Dreams

Sr Grumpy passed away, a little over two months ago, and I still CONSTANTLY find myself thinking of him. I don’t know how many times I look at the clock waiting for his bus to drop him off. Every time I’m out getting dinner I always think of what I can get him that would be easy for him to eat. The other day, the thought popped into my head, when his next doctor appointment was.  

The last two days, I’ve had dreams of him. The first dream, we were having a family party and when I turned a corner there he was sitting on a bench with my uncle Arturo. Now, why I dreamed of Arturo, I have no idea; but he’s passed as well. I was unsure if what I was seeing was true, I was aware that he was dead. So I kept asking people if they ‘saw’ them too. But finally I couldn’t help myself and so I ran to him. When Sr Grumpy saw me, he smiled this huge smile at me and he hugged me. I told him how much I missed him.

The second dream, I was driving in the car and he was in the passenger seat. I didn’t recognize the streets but I knew where I was going. He never spoke to me, but at one point I told him: “We’re fine. Nothing bad is going to happen". That’s when the car went up a curb and we flipped, I was going 70 mph. I remember focusing on his face as I felt the car flip around us. The next moment, the car was right side up and we were driving into a gate; the car was destroyed. I spoke to the guard; he asked if I was okay. I told him that I was fine but that Sr Grumpy was hurt; I had looked at him before turning to the guard. Sr Grumpy had a cut over his left eye that was bleeding. The guard looked at me like I was crazy, when I turned back to Sr Grumpy, he was gone. The next moment, I was in a hospital - alone.

I haven’t told anyone about these dreams; I’m unsure what they mean. But I know I don’t want to forget them.

Chains, Not Necklaces

I spend a lot of time with my aunt, I love her dearly and she is one of the most important people in my life. We are similar in so many ways. We’re always on the same wave-link, but even with our same taste in toys, food and movies there’s so much that we differ in.

One day, I was hanging out with her and her granddaughter (my second cousin) when a conversation took place that I wasn’t comfortable with.

Cousin: 'Mommy says boys don’t wear necklaces'.
Aunt: 'That’s right. Girls wear necklaces and boys wear chains'.

How odd is it that we have to create a completely new word for an item that’s the exact same thing just so it can be gender specific?

And of course it would be taboo if the “chain” was thin and had a charm hanging from it; or had any decoration that might be considered “feminine”.

Why can’t a boy wear a necklace? Or play with a doll, wear a dress, paint their nails?

Little girls have a little more “creative” freedom. They can play with cars, action-figures, and play dress up in anything they want to. Because that “creativity” makes them stronger and more confidant. But if little boys play with "girl toys" or like the color pink, it makes them weak.

It saddens me that we live in a double standard world. That is FAR from changing.

You Are LOVED!

Mercy triumphs over judgement. What a powerful and life-changing concept - if we can accept it.

Sometimes that's the hardest part. It can be so hard for us to accept God's love and mercy. It's in His out stretched hand, all we have to do is grasp it and be dramatically changed.

I encourage you to watch this video and allow God's mercy, grace and love to dramatically change you.

Stop standing on your own, you don't have to any more.

be blessed (for Mami)

Today marks 10 years that my mother has passed. I've tried so hard to come up with a meaningful idea to memorialize my mother on this day. But I can't.

My heart is full of so many emotions. And my mind keeps going back to that day so many years ago. 

I was holding my mother when she took her last breath. She died in my arms. When my mother took her last breath, I knew it. I can still hear my scream echoing in my ears.

We were rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. I had to sit with a social worker; and the Chaplin was there also. With his comforting words. To this day I still don't understand why he would say those words to a young person who had just lost their parent minutes before.

I can't remember her voice or her touch or the smell of her hair. I can't remember hardly anything about her. Except for that day.

Deep down, I still secretly blame myself. I was 17 years old, I was scared and freaked out. I didn't want to leave her side. I didn't want to leave her alone. She would have hated that. So I stayed by her side instead of calling for help.

I hated myself for that, for years. And still do, sometimes.

I'd like to think she'd like who I've become. That she'd be proud of me. But honestly, I don't know. I don't think she would... I'm so different then that young girl. I have so many more scars.

But one thing I do know. She'd tell me to stop crying, to whip my eyes and to keep moving forward. "Stop being stupid." She'd say. "Don't look at me, look to God."

My mom was a strong God-fearing women. I remember every morning before school,  she would pray over my coming and going. Pray a hedge of protection over me. That God would keep me safe. I know, without a doubt, that her prayers are the reason why I'm still here. Why I'm alive.

Yes, it's been a decade since she passed. But her faith and prayers are still going strong. And touching me still.

I might hate what I did. And I might hate this day. And I might not be able to remember anything. And she might not like who I've become. But she loved me so much, that her love is still reaching me now, 10 years later.

Maybe that's something to celebrate. Instead of mourning.

"This is the day the Lord has made; 

We will rejoice and be glad in it." 

- Psalm 118:24 New King James Version

Be blessed. I hope you have a grand glorious day.

Hospitals

I took Sr Grumpy to the doctors yesterday. He is getting higher up in age and seems to be slowing down more quickly, so I try to take him every month.

The doctor told me his blood count was low from his last blood test (taken in May) and wanted to take a new one to see if it was the same, had gone up or fell lower. This morning, the doctors' nurse called me and told me that his blood count had dropped lower and that Sr Grumpy needed a blood transfusion.

When I heard this news, my mind instantly zoomed to a memory of my mom lying in her hospital bed getting dialysis. My breathing quickened and tears rushed to my eyes. For a split second I was overwhelmed with anxiety. However, I was able to pass it quickly and was able to soak in everything the nurse was telling me.

After I got off the phone with the nurse. I had to take Sr Grumpy to the hospital to get his blood drawn and matched for the transfusion - tomorrow.

When my mom passed, I told myself I'd never go back into that hospital. I have spent too much time there. Luckily, we didn't have to go into the "main" building. I have been back to the hospital campus a couple of times since my mothers' passing, but I've never had to go into the main building.

We had to go into the 'out-patient' center today to get his blood drawn. It is RIGHT next door to the main building. Again, when I exited the car to get Sr Grumpy out, my breathing quickened, tears rushed to my eyes and my anxiety spiked. Again, I was able to get my emotions under control quickly and forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

We entered the center, I checked him in, filled out the paper work, and that was when I was informed we would be getting the transfusion in the main building tomorrow. My stomach sank and my mouth went dry.

 'No. No I can't do that.' I thought quickly to myself. Just as fast as it entered my mind, I forced myself to dismiss it. I finished the paperwork, Sr Grumpy got his blood drawn and we drove home.

Now that the day is coming to an end and all the preparations have been made. All the feelings I kept pushing away are lingering their way back to the forefront of my consciousness. Everything is starting to sink in and my mind is now able to process all the information of the day.

Sr Grumpy isn't my mom. He doesn't have cancer. And he isn't dying. He's healthy.

My mom is in a happier, healthier place.

It's just a building.

God has healed me of all my hurt and pain.

Everything will be fine.

I have faith that everything will be fine...

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." -Proverbs 3:5-6

Triggering Thoughts

I find myself on a daily basis fighting back regretful memories, who've found their way to the forefront of my consciousness. But the last few days, I feel like I've been spending half my day replaying the regrets of my life. I literally had to yell at myself, out loud, this afternoon to stop.
I've caught myself placing my finger nails to my skin to scratch deeply. I've been able to stop myself right before I do it.

I've also caught myself placing the side of my hand against my forearm; then moving down quickly in a cutting motion.

It's crazy what our bodies can do without us noticing it. Involuntary spasms, that we've picked up, that come out at the oddest moments.

I'm edgy, the littlest things are triggering me. They're not sending me off the edge, but they're causing me to act out.

My body is reacting in self-destructive ways to the emotional stress, without my knowledge.
It's rather scary.

I've also been chanting "I want to die" or "I want to kill myself" more the past few days. Is it odd that on a 'normal' day, I say these phrases at least twice a day?

Overcoming and recovering from self-destructive patterns and depression is a hard and long path. It can be overwhelming and all consuming. You can run yourself in circles and into the ground, trying to keep your head above water.

At moments it's terrifying and unsatisfying. And it's so easy to give up; to call 'mercy' and to lie in the dirt. 

Sometimes It Lasts At Love...

If you’d ever visit our home, you’d instantly think we’re either lovers’ or hoarders’ of cars. We have four “classic” cars that line the side of our house. Three out of the four cars, anyone can see and admire their beauty. They’re not restored, but they’re gorgeous in their old age.

However, the fourth is not a rare model, it’s not made by a special company and it doesn’t have a fancy body. It’s small, blocky, has no leg room and it’s not that old (for a car). It’s just a car from the 80’s that’s covered in dirt and has degraded flat tires.

The other day we took the ’53 Chevy pickup truck for a drive (the ‘Twilight’ truck). Grumpy is slowly restoring this truck and we take it out from time to time to keep it in working order.

After our drive, I hopped out of the passenger seat and ran to the drivers’ side to place the cinder block behind the back wheel – just to make sure it’s secure. And that’s when I saw a little yellow card stuck between the Renaults’ driver’s door and window.

“WE BUY JUNK CARS”

The card was a business card from a local company promoting their removal services for old vehicles and machinery.

“Marty is NOT JUNK!” I shouted loudly as I showed the card to Grumpy. He looked at the card, chuckled and shook his head. Who knows how long that card had been there; and that I would find it a week from my mom’s birthday. But seeing that card on her old car – upset me.

Marty was my mom’s first ‘real’ purchase, at least that’s how she always told me the story. After her first marriage ended horribly, my mom was on her own and Marty was the first thing she bought by herself. She was always so proud of him.

My mom drove that car everyday till the day she died, for over 20 years. My dream is to one day restore Marty, better than he was, and drive him for another 20.

The next day Grumpy and I were driving home from a day of fun, when the song “Someone Like You” by Adele came across the speakers. Since the release of this song, my dad has always associated it with my mom.

“Nothing compares
No worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes
They are memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Never mind, I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Don't forget me, I beg
I'll remember you said,
‘Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead’”

There we were in front of the house, sitting in my car, listening to the song, singing along and staring at Marty.

“They thought Marty was junk.” Grumpy chuckled – and I laughed.

No. No, Marty isn’t junk.

When I Met You

April and July are hard months for me. April the month my mom was born; and July the month she died. This year marks 10 years that she’s been with God. It feels so much longer; I can hardly remember her. She’s been gone almost half my life.

My moms’ twin, aunt Stella (who I was named after), really struggled with my mom’s passing in the beginning. After years of therapy and healing, my aunt is finally on the “acceptance” stage of grief. I feel like I’ve reverted to the “depression” stage. I know grief can be a cycle; we can cycle in and out of the stages of grief.

It’s really hard for me to deal with this.

I did so well when my mom passed. I truly believed (and still do) that God had a purpose for taking my mom. It was easy for me to “work through” the stages of grief after she passed. I did it in one night actually.

One long, late, tear-filled night.

A week or so after God took my mom. I sat in my room, listened to music and with my emotions fresh, I unleashed all of my thoughts and emotions to God. I remember so vividly, sitting in a corner, the tears running down my face, hitting the floor and yelling at God. I’d randomly get up, pace my room, hit the closet, kick my bed, and scream into a pillow.

“Why God? Why did you do THIS?!”

“Why did you take her?”

“Why couldn’t I save her?”

I’ve struggled with the guilt of not saving my mom on and off since her passing; but that’s a story for another journal entry.

I remember staying up past 3am. I gave all my hurt, pain, anger and questions to God and He filled me with peace and gave me reassurance that I would be okay.

This is why cycling through the stages of grief is hard for me. I know God healed my hurt. I know God took my pain. I know God was in the room with me when I was grieving.

God hurt with me. God grieved with me.

And it’s not that I still don’t believe that. I know I’m healed. God took my brokenness and put me back together.

I am healed. But, I’m also human.

Just because I cycle in and out of grief, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust God. It means I love my mom.

 And that I miss her.

“I remember the moment, I remember the pain
I was only a girl, but I grew up that day
Tears were falling
I know You saw me

Hiding there in my bedroom, so alone
I was doing my best, trying to be strong
No one to turn to
That's when I met You

All this time, from the first tear cried
'Till today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there, You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time”

Song: “All This Time” by Britt Nicole

The stages of grief

Just Keep Breathing

A couple of weeks ago marked the one year anniversary of me being self-harm free. I’ve said that three times in the last ten years.

So much has happened in the last ten years; so much happened when I turned 17. I started cutting a few months after my birthday. My mom was diagnosed and passed away from pancreatic cancer. I discovered my passion for music. The Internet became my world. And so many other things happened.

It’s so weird to think it’s been ten years. Ten years of me fighting the urge to place a blade to my skin. At moments, it doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. And at other moments, it seems like a lifetime.

It saddens me.

It saddens me that cutting has been such a big part of my life. It saddens me that I’ve only been able to stop three times; the first time for a year, the second time for two & half years and this third time for one year.

I was so lost last fall (Oct-Dec 2013). I had a fight with my dad, I packed my bags and left home; I couldn’t handle living in a toxic environment any more. I ran to the only place I could think of, my “sanctuary” became my trigger. The people who were supposed to help me, pushed me over the edge.

I knew what I was doing was wrong. And I knew if I gave in, it would be so hard to stop. But it didn’t matter, I was alone. Truly, and utterly, alone.

I cut more in those three months, then I had EVER done. I couldn’t stop. I was emotionally spiraling out of control. I was grasping for anything. It was SO BAD.

At one point, it finally clicked in my head to just stop and breathe. My thoughts were racing; I had to force my brain and emotions to stop. I needed a break. I was sitting in a Starbucks, writing in my journal and listening to music. I was hiding.

“2 A.M., too tired to sleep
When what you want's not what you need
And when these walls don't feel like home
Remember that you're not alone…

When heaven seems so far away
And dreams are just a memory
When love is all too hard to hold
Just take a breath and let it...

Go whoa oh, whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing
Whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing”

I went to my dad the next day, we worked out our problems and I moved back in. I learned that sometimes being in a hard place is better than being in no place at all. And that good really does come from bad.

It was so hard to stop; almost unbearable.

I remember lying on my bed and forcing myself not to move. It took over an hour, but the urge finally passed. One afternoon I was walking in the hardware store with my dad, and we walked down an aisle with every type of blade ever made by man. And I craved them, like I never craved anything before. My skin ached and I became jittery. I was an addict hurting for a fix.

As the months have passed, the lust has subsided, but it’s always there. And I know it always will be. I will always struggle with self-harm and depression. But as long as I remember to breathe, I know I can make it to the next hour and to the next aisle and through my life.