Lie here with me

Stay here with me.

Don’t leave me lonely.

It’s dark and your skin is warm.

Inviting like the sea.

I love laying here in your arms.

They feel strong.

Like how the wind pushes me toward the sea.

I feel surrounded and lifted off my feet.

Stay with me.

Can we lay together a little bit longer?

You hands are strong.

They tug at my hair strands when I try to go to far.

Heavy is my breathing as I feel you press into me.

You never seem to hear my words.

I say stop and you hear stay.

I beg and pray but you lie this way.

So please stay




Still figuring this out


It’s messy. COMPLICATED. Busy. Unplanned. and Thrilling.

Some days I just want to slow it down and others I want to fast forward though it.

But that’s not how it works is it?

You have to go through the bad to get to the good and eventually after experiencing so much good you start to expect that something bad will eventually happen.

At least that’s what my brain tells me after being happy for “too long”.

The past few months my life has felt like I was perpetually living a series of unfortunate events.

One sad story after the next.

One tear after another.

But then it hit me.

I just wanted to be happy and it seemed like that day was never going to come.

I had turned into a negative Nancy and my skies seemed to always be painted gray.

If you know me you know that that’s not me.

I was lost.

I was no longer feeling myself.

So I decided to choose happiness instead of waiting for something to happen and hoping that I would feel it.

It’s not always easy but I feel more in control of my life. Deciding how I was going to feel didn’t cause my to become less authentic in my emotions and relationships but instead helped show me where this line of negative thinking was coming from.

It was finally time to confront the voices I had been suppressing in myself and do some serious relationship evaluating.

I cut my ties with least the ties of it on my phone. I was checking it way too often and feeling depressed the more I hit like. My life didn’t feel like it was a pretty enough of a picture to be hung on my walls as a post.

My life felt like some 500 piece puzzle that got dug out of storage and had been passed around so pieces were missing and dirty. It felt like no matter how many ways you tried to press the pieces down you know that the proper ones were missing. I was falling deeper into a hole of sadness and my cries seemed to have been falling on death ears.

I felt so alone out here. No friends or family lived near by and the one person who I thought was my friend had just cancelled on watching my daughter at midnight the night before I was supposed to work. The stress was too much for me. I was never supposed to be the single mom.

I had miscalculated my life and somehow ended up with the abusive jerk off who doesn’t give two fucking shits about his beautiful daughter. How could I have made such a life altering mistake.

This is what played in my head on repeat day in and day out after the domestic violence incident. Dan was trying to make me feel isolated and it was working. No financial support from him, no assistance with our daughter’s needs, no ear to lend a listen to my daily struggles. It was me I would come home to and me who would cook and clean. It was me who would get her in the middle of the night and me who would be dropping her off and picking her up from daycare. It was too much.

I tried telling my mom how sad I was feeling but her denial pushed my sadness deeper. Instead of her accepting the way I felt I was instead hit with how I need to stop asking for help and learn how to do it on my own. She didn’t see that I was doing it on my own despite her always saying that to me. She didn’t see that I truly had no one. What was the point of your hurtful words? Was it that you wanted me to feel as hurt as you did when your husband left you?

I put my daughter to sleep that night and thought to myself how many pills will it take to make the pain stop. Would my happiness be at the bottom of the bottle? My heart ached and for a solid 10 minutes my mind was consumed with this being my last night. My daughter will be better off without a mom who isn’t constantly emitting sadness. I lay on the couch sobbing. It wasn’t fair that I had to be the one who got abused, whose entire life got flipped upside down and all my ex does is make fucking YouTube videos.

I won’t deny that the anger still exists within me. I won’t pretend like by choosing happiness that my pictures are somehow prettier now to hang. But I will say that my pictures are happier. I choose to make happy memories and I post those in my heart.

I was considering ending my life and I was pissed when the cops showed up at my house to do a wellness check. I was in the midst of my darkest moment and here they are interrupting my train of thought. Looking back at it now. I am thankful that they did show up. Even though I could 100% tell that they thought this was a waste of time and just wanted to leave. It was a wake up call for me. A call that I need more help than I am willing to admit.

I see a therapist now and it helps. I’m not crazy. I am just a young girl who has been through a lot in a short amount of time. I can’t change what I have been through but what I can change is how I see myself and the things I say to myself. Honestly that has had the biggest positive impact on my mental health.

I choose to be happy because it’s a feeling I want to commit to for the rest of my life.



Holding Back

Don’t post that.

Take that down.

What will they think?

What will they say?

Because of that, they might take your daughter away.

What words are left to say when your last breath has been choked away?

Drowning in frustration.


I’m drowning and no one can even see.

No one can hear me.

I’m suffocating on my own surroundings and everyone just keeps passing by.

And then somehow I manage to pull myself up.

My eye catches a glimmer of the sunlight as I look up and I hope.

I hope.

It’s all I have and somehow it has saved me from drowning.


Should this be the end?

Why do we bother telling our stories? What if no one ever reads our pain, shares in our joy, or is there to help push us through the tough times? Why do I bother keeping up this blog? Maybe it’s because my heart feels more free after telling the universe my story. The story my mother never accepted as true. The story that was written on tear stained pages and slow healing like an old wound. I tell my story because doing so helps life suck a little less.


My head feels like it is going to explode at the thought that my ex-fiancé continues to buy toys and make YouTube videos about them, but doesn’t put any effort into seeing his daughter, providing for her, or making sure she is okay. At this point I am very glad that we are no longer together. Any man that can go through life pretending he never had a child after having been in his child’s life for a year is not a man at all. He is not even a person in my eyes. My heart hurts of course. It’s shattered. I feel at a loss for words but the silence hasn’t helped me. Each day the anger builds and the mere fact that lives another day makes my blood boil.  I have not one good intention for him. I despise his existence. I despise him for what he did to me and our daughter. I hate him for making me believe he was someone he will never and can never be.

Rage has been the only emotion felt by me for the past few months and it has left me feeling depressed and down-trotted. Some days I feel like my life is doomed to this form of suffering forever and other days I wish I would just die. Seems no matter where I look my view has turned a murky gray and the sunshine I once felt in my soul has become a raging ball of flames. I’m not myself. I can admit that. I don’t think I will ever get back to being the person I once was. So sweet and naive I was. That girl is gone and she has been replaced by someone with a looming hidden agenda of pure revenge. I wish it wasn’t this way but some days I feel that the only way my soul will be at peace is if I am the one causing him to choke out his last breath with my bare hands. Because honestly, him being dead is the only viable excuse he has for being absent from his responsibilities as a father. I truly can’t wrap my head around it any other way and frankly at this point in my life I fear no consequence from it. I feel I would be thanked by society for removing a force of pure evil from this world. So yea you could say it’s a pretty dark place I am in right now. I feel crazy some days, like I am literally going nuts. If only you knew the half of it. I never have a break anymore, my emotions feel stranded on two separate islands of thought with no boat to connect the two. I am going in circles trying to find the path I should be taking to move past this horrible wretched experience in my life. I want to move on, I really do but it feels too soon. Most things feel too soon. How do you go from thinking you are going to spend the rest of your life with someone to not knowing who they are anymore. We were two people who were never meant to be but somehow together we made someone who has the absolute most amazing purpose to fulfil in this world. I just wish I could feel happy again instead of just going through the motions of everyday. I wish I didn’t desire evil to be a present constant in his life. I wish he would have just pulled the trigger on himself years ago to save me the pain and abuse. I wish all these things were true but I still want to have my little Oli pops in my life. She deserves a better father and to me he is no longer her father. A father is always there for his daughter no matter what. I am not going to have her suffer because he can’t get his life together. He should have been in jail for what he did to me. I nearly was killed but of course the system never cares are victims of domestic violence, but that is a story for a different day.

I remember

I remember sitting with my back against my headboard. My head hurt. A lot. My face was wet from crying so much. I remember the lights seemed as though they were flickering. I think it was because I was about to blackout. I just kept hitting my head against the back of the headboard faster and harder. Each time I thought maybe I would die if I just hit it a little bit harder. Maybe I would feel better living in the afterlife. Maybe I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore. The pain became numb and my head became dizzy. Just 1 more year living here and I will be free. I can go anywhere and do anything. I won’t have to ever come back. The tears blurred my eyes but the bright lights from my room still came in through the cracks of my eyelids. I got out of bed, shut off the lights, and buried my face in the blankets that kept all of my sorrow.

To Those Nights

To those nights of forgetting a summer’s painful past. Cheers! Everyone else in the room echoed along with us. We did this every year. Celebrating the pain that makes us who we are today instead of trying to forget. But something about last summer couldn’t be forgotten. I can still smell the daisys he bought me. “These are dying hun.” Oh they are? I’m so sorry. You know they were on sale and I thought why not cause you’ve never been too good at keeping things alive. He chuckled. I’ve kept you alive right? Well, you see I’m a grown man and as long as our supply of beer and steak are kept up we tend to be okay. Haha I retorted. We better get going or else we’re going to be late. It was the opening of the Winter’s Tale at the Alvin Ally Theater in downtown Chicago, and we had prime seating tickets. We were heading out the door. Oh wait! I forgot my sweater. Can I meet you at the car? I ran back to his room and that’s when I saw it. Right there. A letter sticking out from his bills with a handwritten address right on it. My mind grew more curious as my heart raced a little. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. My phoned glowed. It was him saying he was ready for me. I tugged at the edge of the letter just enough to make out the name on it. Fiona Heartman from Florence, Italy. Italy? Who does he know from Italy? I snapped a pictured of it and texted back “On my way.”

Curiosity isn’t wrong in a relationship. It’s healthy. It’s how we find out that his favorite color is orange even though no one’s favorite color is ever orange. It’s how I found out his mother is obsessed with collecting cats and cat figurings. And it’s how we found out we shared a love of toasted almond ice cream from Frenchy’s Ice Cream at the park. So when does curiosity become a bad thing? Is it when it’s 2am and you find yourself snopping through his phone while pretending to use the bathroom? Or how about making up some outrageous story about how your computer suddenly hates the internet and you need to use his to submit your work proposal on time or else your boss is going to kill you. Can’t say I’m too proud of using that one.

But how did we get like this? When did conversations get so hard to have? When did we get so hard to be around?

I took a hard gulp and placed my glass back down on the table. “Cheers!” I said again.