Dear reader, I want to share something a bit raw with you.
A year ago I was stuck mentally, physically, and emotionally. So much growth and healing has happened since then, that I hardly recognize the person who wrote such depressing words.
I will be 45 soon, and let me tell you, the 40s are a fucking whirlwind of stupid. I’m not even going to get into that, but the ladies in my life will understand, and I am positive that crazy train is partially responsible for the sad shell of a woman I was just 12 months ago. Don’t get me wrong, the ride is just beginning, but at least I am enjoying it with my increased cynicism and idgaf attitude. With that being said, know, my dear reader, that life will always be a bit insane, and sometimes you just have to put on the straight jacket and go have some fun. My journey is ever evolving, and I am no longer the sad, unsmiling, hermit of a woman I was last year, but I still have some work to do.
The draft below was written in November of ‘24, and it amazes me how much has changed since then:
Stuck In Why…
It’s been a long time since I last wrote anything of substance or depth. I’ve shared a lot through my blog: thoughts, feelings, experiences, morbid, limerick styled poetry (if you can call it that); each post a wave of highs or lows, of good or bad, and everything in between. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to write anything over the past year+, it’s been more of an internal struggle to force myself to take the time needed to sort through my thoughts and actually begin jotting things down. Forcing yourself to write is counterproductive for me. I’ll start. Then I’ll stop. Then start something new. Than stop. The number of unfinished drafts of thoughts are ridiculous at this point, and I need to just type and hit publish. It should be a simple task, but alas, I have my doubts even as I finish this last paragraph.
I can no longer seem to truly live anymore, and if I see it as a problem, I’m certain others can too. It’s one thing when life affects only you, but when it begins to affect others negatively, something must change, and soon. On top of my current mental instabilities there’s also my present state of physical health. At 43 (almost 44) I am in the worst physical shape of my life. For someone who has worked out and maintained some level of fitness most of her existence, I am the heaviest and weakest I have ever been. I am proud to say I have made some changes this past year that have helped tremendously, I am stuck with old knee and back injuries. The knee has improved, but the back. Man, the back is letting me know I am not in my thirties anymore. It’s stupid. But it is something I know I will improve as I continuously work on myself, physically and mentally.
With all that, let me venture back a bit to help me share how someone who once loved and lived life to the fullest has retreated into the reclusive cage she built for herself.
For those who have read my blog, you know the past few years have been quite a journey. A journey through love, abuse, sadness, and healing, which has culminated into my current set of life’s circumstances. With so many pathways to choose from, I feel like I am stuck in the middle of a desert, that no matter which direction I choose, the continuing journey will be more difficult than I can truly understand. Scorching sun in each direction, no promise of water, every creature and plant waiting to inflict pain, freezing cold nights, and no guarantee of reaching sanctuary. So which way do I go? I know that just taking one step in any direction is at least a start, and yet I stand in this one spot, stuck, as if I would rather sink slowly in the quicksand I created that seems to have cemented my feet and my mind.
I have been stuck here a while now. I can see the vast openness of life laid out before me, but I stay. I long to go outside, but I stay. I yearn for love, but I stay. I crave adventure, but I stay. I ache for laughter, but I stay. I thirst for life, yet I stay.
For those who have never experienced this, it’s easy to say, “Just take a step!” Yes. It’s easy to say to myself. I tell myself to just do something, anything, every single day. Yet I remain stuck. Stuck in my mind. Unable to focus. Incapable of motivating my body, let alone my betraying brain, to just do what I want it to do. I hope that getting some of this randomness written down and out of my head will help, because once it’s out of my head and shared, it’s real. It’s no longer a nightmare trapped inside myself. I’ve mentioned in the past that writing is a type of therapy for me. There’s a reason why those who seek counseling or any type of self help are told to keep a journal and write something everyday. Even just a blurb of randomness scratched into paper is beneficial.
So I will try scratching on this electronic piece of paper I call a blog. I will try. And I apologize for the drifts. Like riding the waves of my life, the troughs sometimes blind me from the point I am trying to reach, but the crests will bring it back around for clarity. Please bear with me. The hard part first, then I’ll get to the harder part.
My sister passed away a year ago October, and although it wasn’t a shock, it was still a shock. I have only lost one other person in my life with whom I was close to, and that was my grandmother in 2008. Her passing feels like a lifetime ago, and I still miss her. I wish I was able to spend more time with my grandmother, to ask her questions, to hear her stories. She was a woman who had lived life. Like really lived life. I wish I knew more about her experiences, her travels, everything, but now those stories are lost and out of reach in this life. When something is lost that means it can be found, and I believe once I have passed from this plain of existence, I will be able to ask her all the questions and hear all stories. But for now, I am here, and wishing for things from the past is pointless.
My sister and I were close years and years ago, and it wasn’t until five years ago or so that we became close again. Life has a way of happening and can temporarily sever connections, but only temporarily. I am blessed and truly grateful that she and I reconnected, only to become closer. We shared our sadness, our secrets, our struggles, but we also shared some amazing laughs and when occasionally blessed, all the joy and happiness. My sister, like my grandmother, lived life to the fullest. She was a fighter, and even when life over the past year gave her nothing but sorrow and struggle, she never let it stop her. She was out there. She was in it. She was determined to find happiness and joy and adventure whenever she could. I envied her commitment to life. Everyday, even when she would call me crying and needing to vent, she would still wake up the next day and live. I wish I had her strength. I wish I had that drive. I wish I could get my shit together and just do what needs to be done. No arguing with myself or making deals with myself. Just do the things and stop putting them off until tomorrow, because we don’t know if there will be a tomorrow. My sister just did all the things. Even when her heart and mind were broken, she continued on. She kept going, every single day, until the day she didn’t wake up. Even now it makes me smile thinking she is giving Heaven some sort of hell. She was a force to be reckoned with. She didn’t give a fuck what others thought. She spoke her mind, and she wasn’t afraid to do it. She had a way of drawing some pretty amazing people into her life. She had truly incredible friends in her life. All she ever wanted in life was to be a mom, and she was a mom to everyone’s children. She has two beautiful children who will never truly know how much she loved them. She loved them with all the fierceness that was her, but life kept her from them. Life can be cruel, and I can tell you that life crushed her heart. After the death of one of her closest and best of friends in an accident, life dealt another blow to her heart. Her last year on this earth tested her everyday. Everyday was a battle for her, but still, she continued living. Then recently she lost her job. A job she loved and enjoyed, and she couldn’t find another one. To settle for work as a waitress or something less would have been admitting defeat, and she wasn’t about to do that. Still, she continued living. Until she wasn’t. I miss her so much. I don’t have any regrets. I don’t have any what ifs, and I am content in our final conversations. Every phone call that started with crying, ended with gut wrenching laughter, and I am happy with that. But I’m also a little mad. I am angry that she left me here. Who am I supposed to vent to now? Who am I supposed to share our secrets with? I am now the keeper of those secrets, but who am I supposed to laugh with through all the shit that life throws at me? What the fuck? She was not supposed to leave. If anything, I should have been the one. She was the one who actually lived! So this brings me to the harder part of all this.
Why am I the one who is still here?! She lived! She actually lived!! And here I am, the daughter/sister who hermits herself away from life. The daughter who lives selfishly, who avoids activities, who avoids going anywhere unless she has to, who silently hides feelings deep down in order to present a mask of happiness around others, the daughter who forgot how to live. Don’t get me wrong, I help and do whatever I can for others. I argue with myself to leave the house, even for grocery shopping. Hell! I argue with myself just to go outside and water the plants. I have built my own cage under the false pretenses that it’s safe inside it. I know it isn’t. I know it’s unhealthy. I know that I need to spend time with family and friends. I want to do all the things. I want to go hiking. I want to adventure. I miss all that life has to offer. I miss the closeness and intimacy that comes with friendships and relationships, and yet here I am, inside my cage. Is it fear? I know I enjoy life. I am fully aware that I am not truly living. I am fully aware that keeping everything hidden internally will slowly eat away at my soul, because it has been, and it is more and more visible. I see how it affects me mentally and physically, to the point where I have become truly unhappy with myself. If my sister’s passing has shown me anything, it’s that I am a shell of who I was. I have become a hollow being who changes masks depending on the situation. I know she would scold me for this. If she was here, she would drag my ass out into the world and remind me that living in a cage isn’t truly living at all.
So why me?? Why am I still here? Why did life take away the wrong daughter?? This is where I am stuck, sinking into the quicksand of why her and why me. What the fuck do I do now? Yes! I want to live. Yes! I want to make her proud and show her I can live again. Yes! I want to do all the things. And yet, here I am, in the same fucking spot. I can yell at myself, threaten myself, hear her yell at me, feel her shaking me to get out of this sinkhole of self despair. Because honestly, it’s all mentally self inflicted. I have created this for myself. I have built my own walls. I have built this cage. I can see life happening all around me, and yet, I stay stuck.
Bonnie’s Beach 🏖 