you let us try a sip of O’Doul’s non-alcoholic beer and we got kicked out of the brewery.

The Crayola factory.

All of the camping trips at Morris meadows, and our weeks in ocean city.

Getting up super early to go bike riding with you on the boardwalk was my favorite part.

Do you remember the long drive to Niagara falls? And how we got lost but you wouldn’t stop to ask for directions?

You and Nanny made every holiday a magical, special thing.

Digging for our Easter treasure in the garden of your back yard.

Finding candy bars in your coat pockets in the closet.

Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, where you brought all of us together.

Halloweens on your front porch.

You were the glue that held all of us close.

When I got older, some of my fondest memories became the simple ones.

Sitting in the kitchen and doing word puzzles with Nanny. Hearing stories about her high school days, and how they all used to put their sandwiches in the hands of the statue of Jesus in the courtyard.

Waking up to cheese omelettes before school.

And Sunday lunches.

When I had my own children, I wanted them to know the joy and love I felt from you and Nanny every day.

And they did. Sunday’s were their favorite day, because they got to spend it with you.

I will never be able to express how full my heart was every time I saw you hold them, play with them, love them.

And how much I wish Nanny could have known them. I know she would have adored them just like you do.

I think about you every day. I miss you every day.

You are one of the most influential people in my life.

You taught me compassion, patience, tradition. You taught me to value family, and education. You taught me how to ride a bike. How to drive a car (at 5 miles an hour in a graveyard). How to make the best spaghetti sauce in history.

I love you so much. Your great grandchildren love you so much.

We may not get to see you every week, but we are with you every day. You are in our hearts, always.

I am still learning, and I am far from perfect. But every decent thing about me comes from what I learned from you.

You are the most incredible person I’ve had the honor to know, and though I’m sure I will meet a thousand more people in my lifetime, no one will ever compare to you.

I love you, Pop.