Dust Yourself Off

You know what is so heart-lifting at the same time it crushes you so completely?

Heading to the Sage Camp Friday, I sit beside a woman and chatting with her between long periods of silence, as we'd never even seen each other before. All of the sudden, I get a text. I think it's from Jenni as I've been freaking out to her for the past hour and a half. But no. I see my barn's name. It's Terri.

(I keep it as the professional name for possible excuse purposes, if you wanted to know.)

I'm hit with what else I could be doing instead of heading to an unknown location and unknown everything. I could have asked to stay at her place. I could be at home now, alone for my parents would have headed down to the cottage.  I could be getting ready to muck out stalls the next day.

Why is Terri texting me? And here it is, word for word:

"Good luck with your weekend retreat! Hope it goes well!"

 And all I can think of now is how this person who isn't related to me, has no reason to care about where I am or what I'm doing or even how I am doing, does care. While my own flesh and blood don't honestly give a damn to know, and if they did, there would be war. Furthermore, Terri remembered. I talked to her about it all of twice, once two weeks ago, and once the week before that.

I felt lonely and grateful and wanted and hated all at once.

I said something like thanks and told her I was nervous, and she replied with:

"Don't be nervous just be your pleasant polite self!" [sic]

Which makes me a little more confident and happy because she knows what my parents say- pleasant and polite are the last words they'd use to describe me though I try so hard.

It broke me apart and held me together at the same time. Weird how that can happen, huh?

Pieces of the Impossible

I don't think you understand how badly I want to go back there. It feels like a place I belong. But it's so far away. So far, it's impossible to stay.

Part of a dream. A piece of a wish.

Oh, if I could. If I could.

Strength, Comfort

Truth is, since the night I broke, I've been coasting.

Or, that's how I see it. In a way.

You don't know how strong you really are until being strong is the only thing left.

And I haven't really had to be as strong as I've had to be in the past. But I know that this lull, this support, it all can't last.

So do I stand up and be stronger, be more like that person I was when I had to be, so I'm ready for the fall? Or should I enjoy this little comfort for as long as it lasts?

Your Lost Right


You don't get to know where I've been all day.

You don't get to know where I've gone for the night.

You don't get to know how I feel or how I'm holding up, if ever you ask.

You don't get to know.

Because as far as I am concerned, you cut all right to know what's going on when you told me you don't care what goes on anymore.

So yeah.

It's none of your damn business.


I froze until I couldn't feel my ears: 4 

Stalls I mucked: 10
Times I swear I sprained my wrists all over again: 6
Of my candy stash that Paul ate, thinking they were Terri's: 1/2
Allergic reaction to the hay: 1 immediate, 1 delayed.
Pieces of straw blown down my shirt: too many to count.
Times I realized that white boots aren't the greatest to wear while mucking out stalls: 7
Cursed the cold both outwardly and inwardly: 25+
Sank so deep in the snow it went over the tops of my boots (which are quite tall): 3

Paperwork that I got done: 0

+Took a bus I've never taken before in the middle of the dark to a place I didn't know the location of.
+I'm kind of in a lot of pain right now...

Times I got told I'm a life saver: 3
Times I overheard someone telling someone else I was a life saver: 2
Times I got told I was doing a good job: 3
Times I heard "thank you": 10+
Times I smiled: I think I rarely stopped smiling.
People I talked to that I normally wouldn't: 5

+Got to eat pizza with Terri.
+Learned that Terri loves talk shows and Self-Help shows/books.
+Learned more about Terri's family, like how her grandpa used to make computer programs for himself (to do taxes and more) from scratch, even though computers were a new thing when he was 80.
+Got to hang out with Brianna and Gizmo (Terri's and Paul's dogs)
+Slept pretty well for not being in my own bed. Slept better than I often do, actually.

Times I nearly hyperventilated waiting for this weekend: Several times, every day.
Times I nearly backed out: 15+

How glad I am I didn't back out? You can't even imagine.

The best weekend I've had in a long long time.


I hate it when people do things for me because they feel obligated to. Such obligations breed resentment, and I don't want to be a source of that. And I know it's their choice, but don't I get a choice in the matter? Don't I get the choice of whether someone eventually hates me and leaves me, or letting that obligation go and keeping everything together?

It kind of seems, right now, like everything I touch turns into ash.

I don't want to destroy any more ties. I don't want to make those who I care for the most hate me.

Is the answer, then, to keep away? Keep a safe distance? Don't let anyone get too close or know too much?


Only one near-panic attack today.

It's getting better, finally.

I really don't want another panic attack. I don't know if you can even imagine how much I don't want to have another. Not here, not where no one cares and no one knows and no one listens, where there's only people who bring it all about.


Sometimes, even when everything is falling apart around you, and there's a dark thing chasing you through the streets, you just don't want to run anymore. You don't want to hear the noise your shoes make as they pound the pavement. That's when you have to decide what to do- keep running, hide, or stop and face it all.

These Heroic Tales

Do heroes and heroines in novels and movies ever feel this way?

Like it's all too much. And the battle isn't over. But all you want to do is step back, let other people fight it. Or give up entirely.

It's not that you want to give up, per se. It's not that you want the enemy to rule. It's that you just don't want to fight anymore. You're scared, sad, and tired.

Does bravery ever leave them completely? As if a huge gust of wind has gone right through you and pulled everything out, scattering it all like leaves?

When the enemy has the treasure in their grip, what keeps the heroine fighting for it, no matter how impossible the task?

I've never fought any dragons or witches or armies. I don't know these answers.

But maybe I have. Maybe I have fought dragons and witches and armies in a different form.

Maybe heroes and heroines put one step in front of the other, like everyone else.

But I wish I had a real sword and was fighting a real dragon, no matter how big. I imagine it'd be a lot easier than this.

Telling The Silent Truth

Deep Breath.
I know I'm not innocent.

I just know I don't deserve all this.


This is what this family does. We tear each other down with words, and then we ignore with silence that speaks volumes. And then we make it okay with money. We buy expensive gifts, we treat with take out. And all the way, we're digging each other a deeper hole that no one can refuse.

They say that you make your bed and you have to lie in it. But what if, while you're making your bed, someone hands you a blanket laced with spikes? One that you can't refuse, because if you do, they'll terrorize you as you lie in the bed you make?

Is it still your fault? Because you chose the poison that would kill you slowly, rather than the one that would off you right there?


I don't want to be like them. I don't want to turn out this sick way.

They say communication is a two way street. Same with so many other things. But what if one of them barricades both sides? What if they walk down one side, and as you try to say hi, they look past you like you're not even there?

What happens then? And who's fault is it?

What if one person is armed with guns and bombs, can you blame the other for not daring to speak? For not daring to attempt tearing down the barricades? For closing the doors on the street and holing up in the semi-safety of her own domain?


You walk around the house.
Why don't you talk to me?

You pass me in the halls.
Why won't you talk to me?

You ignore me in the kitchen.
Why shouldn't you talk to me?
You hand me my mail.
Why can't you talk to me?

You laugh along with her.
What will it take for you to talk to me?