Who Knew?

Why didn't anyone ever tell me that podcasts were so fucking great?

Seriously though, they're awesome! I have recently (the last 7-8 months) been listening to podcasts during my work days, and I am enthralled. I have found several podcasts that are as entertaining as they are spooky/creepy, and one that is downright hilarious. Here are my official podcast recommendations for the imaginary people who will read this blog post.

True Hauntings

American Hauntings

Scared to Death

Morbid: A True Crime Podcast

The Loremen

The Midnight Library

 Dear ******,

    I never wrote any letters to you while you were present in my life. There was no need to write you a letter, because you were always here. Always here for me, and always, always, always here for Jason. 

    Your absence in our lives is as fresh today as it was on that horrible day back in May when we found out you were gone. Taken too soon, another victim of the global pandemic. The last time Jason texted you was 4 months ago today. He had no way of knowing that afternoon that, less than 24 hours later, you would be gone.

    Do you have any idea how badly your best friend misses you? Think about how much a person could realistically miss their best friend, and multiply that by a thousand. That *almost* comes close to how much you are missed by Jason.

    Do you have any idea how badly I miss you? You've been a constant entity in mine and Jason's entire relationship, and up until 4 months ago I had no idea how completely I loved you for who you were to Jason, and who you were to me. I never could have imagined I would miss you this much. I knew you for almost 7 years, and it wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough.

    I don't know where you are now, but I do know that you are okay. I've seen you twice since you left, and I've heard your voice one more time. I don't know how or why I've been able to see you and Jason hasn't. I'm just grateful - eternally grateful to know that you are okay. Make sure to save a seat in heaven for your buddy, okay? You WILL see him again, but not yet. Not yet.

Love Always,

~Micah

DON'T WAIT!

 Don't wait.

My dear friends, this is the most important piece of advice that I will EVER have to offer to you and to the world at large. DON'T WAIT!

Don't wait to take that trip. There's never going to be a perfect time and you're never going to have 'enough' money saved up for the trip of your dreams. Just go. Go now, before it's too late.

Don't wait to love the skin you’re in. Your body is a gift from the Universe. It's the best gift you'll ever get, and to love it with anything less than the whole of your being is an insult to the Universe.

Don't wait to be kind to yourself. Treat yourself the way people who love and care about you would treat you. Do it now.

Don't wait for a special occasion to use the "good China". Use it now! Use it when you have company over, use it when you're eating by yourself. Get some Panda Express takeout and class that shit up with some China plates, just because you can.

Don't avoid wearing those awesome fucking shoes you treated yourself to (well done, btw) because you want to keep them looking nice for as long as possible. Wear them now. Wear them everywhere. And when the day comes that those worn out, torn out, busted-sole shoes have to go the way of all things, rejoice in the fact they served their purpose in the world, because shoes are made to be worn.

Don't wait for a special occasion or an exclusive party invite to wear that sassy dress you just had to have. Wear it now! Wear it to dinner and a movie. Wear it to the grocery store. Walk the proverbial red carpet as you go to pick up your second grader from school. Rock that shit like the fabulous bitch that you are.

And more MOST important of all, DON'T WAIT TO TELL THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE, THAT YOU LOVE THEM. Read that again. And again. And now read it one more time. I cannot possibly stress this enough.

Tomorrow is promised to no one. I can't stress that enough, either. TOMORROW IS PROMISED TO NO ONE. You never know when the last time you told someone you love them will turn out to be the last time you ever told them you loved them.

I am writing this blog post today because just this morning my husband found out that his best friend in the entire world, his partner in crime since the first grade, passed away yesterday. Jason communicated with him on Sunday and had no idea that 24 hours later his friend would be gone forever.

Things happen... accidents, sickness, whatever. Life can turn on a dime and your whole world can change in the blink of an eye. So for the love of Christ and all that is holy, DON’T FUCKING WAIT. 

Motherhood

Today is Mother's Day. The one day of the year where mother's are revered for their sacrifices, pampered by their families, and given a moment or two to sit down and rest.

It's our day. It's one day. And after today it's going to be 364 days of all-go-no-quit, mama do this, mama do that, "Mom can I have...", "Mom can I go...", "Mom can you help me with..."

Being a mother is the most difficult job I have ever done. There is nothing else in my life that has caused me so much fear, doubt, heartache, worry, and stress. But at the same time it is the most rewarding, fulfilling, and IMPORTANT job I will EVER do. The only problem is, I don't even know if I am doing it right. I'd like to think that I am, but the cold hard truth is that I have no idea if I'm doing a good job at this or not.

Being a mother has not been easy for me. "Motherly Instinct" was such a foreign concept to me when I had children of my own, and I have struggled to do this right.
I have sat up in the middle of the night,  weeping at my own inadequacy and ineptness.
Burning hot tears of despair have rolled down my face and I have tried to convince myself that everything was going to be okay, and that 'this too shall pass'.
I have awoken in the middle of the night screaming, crying and shaking because of the unending nightmares of all the horrors of the world befalling my children, and my inability to protect/save them.

Being a mother is a hard, thankless job, almost all of the time. I have gotten up in the middle of the night to change soiled bedding. I have slept on the floor next to the bed of my feverish child, my cell phone alarm set to go off at 2am so that I can take her temperature and give her more fever reducing medicine if needed. I have rocked my children when they were scared, kissed tears off their cheeks when they were sad, and brought down a firm hand of discipline when they were out of line. I have been yelled at by my children. I have had eyes rolled at me and disgusted heavy sighs heaved in my direction. I have had my ears filled - constantly -  with whining, crying, begging, arguing, and back-talk. I have endured screams of pain, rage, and despair coming from the mouths of the tiny little humans that I made from scratch. I have spent the last 12 years living, as it were, in a prison of my own making.

So much of all of this has been done with no sleep, no thanks, no reward, and no relenting. Sometimes this job all feel like too much. Too, too much. But I get up and do the job anyway.

When Darkness Falls

There is something about me that a handful of people know but that is not actually public knowledge. Something (or rather, some things) that I have been living with for the past 3 decades of my life. I’ve never put these words out into a public forum before, and to be honest I’m not sure why I am doing so right now.

Maybe it’s my way of reaching out.
Maybe it’s a cry for help.
Maybe it’s an attempt to not feel so damn alone in all of this.
Maybe it’s so that, should I lose the battle and darkness win out, when searching for answers as to the WHY of it all, people will be able to look on here and go, “Oh, it was like that.”

I have Anxiety. I have Depression. Yes, it’s just like that.

I have what I refer to as ‘high functioning  anxiety’. I call it that because whatever else is going on, however scared I am or hopeless I feel, I get up, get dressed and I soldier on through my day. I function. I function dangerously close to ‘well’, considering how much I do in a day and how little rest I do it on. High functioning anxiety. That’s what I call it... that’s the lie I tell myself.

The reality of my Anxiety is that it is crippling. It is debilitating. It keeps me so weary and so scared and so hyper vigilant that I can’t ever relax. I can’t ever relax, I can’t ever let go, and I can’t ever feel at peace. I have Anxiety.

I have chronic Depression. I won’t ever refer to it as ‘high functioning depression’, because most days I feel as though I am barely able to function at all. I do function of course... I get up, get dressed, and I soldier on, just l Ike I do with the anxiety. The difference though is that, while I am able to put my Anxiety to use for myself, I can do no such thing with my Depression. There is no good that comes out of the big D. There is no benefit, there is no lesson, there is no silver lining. There is only the long, dark, bitter cold chasm.

I have Anxiety. I have Depression

The First Poem

This afternoon I was going through a box of old letters, cards, and keepsakes; waxing nostalgic, if you will. While going through an old Oreo tin of which has always held to most special of the letters, notes, etc, I came across a folded up piece of paper. I opened the note to find the very first poem that I ever wrote. I wrote this when I was in the 4th grade.

The Devil of Mercy 

I walk alone in the park at night

And the Devil of Mercy enters my sight.

I tremble and shake

As I feel the earth quake,

I’m filled with fright

As I am sucked into the deep, dark night.

The Devil of Mercy has not a care

As to what’s going on, when or where.

He deserves not a passion, but a cage to enclose

Tightly around his body, his shadow, his pose.

He does not live to his name,  it to what he believes

The world should be like, in its fearness and grieves.

I have one thing to say, and it shall be my last...

The fear in the world shall never quite pass.

I was 10 years old.

I asked Jason if he wanted to read the first poem I ever wrote and he said yes.

He read it and then folded it up and handed it back to me and said, “That’s a pretty dark poem sweetie.” I replied, “Yeah, it really is, isn’t it.”

I was 10. 

Finding the Words... Part 1

Dear *******,

There are so many things I’ve wanted to say.
So many memories relived day after day,
So many emotions felt over the years
If I said them all now I would deafen your ears.

You were my first love, so deep and so true,
All my worry and angst you’d eventually undo.
You were the one that opened my eyes,
You held me tight and listened to my cries.

You gave me a book once that helped save my life;
After reading and practice I laid down my strife.
“The Barefoot Doctor’s Guide to the Tao”
Helped me onto a new path, and look at me now.

I knew something that night you kissed me under the stars
The memory has lasted through the all of the scars.
I knew if I fell for you it’d end with me in tears
But I’ve never regretted it, not for all of these years.

Years have passed now; we’ve gone separate ways
But through everything there have been many days
I missed you so much I didn’t know what to do.
There’s a piece deep inside me that never stopped loving you.