“The poet and the painter…”

The poet and the painter
Casting shadows on the water/
As the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea/
The do-er and the thinker/
No allowance for the other/
 As the failing light illuminates the mercenary’s creed/
The home fire burning/
The kettle almost boiling/ 
But the master of the house is far away/
The horses stamping/
Their warm breath clouding/
 In the sharp and frosty morning of the day/
And the poet lifts his pen/
While the soldier sheaths his sword 
And the youngest of the family/
Is moving with authority/
Building castles by the sea/
He dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside/
(From “Thick as a Brick” – Jethro Tull)

Love me some Jethro Tull. ❤

Hello, blogosphere.
So, I managed to get back to sleep somewhere between 7:30 and 8:00 this morning. Vega came down at noon for his lunch break and despite a valiant effort to rouse me from my slumber, I kept right on a-sleepin’ until 2:30 this afternoon. Long story short, I didn’t make it out into society to get any writing done, and the most productive thing I’ve done all day has been making a gigantic cup of jasmine green tea and reading endless BuzzFeed articles. It’s 4:22 now and I could happily crawl back into bed and call it a day. Exhausted and sore as hell are the two best descriptors for me today. How are your hump days going, readers? Hopefully y’all have been more  productive than I. I was going to add some self-deprecating humor there about my sloth, but I was allowed by Vega to sleep in on the promise that I wouldn’t feel guilty about it later. So.

Parks and Rec. Are you on Netflix yet? hmm.

…so, here I am now on the couch, dog in lap, tea in hand, Radiohead in background. I feel…out of place today. Kinda weird and very much an unsettling  sensation. I’m also freezing and very excited for Mr. Vega to finish up his work day (half an hour now!) so that we can snuggle on the couch and eat dinner and go to sleep. Back to where I was, where everything hurts and takes way too much effort and I’d really rather just stay in bed with the blinds closed all day. That said, I have Christmas shopping to accomplish still and my tea supply is dwindling; so in that regard, perhaps I’ll drop the bar on my “leaving the house this week” goal and settle for hitting downtown and killing both them birdies with one stone on Sunday, when my final paycheque from Hell – ahem – the Bean is ready for me. Or maybe I’ll be even more realistic and put it off until Monday when my bank will be open. Who am I kidding? Sunday is for tea and pyjamas, even when I’m not feeling all mopey. This week’s a write off. I am just not ready to venture into society just yet. It’s me, tea, and my sketchbook for the next few days, and you know what? I’m alright with that.

I just need a few more days of crying and crappy television. I’ll have this shit handled again soon.

I don’t really know what I logged on here to say. You’re all painfully aware by now of where I’m at right now, and I have no brilliant revelations to share with you. I think I’m just trying to keep my brain busy – two days from now is the anniversary of the worst night of my fucking life, and I wouldn’t call it a hasty conclusion to decide that the sleep fuckery, the upset stomach, the general malaise are all psychosomatic symptoms. The brain is a funny little machine that way – despite my knowledge of the opposite, I still maintain to myself that I’ve dealt with all of this. I think what’s hurting me the most right now; what truly is fuelling this depressive episode is the acceptance that at the end of the day, I am still very much a wounded soul. I pride myself on my sunny disposition, my unrelenting optimism…and here I am, struggling to hold on to the frayed ends of the proverbial rope. I want to feel strong again, want to feel powerful and integral and worthwhile. The irony is that Vega makes me feel all of those things; however, being unemployed (again) makes me start in on my faults and shortcomings and I manage to convince myself that he’s wrong for making me feel any of those good things and that he’ll realize it one day and evaporate from my life, too. That’s literally the precise train of thought I grapple with multiple times every day. I suppose it’s time for me to eat some of my own humble pie though, and take my own advice. Every time I’ve ever felt this way in my life, good things have come of it. I’m too blah to remember that feeling right now, but I know that it’s the natural progression of things. Self-care first, though, and for the time being, that means not thinking as much as I’d like to and more TEA.

 

Truth.

 

Anyways, I’m dying for a cigarette, so for now,

Wallace, out.

“The high road, not ’cause of the drugs we take; but the memories we keep and the friends we make.”

Happy Tuesday, blogoverse.

I hope y’all had fantastic long weekends and are attacking this week well rested and ready to kick some ass.

I’m having a rough morning. No, not because of the fact that I’ve been awake since 5:06 am. I got word through Facebook that yet another friend of mine has been ripped from the earth far too young. I don’t know what exactly happened as of yet (it’s still to early for any of my friends to be awake, let alone answering texts), but I know that the grey, drizzly weather matches my cold and dreary mood just perfectly. Not sure how exactly I’m going to get through this shift without letting the carefully crafted façade of impenetrable pleasantness I’ve put up for myself crack. I feel like a superheated glass fresh out of a too-hot washing machine-whole, but with the very real potential to splinter into a million little pieces if anybody so much as looks at me the wrong way. It’s going to be a long eight hours of smiling-I’m pulling deep from the depths of my acting skills today already.

I’m sitting on the bus now on my way to the aforementioned long ass shift. I feel removed from it all, like I’m the narrator in the story of my life. People watching – there’s a Canada Post delivery person, some construction workers, a keen high school student. It’s not enough to distract me this morning. I keep letting my mind wander to the how’s and the whys of my friend being dead.

It sounds so cold when I say it like that. The truth actually hurts to verbalize. This is the tenth time in two years that I’m saying goodbye for the last time to someone who deserves life more than I do.

Anyways, it’s my stop up next.
For now,

Wallace out.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to kill a man, with your bare hands?” (Or, “In The Fifth, Your Ass Goes Down.”)

Miss Wallace is in a hella strange headspace today. I’m feeling a bit like Butch, realizing that Fabienne forgot the damn watch on the bedside table, still in its place on the little kangaroo’s tail. There is so much forward motion in my life right now; and yet, so many little things from my past are tonight rearing their ugly heads. Sometimes I wish I had the capacity to flip a switch and stop fucking caring. Then again, I guess it’s nice to be reminded that I’m human, too.

I get commended all the time for being strong; for being level headed and capable of being the logical one in an argument. Granted, I do see this side of myself; I see the power I have over myself and over others with my ability to take control and walk through shitty situations with my head held high (coffee in one hand, smoke in the other, natch), where I’ve seen others in similar situations crumple and fold to the circumstances that may be.

(I should preface the rest of this post by stating that I’m not being arrogant here; it’s confidence speaking. Arrogance is being cocky enough to make the claim I just did without proof of being capable. I’m capable; therefore, not arrogant. Truthfully confident.)

But I digress, and seem a bit of a hypocrite here in stating that today, my confidence is at zero. Most days, whatever drama or bullshit circumstance I’m going through, I can look myself in the eye in the mirror and see a strong woman staring back at me. A woman with a fire in her eyes, a killer’s instinct, and the heart of a lion. Today, I saw the shadows of who I used to be staring at me as I brushed my teeth. I used to be weak, scared, broken, timid, afraid of the world. The look in my eyes this morning terrified me. Sarge had made breakfast, so I shook my head at my reflection, smacked myself across the face, and trudged down the stairs to nosh on eggs and bacon.

Trudging down the stairs in the morning is never something I truly enjoy (I swear, I am only 1/2 a human until I have coffee in my system), but this morning, it sucked three times as much because my damn joints were acting up again. I have lupus, and I’m apparently having a hell of a flare. My hands, my wrists, my ankles are all swollen to double their usual size, and I’m hurting hard. After breakfast and coffee (both of which are incredibly difficult when you can’t hold a fork or a mug without massive amounts of pain), I downed more Advil than is reccomended, and passed the fuck out until 4 in the afternoon. I woke up in a lovely cuddle puddle complete with Wonderpup, Boo and Sarge gently prodding me (get your minds out the gutter, we aren’t that kinky over here. Just cuddles and jostling me awake nicely), as it was time to drink a pot of coffee and move Boo in, officially. I protested for like 30 seconds and then saw that I had a few texts from Vega and I smelled fresh Folgers, so I pulled some yoga pants on, ran a brush through my hair, and popped more Advil, feeling slightly more human and much, much more well rested. Three massive cups of coffee and some much-needed roommate-induced giggles later, I was ready to be useful.

We all piled into Sarge’s truck and headed down to Boo’s crib, to liberate her things from a house that was; simply, not up to a standard I think she deserves to be living in. Her ex roomie is kind of a loser, just a guy floating along through life (not really living it), and two dogs that aren’t at all trained and three cats and stuff everywhere and just general grossness; not at ALL like Boo, and not at all a comfortable place to spend mass amounts of time. In fact, it reminds me exactly of the old flop house I used to spend 99% of my time in when I was with the KFP. We’ll discuss that place in further detail at another time, but every time I walk into Boo’s old place I have a mini-flashback to 2009. The smell of weed and dog shit, the random greasy chicks on the couch, the air of general chaos…I can practically see myself 4 years ago; the girl on the couch, sitting a little too close to the nammeless guy on the left, playing video games blitzed out of my tree. It puts a lot in perspective, coming into a place like that on such different pretenses. Consider that the first mindfuck I have had out here in New Brunswick. It was such a bizarre moment.

We got all Boo’s stuff together and loaded into the truck, then headed back to home base to unload and have some room mate time. Sarge has been in a funk all day, and he was kinda grumpy when we got home, so I helped him whip the mattress up the stairs (after a rather British-sketch-comedyesque moment where we could NOT fit the damn box spring up the damn stairwell (anybody looking to buy a next-to-new queen sized box spring, let me know haha), then settled into the kitchen to make a truly delicious dinner. Cooking is my happiest alone time next to writing. There’s something so stress relieving to me about chopping and mincing and watching dishes come together in solitude; nothing but me, music, and food. I don’t think I even enjoy eating as much as I do cooking, and I love to eat.

While I was whipping up dinner, Boo and Sarge headed out to the liquor store with my debit card to pick up vodka, beer, and three bottles of wine. We all felt the stress of the week bearing down on our shoulders and needed some libations to go with eats. 45 minutes later, I had the plates ready and they had wine poured and Pulp Fiction queued up. They knew I was having bad-headspace-day type issues, and it made me smile that they chose my favorite flick to go with healing roommate time. So off went the lights, down the hatch went the wine, and on went the film.

I was really not expecting Pulp Fiction to get the rise out of me that it did tonight, as it is still my favorite (moreso after this evening, I think) and usually makes me feel better. However; this evening, I felt like I saw an entirely different side of the film. Normally, I give the movie ultimate kudos for the stellar acting and the fabulous script; however, tonight I feel that I appreciated the characters on an entirely different level than I ever have before. I don’t think Tarantino gets enough credit for the amount of thought he put into each and every single stinking round character in the film. They’re all flawed and beautiful, and they all remind me in some aspect of myself. I was sad by the halfway point in the movie for the simple fact that watching the Jack Rabbit Slim’s scene made me miss my Vega viscerally. I’m missing him something fierce tonight.

That said, Butch is the character who got under my skin tonight. (For those who don’t know, Butch is played by Bruce Willis, and he’s a boxer who makes a deal with mob boss Marcellus to go down in the fifth round of a fixed fight. He instead beats the opponent to death, then through a very twisted chain of events, ends up leaving town on a huge warning never to come back and a truce.) There is a certain amount of kindred spiritship I feel I share with Butch. I have watched myself make so many deals with so many devils that I haven’t been able to honor in full due to personal conviction. “In the fifth, your ass goes down,” and my ass..well. It doesn’t go down without a fight; much like Butch. He also has a key scene where a treasured posession is forgotten by his girlfriend the morning they are to flee LA. Granted, I’ve never had others do my flee-packing, but there are certain things I simply refuse to leave behind. I don’t have a pocket watch, but I have literally put myself in danger to retrieve my grandfather’s scarf and the picture of my dad from when he was my age. There are pieces of me literally all over this damn country. I too have up and left in search of brighter futures dozens and dozens of times (granted, I’ve never gotten to do so on a badass chopper. Zed ain’t been dead enough in my life for me to get to do so haha).

I think that’s in large part where my funky mood is coming from today. I’m by no means sitting here regretting a single thing I have been through or done or walked through in this lifetime. I regret nothing; as my mistakes have made me wiser, stronger, harder than 99% of the people I know in this world. I’m proud of who I am; however, in getting here, I have had to leave a lot of things behind rather abruptly, both material and emotional. The material things suck. There’s a lot of money that’s been spent and a few really cool items that I miss sometimes; however, they’re just things, and things, I can learn to get over. What hurts, what breaks me down sometimes, are the emotional ties that I’ve had to sever over the years. Even the people who hurt me the most..I miss them sometimes. They weren’t all bad all the time; and I suppose, I have some seriously repressed feelings coming up now that I’m in a sasfe place where I can finally sit and think. When you live your life in a paradigm of abuse; particularly emotional abuse, you learn to squelch all the fear and the sadness and the hatred and the anger down into a little ball in your soul. It takes strength to leave that paradigm, and me personally, I’m starting to see that for a long time, I pretended that those things didn’t exist. I suppose it’s like the steps of grieving, I’ve passed denial, and now I’m onto despair; feeling the things I’ve shoved down so long.

Truth is, I’m terrified. I’m afraid of feeling these things for so many arbitrary reasons. I’m afraid of the possibility of pushing Sarge, Boo and Vega away; however, I have to smile when I realize that they already know my story, and they’re here to help me put myself together, each in their own amazing way. I’m afraid of the ghosts of my past hurting me again; however, I feel powerful for the first time in my life knowing that I have finally landed in a truly safe place that I’ve worked my ASS off to get to. And I’m most afraid that I will crack in admitting to myself that I FEEL all these things; however, I am truly just being ridiculous if I allow myself to believe that. It doesn’t make me weak to be feeling these things. It makes me strong as hell to be facing them head on and releasing them from my life.

I can’t lie and say that it’s fun–it’s soul-sucking some days (today being a prime example), but then, I sit down in front of my netbook, and I begin to pour out my heart in a blog post, this one, that you are now reading. I begin and I never know where the hell I’m going to end. I just sit and I write. Tonight, I got barely 500 words in and I hit a fucking wall. So I got up, made tea, had a cigarette, and sat back down after some lovely words from my Vega were texted to me. Here we are, 1500 words later, my smile restored and the fierce woman I know myself to be back in the mirror. I just washed my hands after spilling magical tea all over myself (I’m clutzy by nature. Sue me), and I was elated to see myself once again in the mirror.

I am no less a force to be reckoned with on my bad days. I’m probably moreso one for the simple fact that I refuse to let my ass go down in the fifth. and through my own ritual and remedy, I didn’t tonight.

I am also beyond grateful for Sarge, for being my best friend, for putting my life in perspective when I can’t do it for myself. For fighting to protect me, to remove me from the toxicity I used to live in, for reminding me that my life is worth living and I am a person worth having around. I love you, Sarge. You’re the best best friend anybody could ever have, and I am so lucky that you’re MY best friend. I am beyond happy to be here living in your house, and I am so excited that you, Boo and I are making it our home, slowly but surely, day after day.

I am beyond grateful for Boo, my newest addition to the best friend roster, who has shown me kindness and understanding and warmth where so many others have written me off and tossed me aside. I am so lucky to have her around, to have her as my friend, my roommate, my family after everything we’ve been through. Love you too, Boo. And I love having you around.

And Vega, my leading man. I am the fucking luckiest woman in the world to be in love with someone as incredible as the man I am so head over heels in love with. He and I have been having some unbelievable conversations lately, and I have truly never in my life trusted a boyfriend as much as I trust him. I don’t even feel right calling him a boyfriend, because he is so much more than that to me. He’s my soulmate; my other half, and I swear that my life will simply be incomplete from here on out if he ceases to be a part of it. There is so much I used to filter of myself in relationships prior; with him, I am brutally and totally Mia Wallace. He’s not afraid or running away from the ugliest parts of me; and he’s unbelievably proud and grateful for the beautiful ones. He makes me feel like the prize. Like in having me as his woman, he’s won at life; and I feel exactly the same. I’m not sure how I managed to fascinate this brilliant, unbelievably well-rounded, handsome, crazy, adventurous, perfect (and did I mention SEXY AS HELL) man enough to be in such a meaningful, intimate, powerful, emotionally raw relationship. He is unbelievable, and it is so crazy, so unbelievably AMAZING to me how in love I am with him, and he with me. We’re 20 days away from seeing each other again, and I’m not sure I can express to you, readers, how excited I am to see my Vega again. We talk practically all day, every day (the wonders of text and Skype! Yay 21st century!), and as much as the distance is brutal and difficult and really, really, shitty; it’s been license to the most unbelievable courtship that anybody’s ever been a part of (and the craziest foreplay, my god will sparks fly when he gets my ass naked in 3 weeks). There’s really no words here besides I love you, Vega. And I am beyond grateful that you’re mine; and I will be yours, forever.

I can say with a big smile on my face that I am grateful for this blog, too. I am grateful for the release I get in typing unrestrained. I am grsateful for the peace I feel when I get to the end of a post and my head is once again still. And I am grateful for you, my readers. Even if you hate me, I shared a part of what and who I am with you in your attention to my words. If you hate me, you mean nothing to me, except inspiring me to work harder so I can be even better than you than I am in this instant (haha! I’d hate me too if I were you, Swizz…), and if you don’t, well, I am humbled that you think I’m worth the probably 13 minutes it took you to read this.

I have somehow landed in this crazy, awesome paradigm on my feet and mainly unscathed. And in this instant, I am looking around with fresh eyes, and I am proud, happy, and brimming with excitement.

I leave you tonight with my all-time favorite words from one of my all time favorite writers, and the sincere hope that each and every one of you finds the satisfaction in life that I am feeling this evening.

Wallace, out.

“How Is Your Heart?” (Charles Bukowski)

During my worst times
On the park benches
In the jails
Or living with
Whores
I always had this certain
Contentment-
I wouldn’t call it
Happiness-
It was more of an inner
Balance
That settled for
Whatever was occurring
And it helped in the
Factories
And when relationships
Went wrong
With the
Girls.
It helped
Through the
Wars and the
Hangovers
The back alley fights
The
Hospitals.
To awaken in a cheap room
In a strange city and
Pull up the shade-
This was the craziest kind of
Contentment

And to walk across the floor
To an old dresser with a
Cracked mirror-
See myself, ugly,
Grinning at it all.
What matters most is
How well you
Walk through the
Fire.

Finding My Way To Say “Fuck You,” Politely (or, the Magical Healing Powers of Love, Food, and Tea).

Today has been a very, very trying one; however, I think these days (as much as they make me want to shoot myself in the face) are necessary sometimes to point out to oneself how far you have truly come. I’m definitely my own worst critic, and it’s hard sometimes to see how much I have evolved (by the skin of my damn teeth, but hell, I’m still breathing, kicking, and screaming). Before I get into this post, I’m going to excuse myself for a cigarette (I promise, these are next to go. My cardio is already pretty stellar, I can’t wait to see what I will be able to accomplish without the cancer sticks) and to make a cup of tea. Tea has magical healing powers. But more on that when I return.

Alright, I’ve made it back to my favorite spot in the house (comfy couch, documentary about rap on the TV for white noise, tea a-steepin’) and I’m ready to pour my little heart out. It’s crazy the comfort I take in this; my ritual for calming my soul hasn’t changed in YEARS. I’ve been keeping a journal in some way shape or form since I was 7, and though the medium has changed, the effect is the same. Small comforts. Large rewards.

Anyways.

Totally slept the fuck in this morning. Awoken by the Sarge at 11:00 (he’s on a course this week to get certified in military radioing technique, he says whatever, I say BADASS) with a big smile and a bigger hug, then tromped down the stairs still half asleep and starving.

The eggo waffles in the freezer were calling my name; however, I have made a pact with myself to be different this year, it’s my BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal–goals are achievable; resolutions, bullshit. So. I’m attaining, not bullshitting.), so I took the 8 minutes and made a delicious scrambled egg, veggie, spinach and bacon (god I love a diet that allows me bacon) breakfast of champs, and mowed down with Sarge over a few episodes of Scrubs and some silly conversation. He left for course at 1300 hours, and I set off cleaning the dishes and chatting with Boo on Facebook. Boo is an interesting character. She reminds me of myself a few years ago, in getting to know her. She’s actually had a hella tough life, and I believe she may be afraid to allow herself to be more than intimidated by the world; thus, she allows herself to be less than who she is. We’re going for a coffee tomorrow afternoon, and I am actually genuinely looking forward to it. Go the fuck figure; I really should always take my own advice and not be so damn quick to judge sometimes.

After the rant I posted this afternoon, I had finally awoken enough to be ready to kill a workout, so I got changed into my favorite Lululemon workout clothes (seriously, the Gather and Grow crop pant + the 50-Rep Bra are my happy gear. I feel like wonderwoman in my grey and pink Lurex blend, and yes; while they are pricey, they are worth every cent. I’ve had this set for more than a year now, and they have not pilled, and get softer with each wear. True love, me and Lulu.), and then Sarge got home, so I helped him shave his head, and then headed into the basement (Pit of Fit) for a lower body HIIT circuit from hell, plus a half hour (15 min pre- and 15 min post-workout) of glorious and much needed stretching.

After the workout, I ascended the stairs (slowly and painfully; I did a LOT of weighted squats and lunges and my DOMS right now…ouch) to cook a 100% paleo dinner for us all. Mater and Sarge got us coconut oil for cooking meat and fresh veggies, and I had prepped some yummy chicken to be stir fried. Before I even got to slicing the mushrooms up, I got a call from a blocked number…

…It was my dad. For the first damn time in years. He called to inform me that like it or not, his dumbass and my idiot fucking mother will be flying cross country tomorrow to land upon my doorstep. I informed them that I have absolutely no interest in seeing them, and that they are unbelievably childish and disrespectful for disregarding my request for space.

My dad went on one of his infamous know-it-all tirades about how much “help” i need and how “lost” i am and how shitty a daughter I am and blah motherfucking blah de blah, and I (once again) lost it and hung up on him after yelling into the phone that I will (and I seriously fucking mean this) call the police on their asses for tresspassing if they so much as jiggle my doorknob. I live in government subsidized military housing, 5 minutes away from base. Come at me assholes; you have nothing, I am in the safest possible place. Regardless, I was shaking and shaken after the call. I excused myself for a cigarette and called my Vega in ugly nasty tears (Vega; I am so, so sorry about that call. Your voice calmed me so much more than you’ll ever know. I love you and I’m sorry that it hurt you to hear me in that state.), then Sarge gave me a massive fucking hug, and I went about cooking the aforementioned healthy yummy meal. Cooking is food for my soul. By the time I’d sweated the onions and added the garlic, my breathing had regulated.

A side note. This in and of itself was a massive turning point and the previously mentioned life-changing breakthrough. My ED issues stem from my parents, and the girl I was before would have said fuck the health food, let’s order pizza. The WOMAN I have become is not allowing ANY one or ANY thing to stand in the way of my goals, and I managed to make a healthy choice and NOT RELAPSE!!!!! I am exceedingly proud of this. Even in the dark moment I was having, that gave me hope. So. Much. Hope. I AM changing myself and my life. From my diet to my exercise to my friends to the new love I share with Vega…I am finally shifting, not just awaiting one.

Anyways.

I hoovered a plate of chicken stir fry and amazing salad (I was really forcing it, but I did it anyways), and then a big bowl of Paleo friendly not-icecream (which I prepped last night, turned out amazing, and was sooooooo yummy and high in n-3’s and antioxidants and magical food-healing power). Then Swizz and Sarge watched a movie (they knew I needed alone time), and I ended up having a very tear-filled, hate-filled, anger-filled conversation (I am hereby making it my last, as much as it makes me sad to admit) with my Father, which once again made me shaky and sad and freaky-mad, so I pumped some tunes and did the dishes (once again, the thought definitely crossed my mind to purge; however, I want to kill Ana/Mia in my life for good), then gave Sarge a big hug, then headed to the Pit of Fit for workout round two.

Anger is the best fuel with which to push oneself in a workout. I decided that instead of relapsing or killing the next person I saw, I was going to work all my major benchmark exercises to failure and listen to some serious Ghetto noise.

I amazed myself.

650 sit ups to Eminem (“Puke,” “Superman”) and Cormega (“The Saga (Remix)”)
25 Military, 15 Tricep, 12 Spider Man Push-Ups to Dr. Dre (“What’s The Difference (ft. Blu Cantrell)”)
325 Jumping Jacks to Jay-Z (“Can I Get A…”)
250 Walking Lunges/Leg to DMX (“Ruffriders Anthem”)
10 Sets/10 Reps/Arm Bicep Curl to The Game (“My Life”)

Then Sarge came down and made me stop. He was worried about me, and I was spent. So I stopped, and rode a wicked endorphin high while talking to my best friend. As always, his words are ringing in my head still, stilling my fears and comforting my poor, hurt soul.

“Mia, you gotta STOP. Cut them off. They don’t bring you any good, just pain. I’ve never seen you cry or hurt so much, and it’s exactly what I brought you here to STOP in your life. Leave the 403 in the 403; all of it, Sunshine, KFP, your parents. So they come here tomorrow. Don’t answer. I’m 5 minutes away on course at base. You are safe here, I promise you. Tomorrow, we BOTH start being better. You’re already helping me so much, eating better, and I am so proud of you for not allowing your demons to win. Let’s make this our year, okay? Dry your tears. Give me a hug. Breathe. I love you, best friend. Your Vega loves you. Nobody here is out to get you; rather, we’ve got your back and we want to see you succeed. Now go shower, you stink.”
Then we hugged it out, and I did what he said, and took a shower and though I thought I had to, I couldn’t cry. He’s right.

Tomorrow I plan to sleep though my idiot parents’ visit. They want to disregard my requests and waste their money on a visit that is simply not going to happen? Ok. Not my dime. Not my problem. They had no hand in bringing me here, or in me getting to this point in my life. And they will have absolutely no involvement in my life from here on out. I am saddened by this, honestly. I had been making such a prudent attempt..but that is exactly what is wrong here. I had. Not them. They keep doing exactly what pushed me away for so long. So fuck them.

There’s a quote from my favorite foreign film, Amelie, that rings true in my head about all of this:

“Quand le doigt montre le ciel, seulement l`ìmbecile regarde le doigt.“ (Translation: “When a finger is pointing towards the sky, only the idiot looks at the finger.”)

I am not an idiot, and I take risks because I am unafraid of the sky; rather, I want the sky, and the stars and the moon and the universe. I have such a beautiful life ahead of me filled with my family of friends, and the lovde of my life, and mistakes and triumphs and Paleo and adventures and travels…That, to me, is looking to the sky. If they are so stupid as to be unable to see or want to be a part of that (I GAVE THEM THE DAMN CHANCE! No more.)…

Well, I guess they are always going to be looking at the finger. My well-manicured, middle one.

Also, apparently Swizz isn’t who I thought she was. She was apparently offended that I reacted so strongly over my parents. I haven’t found a way to say fuck you politely yet besides in action, so I intend to continue ACTING on my happiness.

I intend to move forward with purpose, dignity, humanity, emotion, and pride. If that is offensive to you, well..fuck you too.

I am so truly grateful for my Vega love. He is such a beacon of light in the darkness I still have in my life. it is still so new to me to be with a man who so truly loves and values me for me; whether I am at my shining best or my truly ugly worst. Regardless of what happens from here on out in my life, I have something so much more valuable and beautiful and worthwhile to exist for–a beautiful future with the man I love. I don’t expect him to fix me. But he is helping me so much to rebuild the broken pieces of myself, and for that, I love the man more than words can say. As I sit here texting him and pouring my soul into this blog, I have a ridiculously huge smile across my face because I have a beautiful, long, happy life to look forward to with this perfect for me man firmly at my side. I don’t need to keep my demons around anymore. And they are truly looking at the finger for choosing not to be (and not welcome to be, anymore) a part of this gorgeous story we’re starting to write.

Vega, I adore you. And I can’t wait to wake up every single fucking day, to nurture my body and heal my soul, to live every moment to the absolute fullest and to have the best life together. I’m scared. I really am. My life has been a series of heartbreaks and disappointments and being reduced to new lows…

But, in a weird way, this whole end with my parents opens me up to trusting this fresh start in my life, particularly with Vega, even more. They are the two people who are supposed to want to be there for me, and they don’t. They don’t even know me.

Vega?

Well, he has no obligation to want to help put me back together, or to love me like no other. But the ugly tear filled phone call proved to me that he does care. He’s 4000 km away, and he knows me better than my own parents do after 22 years of my life.

Tomorrow will be difficult. This is a fact. A BIG part of me wants to open the door and pretend this never happened and open myself up to more empty promises and guilt-ridden lies.

I will be stronger than that. In closing the door on my past, I am opening a window to my bright new future.

I’m going to go make some more tea, and revel in the new found strength I am starting to see glimpses of through the broken, wounded pieces of myself.

More tomorrow, I’m sure. There is always more.

Wallace out.