.Love, Part Two...A Thank You.

So it's about 4 in the morning and I'm doing that paranoid-mom thing where I don't sleep because I have to get up every five minutes to make sure my baby is still breathing, and so I'm also doing a lot of being on the internet to occupy the time when I've not got my ear pressed to my son's chest. Just a few hours ago I posted something on the blog and the feedback it's gotten has been pretty overwhelming, so I had to write this to express my feelings about all of the positivity I've received in return for just saying what's on my mind.

I'm not very good at making things up which, as a writer, is kind of a shitty trait to have. I can't count the number of projects I've started only to have them fizzle out early on, and this blog is no different. It started out as a place for me to air out my soul and get things off of my chest...I had piles and piles of what I suppose you can call essays or poetry or whatever it is that I write and they were just collecting dust on my hard drive. As it went on I tried to do the things my blogging friends were doing; motivational posts, reviews of stuff, lists, etc., but the response for those things just wasn't good. Personally, I think it's because it was obvious I was trying too hard to be a "blogger." I'm not a blogger, I'm a girl who writes from my heart and puts it on a blog for the world to see.

The "poem" I posted was a true story. Everything I write is true. It's kind of a mirror for me to examine myself in, to put these things out there in the open forces me to be honest with myself. As someone who has been dealing with deep depression and anxiety for years and years, it's pretty easy for me to just bury myself under the covers and hide. It's pretty easy to blame the mental disease for everything instead of facing it and facing the issues I've had and fixing them. I'm fucking broken; it isn't easy to admit to myself or anyone else. I could chalk all of my misadventures up to youth and just having fun, but that would be a flat-out lie and that's against everything I stand for. All of the mistakes I've made and all of the bad judgement calls were because of my brokenness, because I was looking for ways to fill the voids inside or to distract me from the tangled mess of a person I am.
Or was, I should say.

I'm sure as hell not "cured," but I'm better. I'm finding my way through my own bullshit to see that I'm a person with a purpose in life, things that I'm good at, and something worthwhile to say. I'm not ashamed of who I am or who I've been. I've had dark times I thought I'd never get out of. I've had times where I've used alcohol as a band-aid. I've looked at relationships as a meter of my worth as a woman, and I've chosen men who were physically and/or emotionally unavailable because I myself didn't know how to have a normal, healthy relationship...or I just didn't want to be bothered with one. The fact of the matter is that the sole reason I am a mother is a combination of all of those things. I had a baby completely by accident, and it came about for all the wrong reasons. I am at this precise point in my life because up until this point I have lived my life entirely "wrong." But the question becomes this: Is it really "wrong" if it has led you down exactly the right road?

I know deep in my heart that I am on the right road. It is a bumpy road, with many twists and turns and no signs posted along the way to steer me in the right direction. I'm driving this one by feel alone, but I think God is guiding my hand on the wheel. I think if I keep following my heart I'll end up where I need to go. I think if I keep listening to my gut, I'll be okay. Each day I travel one more mile and take in the scenery, and I mend just a little bit. I will probably always be broken, I think some people are just that way, but it isn't a curse anymore. It's the map I'm using to find myself. When you're wounded and the wound turns into a scar, the scar tissue is tougher than the skin around it. I am tougher for my scars, and I'll wear them proudly as a testament.

Maybe some of the stuff I've written or will write will hit close to home for somebody. Maybe some with find it pathetic or dramatic, maybe it might be too much for some to bear. But that I've written something that so many told me they were touched by only proves to me that I've been doing at least one thing right...choosing to live my life with complete transparency and baring my soul at the cost of my pride, being vulnerable when my very nature is to shut myself off and protect all my tenderest parts.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am HAPPY. It isn't easy, but it's worth every blessed second. I will struggle, I will fall, I will get back up and I will keep going.
And I will write about it, because even when I feel like I have nothing, I still have the words.

Thank you to every single person who reads this, or has ever read it. It means more to me than you will ever know. I truly love you all.

.Love, I Think.

I used to love the chase.
I used to love late night text messages and last-minute plans, a swipe of C.O. Bigelow peppermint lip gloss and pulling on my boots at midnight for an adventure.
I used to love empty beer cans in the back of my pickup and Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket.
A Metallica song came on the radio. "I should marry you..." he said when I turned it up and sang along.
"If you were smart, you would."
He was probably joking.
I was probably not.
I used to love the dark side of mornings, shooting stars over the desert punctuating thoughts I'd have been better off not having, and the highway home after nights that lasted too long.
"I'm going to be on the wagon...I'll call you when I get to town next time."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I never really knew what love was.
In my mind Love was bucking horses and pick up horses and big loops and years of conversations in a language of what-ifs and probably-nevers, Seven and Sevens, you-should-come-see-mes and maybe-I-wills.
In my mind love was a possibility.
I never wanted to know what was in his mind.
I still really don't know what love is.

"I heard you're gonna calve out."
"That's a hell of a way to put it."
"I'm gonna lose service...I'll call you when I come off the wagon."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I can't stand the chase.
The phone doesn't ring anymore and I barely notice it...a year's worth of wagons and works have gone by since I wore that lipgloss. I don't even remember where I left it.
Sometimes I find myself craving a Marlboro red and the scent of smoke and booze on a breath that touched my face.
A Metallica song comes on the radio. "He should've married me..." I say, then I turn it up and sing along.
If he was smart, he would've.
The baby's with his grandma and I'm going ten miles an hour over the speed limit to get home.
Home is finally where my heart is.
At least that's a love I do understand.

.Odd Duck Stuff.

A couple of days ago, Liz from Buckaroo Barbie posted a blog of all the little quirky things that she celebrates about herself (read that post here), and Erin from Diaries From The Dirt Road made her own list based on Liz's original post. I loved reading them both, and decided to hop on the train as well. I sat down with pen and paper to do mine, and realized that I have so many habits that others might think are strange or silly, but to me they've never been anything but normal. Just goes to show that your perception of yourself is what really matters, as long as what you do makes you happy! Here are a few of the things I wrote down:

• I have to put my pants, socks, shoes, jackets, etc. on left side first...no exceptions. If I do it in the wrong order, I take it off and start over.

• I feel incredibly naked and self-conscious without earrings in or my toenails painted. Everything else can be a hot mess, but I've always got to have just a little bling and polish.

• I went to cosmetology school. I love makeup and hair products and tend to hoard and collect them, and spend hours reading beauty articles and watching beauty tutorials on YouTube. I know ALL the tips and tricks. However, I rarely wear makeup or do my hair and, when I do, I always wear the same trusty products and styles no matter the occasion.

• I like plain sorrel horses. No, I love them. The more orange and ordinary they are, the more pleasing to my eye.

• I freaking LOVE trucks, especially cow trucks. I love riding along and have since I was a teeny little thing going in the truck with my grandpa.

• I feel emotions toward inanimate objects. I'm afraid they get lonely, and I worry about what might happen to them.

• In my opinion, cacti are prettier than even the most delicate of flowers.

• I can't eat fresh eggs, except those from one awkward black hen we have. I can't explain why either.

• The most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me was while checking cows during a blizzard...I got off my horse to run into the calving barn for something or another and before I got back on, this particular fellow wiped the caked snow off my saddle seat for me. Give me little gestures like that over any rose bouquet any day. 

.The Newest Adventure.

What is it about learning that you're becoming a mother that changes you so completely?

I don't know, it hasn't happened yet.

In the five days since I discovered that I am expecting, I have waivered in between various states of shock, panic, and sheer terror. THERE IS A TINY HUMAN BEING INSIDE MY BODY. I, the girl who forgets to feed the dog and has spent my entire life floating from place to place with no cares in the world, am going to be responsible for a little baby boy.

Oh, sweet Jesus, bless his teeny heart...I apologize in advance.

But underneath the anxiety, I know that we're going to be okay. I have a great support system in the form of my momma and my grandma who have been holding my hand through the whole process, easing my paranoia and laughing at my discomfort as only a woman who has been there can...I think I'm dying half the time, but they assure me that I'm not really, and that this is nothing compared to what's coming in the next few months (thanks, thanks a whole lot).

I find myself worrying when I lay down at night. How will I teach this little boy everything he'll need to know about being a good man? Will his daddy someday be around to teach him, or will I have to figure it out on my own? How will I protect him from all the bullshit in the world that surrounds him, when it seems that there is more and more sadness and anger and negativity and pure evil every single day? Will there still be sagebrush country for him to ride when he grows up? So many questions and I have no answers.

Still, I look at the women that raised me and the men that served as father figures to me, and all the wonderful people that helped me through life and taught me the things I know and I am confident that my son will be surrounded by the best people there are to grow up with. He'll have a few good wings to huddle under and a few good brains to pick, and somewhere along the way I'm sure he'll grow up having learned all he needs to be okay in the life he'll make for himself one day.

I used to pray for a good man to love forever. I had no idea that one would be made from my own heart. It isn't what I had in mind, but creation knows what its doing. So for now, I'm going to get used to the flutters in my tummy and not being able to button my pants, and look forward to what's coming. After all, it's only once in a lifetime that a girl goes on the adventure of being a brand-new momma.

.Explanations.

I don't owe you an explanation.

You don't owe me one either, but I never asked.

My choices are mine alone; I am the only one who has to live my life in my body in my world and be content with my actions and the people and things that surround me. I don't have to tell you why I'm not friends with this person, why I love that person, why I don't like getting drunk anymore, why I'd rather spend my time alone with a book than trying to impress people who don't even like themselves. I don't have to explain my gut feelings to you, my hopes or my dreams, my beliefs or my relationship with my higher power.

I don't have to tell you why I use the gear I use on my horses, I don't have to tell you who my family is or where they're from so you can judge whether or not I belong; I don't have to tell you about the scars on my face or my body or how many bones I've broken or why my pinkie toes are crooked or why I never got braces on my teeth.

You are not entitled to every detail of my existence.

It's a privilege when someone decides to share a part of themselves with another. It's a privilege when a heart is opened and a stranger is invited in. It isn't a right, and the invitation can be revoked as quickly as it was given...without explanation.

The only person anyone owes anything is themselves, and the biggest promise one can make to oneself is to be discerning when choosing what and who to allow in. Treat yourself like a treasure...not everyone deserves to have the map.

.Dream Catcher.

When is it time to give up a dream? Or is there ever a time to give up?

Do you struggle for so long before you decide that it just isn't meant to be, or do you keep struggling, pushing, reaching, grasping...even if you can't see what you're reaching for?

There's a dream catcher in my window. I don't remember where it came from or exactly how long it's been there, but I see it every single time I walk into my bedroom. Tradition and lore say that bad dreams get tangled in the webs of dream catchers and are held there, while good dreams flow freely through the center, drifting down the feathers hanging below and floating gently to the dreamer they're intended for.

Sometimes I don't wait for sleep to find me...I imagine all my dreams passing through my dream catcher, loosely, fluidly, ever-changing. The dreams are always there, even when I'm afraid they've left my heart. They may not always look the same, they may not always travel in the same directions, but at the root, they are the dreams that have always followed me. Some get stuck in the sinewy web, as if to say, "Not right now...it's not time yet." Some buzz around my head like fireflies begging to be chased and caught and held.

Perhaps there's never a time to truly give up on a dream, any dream. Maybe there are only times when you need to watch your dreams shift, take new forms, follow new paths, and be open and willing to chase them in whatever directions they fly. The best adventures are the ones that happen when you get lost...maybe your dreams know better than you do what they are meant to become.

Maybe the best way to honor a dream is to let it run as wild as your heart is. Maybe that's where true freedom is waiting...

.About A Dog.

“A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his." ” --  John Grogan, Marley & Me.


There are times in life that seem unbearably lonely; times when it's as though there's nobody a girl can trust with her heart, her soul, her troubles, or her triumphs -- it's like everyone is just waiting for her to become vulnerable and then take advantage of her when she's down. It's times like this when I'm glad I have a dog.

I've had my dog, Pepper, for eight or nine years now -- I lose track of the time, but it seems like he's always been with me. He rides along with me on most of my adventures unless it's too hot or too cold for him to sit in the pickup should I have to get out, and he gets shotgun -- rarely does he ride in the back. He likes to play tug of war with bailing twine, and he likes to run fast. He always gets gravy on his supper, and always half of my tater tots every time we go to Sonic. He sleeps next to my bed every single night on a fluffy pink (yes, pink) rug -- unless I'm having a bad night, then he sleeps next to me up on the bed.  I swear my entire existence is covered in white dog hair. I don't mind.

 

 

He always seems to know how I'm feeling. When I'm having a bad day, he'll come put his head in my lap and lay there quietly while I fiddle with his ears and tell him my problems. When I'm having a good one, he's always down for a long walk somewhere to run and explore and see what we can see. His calm and quiet demeanor somehow manage to quell the anxiety in me when I feel a panic attack coming on...I've always joked that he should be able to go everywhere with me and save me the cost of  my anti-anxiety medication. Sometimes he'll put his paw on my leg as if to say, "It's all okay, Mom. Just pet me and everything will be okay." And it always is.

 

 

I know there are some out there who don't understand the bond between a person and their dog (or horse, or any other pet for that matter). I don't understand those types. Studies have proven that owning a dog is actually good for the health of your heart, and I totally believe it. In my opinion, the love of a dog is like the love of God (is the spelling just a coincidence?). It's unconditional and ever-forgiving, and you are never alone with either -- or both -- by your side. Every single night when I go to sleep, I thank One for the other without fail.