I wrote a blog in which I would fully disclosed why I left. I was going to share every single detail. The meeting where I was accused of being unprofessional and not an advocate for students. The confrontation when a director threatened me and my students saw it all. The meeting with a friend/colleague where he wanted to be understood but did not seek to understand me. I was going to share in bright details all the times I hear rumors fabricated by colleagues. How I had to quickly learn to utilize my resources and how I was advised to try to endure and seek for help within the department. Good advice that had the main objective to keep me away from reporting my experience to HR. I wrote a blog about it all. When I finished it I realized that it was oozing with poison. Why I left was not important. Why I wanted to stay was.
I arrived at Oregon State University in 2011 with hope and nervousness in my heart. I was ready to change the world and still unprepared to be changed. I had some amazing times at OSU. I made lifelong friendships, I found an amazing mentor, and I had the privilege to supervise some of the best student leaders. I had a purpose in my role at OSU. Of course there was adversity and every time adversity was at my door I had a support system. My last months at OSU were dark. There were errors made and I was present to pick up my responsibility but it seemed that I was the only present to do that. The students noticed and I wondered what I did wrong. I still wonder what I could have done better. I have identified some of the lessons and I am trying to figure out the rest. I know that there are many speculations of what truly happened and all I can tell you is that it was my time to go and still I wanted to stay.
I wanted to stay because I had a family there. A family that for better or worse had been decreasing in numbers due to the changes in leadership. In the rough times, we had each other's backs. Whether it was a late night dinner, pie shakes, or some good BBQ; I had a friend group that was with me in the hell. I had weekly lunches with an area of RDs that are compassionate and talented. My family at OSU had seen me grow. They cheered for me and in times of adversity we stood strong to be able to keep going. We were in it to win it.
I had a duty to care and guide the student leaders that believe in me and those that trusted me. I had a staff team that was loyal to me and to see them shine was the ultimate reward. One of my favorite memory was in staff training at the community service project. All I remember is a day of exhaustion and dancing to DMX's "Party Up." They inspired me to be the best. They had my "back-pack." I have a favorite memory that involves them all. When life was cruel to me, they would find ways to help me find strength to continue on. I wanted to stay to serve them.
I wanted to stay to be part of the change in a positive manner. At the end of the day, I was loyal to OSU but somewhere along the way I allowed this loyalty outweigh the loyalty to myself. I wanted to stay because of all the favorite memories that were shared in the Finley staff room. I wanted to stay because my team and the Fab 5 had my back everyday. I wanted to stay to see them graduate. I wanted to stay to prove the doubters wrong.
I loved my time there because of the students and colleagues that showed me empathy and love. I learned and grew so much in that place in the valley. I wanted to stay because I believed things would get better and they will...but I am not going to be part of it and I am not going to see it and that is okay.
My truth is that at the end I was being pushed out. My last weeks at OSU were filled with fear and I had zero trust in the leadership so I made the decision to leave before the harm destroyed me.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
#RAWarrior
When I was 8 years old I lost my grandmother to diabetes and other complications brought on by this horrible disease. At the time I did not know what diabetes was and the history in my family. All I knew was that this disease took my beloved grandmother. In 2009, diabetes took my maternal grandmother. Later it took an uncle and an aunt. Diabetes runs in my family. Thankfully, my mother and father have not been affected by this disease and even now they are diabetes-free. As I grew older and having become an aunt, I always thought to myself and somewhat hoped that I would be the one to be diagnosed with diabetes as long as my niece and nephews could live their lives diabetes-free. In my mind, I would rather carry all the pain for them. I want them to live a life fill with energy and freedom. I have witnessed how this disease sucks the life out of you and entraps you a little bit everyday. I, for the longest time, viewed myself as extremely lucky in my short life I have accomplished so much. So I always thought it was the least I can do. Carry the pain of those that I love so that they can live a more fulfilling life. Little did I know that I have always carried the pain.
The notion of being superwoman has demolish in front of me. Last October, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. An autoimmune disease in which your immune system attacks your joints. Yes, my own immune system for some unknown reason is attacking my joints. I am lucky that I got such an early diagnosis. I began showing symptoms in July of 2013, very "subtle" symptoms. By February 2014, I unknowing was having flares every month. I would go to the doctor and try to explain verbally what pain I felt but I just couldn't properly communicate. There were times that I just point to my shoulders and say, "I hurt!" I was frustrated but I kept working and pretended to have a "normal life". I worked hard and at times I hid to people that I was in pain. I was good at it...in the beginning. By May, I was getting tired by 2 pm every day. It did not matter what I did, the exhaustion settle in hard! In August, some of my fingers were swollen and at times I could not grasp a pen or write. I did not tell people hoping that it would get better. My doctor blamed stress but I knew that something was not right. This was beyond stress. At one point, I had convinced myself that I had successfully broken myself. My motto of "work and be happy" had failed me. I worked and became ill.
Later that October, I woke up one day not being able to move my left arm. I went to work for the day and the next day I went to immediate care. When I told all my symptoms to the RN, she immediately ordered blood work. She told me that it might Lupus, Lyme Disease, or Rheumatoid Arthritis. Whatever the case, I remember her looking at me and telling me that she would bring me closer to diagnosis. By mid-October, I was referred to a Rheumatologist. In my first appointment, the doctor looked at me listened to my symptoms and checked my mobility. At this point my hands were only at 60% of mobility. I remember breaking down in his office and just telling him that I want to be better. I did not want to be my old self, I just wanted to be able to walk and being able to sit down and not feel discomfort. Dr. Drew looked at me and told me that, he was going to do just that. He had to order more blood work to make sure that he would not misdiagnosed. By the end of October, he told me that I had RA. We discussed treatment options and he shared his concerns. I asked him if my RA would get worse. He smiled and told me that it wouldn't. He reassured me that things would get better. I got my marching orders and went on with my day.
The notion of being superwoman has demolish in front of me. Last October, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. An autoimmune disease in which your immune system attacks your joints. Yes, my own immune system for some unknown reason is attacking my joints. I am lucky that I got such an early diagnosis. I began showing symptoms in July of 2013, very "subtle" symptoms. By February 2014, I unknowing was having flares every month. I would go to the doctor and try to explain verbally what pain I felt but I just couldn't properly communicate. There were times that I just point to my shoulders and say, "I hurt!" I was frustrated but I kept working and pretended to have a "normal life". I worked hard and at times I hid to people that I was in pain. I was good at it...in the beginning. By May, I was getting tired by 2 pm every day. It did not matter what I did, the exhaustion settle in hard! In August, some of my fingers were swollen and at times I could not grasp a pen or write. I did not tell people hoping that it would get better. My doctor blamed stress but I knew that something was not right. This was beyond stress. At one point, I had convinced myself that I had successfully broken myself. My motto of "work and be happy" had failed me. I worked and became ill.
I began to go public with my health troubles; mainly because I couldn't hide it. This came with a mixed of reactions. Some friends (very close friends, in fact) would tell me that it was all in my head and that I needed to relax. This, of course, would hurt and infuriate me. A few friends would be very supportive. They would push me to demand answers from my doctor. One friend told me straight up that I needed to go to a Rheumatologist. At the time, I had no idea what that was and I was also afraid of a diagnosis. I was not ready as dumb as that sounds. I hated the pain but I was so scared of the diagnosis that carried the pain. By September, those around me were worried and I was defeated. I did not know what to do, I was lost. I felt and held on to so much pain. I would feel like a fool for taking so many things for granted. Like being able to walk, sit down, tie my shoes, hold a pen, write, and so on. I, at times, thought that pain was going to be my life. I remember talking to my best friend and telling her that I was going to just give up. I remember telling her, "this is it, my illness wins!" Her response was, "No, you are fighter. You don't give up." At the time, I did not believe her. I was ready to surrender. This same month I had to disclose to my staff what little I knew of my condition. I was not ready for that but I couldn't hide it. When I told them, I was showered with empathy and kindness. This rejuvenated me. One October 8th, I called in sick to work. I woke unable to move. I remember spending the whole morning crying and helpless. That day in the afternoon I receiving a text from an RA saying exactly what I needed. I felt loved.
Later that October, I woke up one day not being able to move my left arm. I went to work for the day and the next day I went to immediate care. When I told all my symptoms to the RN, she immediately ordered blood work. She told me that it might Lupus, Lyme Disease, or Rheumatoid Arthritis. Whatever the case, I remember her looking at me and telling me that she would bring me closer to diagnosis. By mid-October, I was referred to a Rheumatologist. In my first appointment, the doctor looked at me listened to my symptoms and checked my mobility. At this point my hands were only at 60% of mobility. I remember breaking down in his office and just telling him that I want to be better. I did not want to be my old self, I just wanted to be able to walk and being able to sit down and not feel discomfort. Dr. Drew looked at me and told me that, he was going to do just that. He had to order more blood work to make sure that he would not misdiagnosed. By the end of October, he told me that I had RA. We discussed treatment options and he shared his concerns. I asked him if my RA would get worse. He smiled and told me that it wouldn't. He reassured me that things would get better. I got my marching orders and went on with my day.
Here we are 3 months later and I am not at 100% but my pain is manageable. I know that I have limits. Right now, I still feel that I am my condition. I am RA. I am hopeful that one day I will view my condition as a part of me not a definition of myself. I still worry that my treatment will need to change because eventually my body will become resist to the medication. I have yet to get comfortable disclosing my condition. I am sure that when folks see me drop an object or see me bump into an object they label me as clumsy. This is a reminder of the invisibility of RA (and most chronic illnesses) and for now I am in the search of being an activist in this world of RA. Thankfully, I have great allies that support me and check up on me. I send updates on FaceBook mainly to bring awareness and for myself since I know that one day I will an RA warrior; until then I am in repair.
Monday, February 17, 2014
In between two worlds...
I am 29 years old and I am a Chicana and Latina that aspires to pay it forward and pay it back. I will give back to honor the many mentors and teachers that believed in me. To the mentor that would tell me that being Chicana was not going to be an identity that will limit me but the identity that would help me flourish. To the mentor that took me under his wing and made sure I learned valuable lessons about "playing nice" and being advocate. To the teacher and mentor that would remind me day in and day out that my duty was to make sure students were happy at least once a day during their college careers.
One of the most valuable lessons that I have learned in my career journey is that I live in between two worlds. The world that nurtured me and gave me morals and values and the world that taught me about myself. I was born and raised in two different nations that share a border because they have to not because they want to. I live a life in the states and in Mexico. I was viewed as different in both worlds. Too Mexican in one world and not Mexican enough in other world. I live in the world that believes in change and advocacy and I belong to a world of struggle and hard work. Both of these worlds feed my soul and enrich me in so many levels. I stay in the world of change and advocacy because my world of struggle and hard work taught me to be great and fearless. I never feel the need to choose but I always choose to remember the world that raised me. The world where I had the never ending of losing my mother and sisters due the flawed immigration reform. A world were social class created a culture of poverty that would rarely let go of you. A world where the simpler things in life made me happy and where your neighbors were fictive kin.
For a long time, I thought I would have to choose a world. I thought that to leave my world can lead to selling out and now I realize that this is a myth that people have made up when they do not understand your purpose. If anything, I have learned that I can explain with precise detail my upbringing and still people would view it through their lens and imagine that best way they can. When this occurs the only thing that you can do is hope that your storytelling skills painted a picture that made your experience justice. Being in between two worlds, has taught me one thing with certainty: that is that my purpose is rooted in mentorship. I pay it forward and back not because I have to but because I want to.
One of the most valuable lessons that I have learned in my career journey is that I live in between two worlds. The world that nurtured me and gave me morals and values and the world that taught me about myself. I was born and raised in two different nations that share a border because they have to not because they want to. I live a life in the states and in Mexico. I was viewed as different in both worlds. Too Mexican in one world and not Mexican enough in other world. I live in the world that believes in change and advocacy and I belong to a world of struggle and hard work. Both of these worlds feed my soul and enrich me in so many levels. I stay in the world of change and advocacy because my world of struggle and hard work taught me to be great and fearless. I never feel the need to choose but I always choose to remember the world that raised me. The world where I had the never ending of losing my mother and sisters due the flawed immigration reform. A world were social class created a culture of poverty that would rarely let go of you. A world where the simpler things in life made me happy and where your neighbors were fictive kin.
For a long time, I thought I would have to choose a world. I thought that to leave my world can lead to selling out and now I realize that this is a myth that people have made up when they do not understand your purpose. If anything, I have learned that I can explain with precise detail my upbringing and still people would view it through their lens and imagine that best way they can. When this occurs the only thing that you can do is hope that your storytelling skills painted a picture that made your experience justice. Being in between two worlds, has taught me one thing with certainty: that is that my purpose is rooted in mentorship. I pay it forward and back not because I have to but because I want to.
Monday, December 30, 2013
An open letter to any women that has felt ugly or fat.
This is an open letter to any women that has felt ugly or fat.
365 days from today will be the day that I define and find my balance. I am 28 years old and I have felt happiness, sadness, madness, and all the emotions in between. I would not trade the pain for what I have learned in my 28 years. Especially, the lessons of the past 5 years. In the past 5 years, I have become an adult and a proud Chicana and still I have failed to be vulnerable in times that I needed vulnerability and in times that I needed to forgive and heal. I have failed to forgive myself and love myself when I made mistakes or made not-so wise decisions. I have failed to love every single part of me. And even as I write this, I have not learned to extract the word fail from my vocabulary and replace it with "not learned."
For the past 20 years, I have experience and seen the images of what beauty is and how beauty leads to success. I have let those images determine my definition of beauty. I have allowed that definition tell me that I am not beautiful and that I need to change because I am not enough. How can we change something that we hate? And how can that something be you?
As I travel down the road of memories and trying to think how I once did have a system to learn to love all of me and determine my own definition of beauty, I remember the times when I was busy and found a comfort and outlet in working out. I remember I did it to release stress and not to lose weight. I remember losing myself in my thoughts and finding clarity. I remember writing in my journal and finding clarity there too. I remember losing myself in my thoughts by listening to my iPod. All these activities were good for me all around. I, of course, engaged every now and then on emotional eating and happy hours that led to real talk with close friends. Even with those vices, I was closer to defining and finding balance. I was learning to love all the parts of me, even those parts of me that were flawed. I was empowered. I was learning what I now recognize as the search for greatness and not perfection. Perfection was a boring thought that I did not want to associate with. Still I had no words or way to explain what I was defining or searching for.
The truth is I lost myself, I stopped writing. I stopped listening. I stopped working out. I continue to emotionally eat and I actually welcomed back the worse vice of all, smoking. I got lost at the time when I had all the pieces to complete my definition of beauty and balance. I cannot say that I had no idea how it happened because that would be a lie. I allowed myself to get lost. I kept saying that I will eventually find my way back. This was in 2011 and hence it has been close to 3 years, I spent 2 plus years going through the motions and not feeling anything towards balance and beauty. I purposely wore the blindfold that made me an unhappy woman.
Yesterday, as I was on the elliptical I saw someone that I had not seen in almost 3 years. I smiled at that person and said, "welcome back!" Right there and then, I learned that to be able to move forward I need to love myself every day and this might not happened all day but it needs to happen and be FELT every day. As I continue to listen to my iPod and sweated during my workout, I allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts. Thoughts of how much I love my family and friends, of how many wonderful things I am doing in my job and all the other projects I have yet to start, and of thoughts that were consumed with happy moments that I helped create for myself. I was empowered and fearless. I am unsure if I should name this an epiphany since all I did was take off a metaphorical blindfold that I put on.
For the first time in...forever, really, I can say "fuck what the media thinks of what beauty should be," and actually mean it and believe it. I cannot move forward or welcome change until I love every part of me. This includes loving all of it. Today I looked at myself in my mirror for 45 minutes after I took a shower. I did not shy away from looking at all of me. I am not going to lie it was hard at first but I kept telling myself that, "that I was searching for greatness," and slowing I saw beauty. I felt it and I know others saw it. For the first time since I cut my long hair in 1999, I fell in love with my hair. I walked taller. I did not think what outfit should I wear to hide me. I wore clothes as clothes not defining factors of beauty.
I have learned that to be able to move forward I have to take a rest stop and learn to love myself. I am seeking for change but before all that happens, I must first define and find balance and beauty within myself.
365 days from today will be the day that I define and find my balance. I am 28 years old and I have felt happiness, sadness, madness, and all the emotions in between. I would not trade the pain for what I have learned in my 28 years. Especially, the lessons of the past 5 years. In the past 5 years, I have become an adult and a proud Chicana and still I have failed to be vulnerable in times that I needed vulnerability and in times that I needed to forgive and heal. I have failed to forgive myself and love myself when I made mistakes or made not-so wise decisions. I have failed to love every single part of me. And even as I write this, I have not learned to extract the word fail from my vocabulary and replace it with "not learned."
For the past 20 years, I have experience and seen the images of what beauty is and how beauty leads to success. I have let those images determine my definition of beauty. I have allowed that definition tell me that I am not beautiful and that I need to change because I am not enough. How can we change something that we hate? And how can that something be you?
As I travel down the road of memories and trying to think how I once did have a system to learn to love all of me and determine my own definition of beauty, I remember the times when I was busy and found a comfort and outlet in working out. I remember I did it to release stress and not to lose weight. I remember losing myself in my thoughts and finding clarity. I remember writing in my journal and finding clarity there too. I remember losing myself in my thoughts by listening to my iPod. All these activities were good for me all around. I, of course, engaged every now and then on emotional eating and happy hours that led to real talk with close friends. Even with those vices, I was closer to defining and finding balance. I was learning to love all the parts of me, even those parts of me that were flawed. I was empowered. I was learning what I now recognize as the search for greatness and not perfection. Perfection was a boring thought that I did not want to associate with. Still I had no words or way to explain what I was defining or searching for.
The truth is I lost myself, I stopped writing. I stopped listening. I stopped working out. I continue to emotionally eat and I actually welcomed back the worse vice of all, smoking. I got lost at the time when I had all the pieces to complete my definition of beauty and balance. I cannot say that I had no idea how it happened because that would be a lie. I allowed myself to get lost. I kept saying that I will eventually find my way back. This was in 2011 and hence it has been close to 3 years, I spent 2 plus years going through the motions and not feeling anything towards balance and beauty. I purposely wore the blindfold that made me an unhappy woman.
Yesterday, as I was on the elliptical I saw someone that I had not seen in almost 3 years. I smiled at that person and said, "welcome back!" Right there and then, I learned that to be able to move forward I need to love myself every day and this might not happened all day but it needs to happen and be FELT every day. As I continue to listen to my iPod and sweated during my workout, I allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts. Thoughts of how much I love my family and friends, of how many wonderful things I am doing in my job and all the other projects I have yet to start, and of thoughts that were consumed with happy moments that I helped create for myself. I was empowered and fearless. I am unsure if I should name this an epiphany since all I did was take off a metaphorical blindfold that I put on.
For the first time in...forever, really, I can say "fuck what the media thinks of what beauty should be," and actually mean it and believe it. I cannot move forward or welcome change until I love every part of me. This includes loving all of it. Today I looked at myself in my mirror for 45 minutes after I took a shower. I did not shy away from looking at all of me. I am not going to lie it was hard at first but I kept telling myself that, "that I was searching for greatness," and slowing I saw beauty. I felt it and I know others saw it. For the first time since I cut my long hair in 1999, I fell in love with my hair. I walked taller. I did not think what outfit should I wear to hide me. I wore clothes as clothes not defining factors of beauty.
I have learned that to be able to move forward I have to take a rest stop and learn to love myself. I am seeking for change but before all that happens, I must first define and find balance and beauty within myself.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Waiting for a rainbow.
"If you are going through hell, keep going." -Winston Churchill
I love what I do. Although I still hold on to my dream of being a sociology professor, student affairs will always be a passion of mine. I know that this field can be known as filled with rainbows, ice breakers, hugs, fluffy conversations, and team builders. Yet, somewhere in between the hugs and team builders I found mistrust and invalidation. The good intentions have not matched the impact that certain actions have had on me. This place has become dark and I am clouded. "If you are going through hell, keep going," and that is what I am trying to do. I know that there will be better days filled with rainbows.
In a time when I doubt my purpose in this place, I have found that I am not alone in this hell. In times of hardship, we have supported each other. We have inspired to advocate for us and to others. We have not been silenced and we will continue to advocate for each other and ourselves until we are heard. In times of darkness, I have realized who are my friends and who still struggle to deal with their truth, areas of growth, and privilege. As I continue on this path, I am reminded that survival is not what I need to accomplish. I need to flourish and be fruitful.
As I walk through hell, I know that I am not alone and that we must keep going.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Her birthday.
Once upon a time there was a girl that loved her birthday. It was a day when her family allowed her to do whatever she wanted and the perfect excuse to get away with mischief. Her birthday was a perfect day every year. As she grew older many traditions were added to her special day. At first it was the tradition of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and opening of presents at 6:44 pm; the time that she was born. Then came the tradition of Olive Garden dinner where she always ordered the same thing minestrone soup with salad and peach tea. Her friends would buy her a tiara to remind her that she was a princess. Then when she moved away from home she would get her red velvet cake (thanks to her friend, Jenn) and a night filled with yummy beverages and dinner. Her birthday was her favorite day of the year.
Two years ago on her birthday, her grandfather passed on. All she remembers from that day was a pain that she has probably only felt twice in her life. It was as if she had a hole in her chest through where her soul escape. It was a feeling of numbness and endless tears. She was in graduate school a 1,000 miles away and she did not get to say goodbye. All she had was a farewell memory from 2009 and the unfulfilled promise that she would come back to have more talks of wisdom and life. She never went back. She got lost in her world. That year for her birthday she was silent, she did not tell anyone that day about her loss. She did not cry when she told any of her friends the next day. The only time when she felt something other than pain or numbness was when she shared her last moment with her grandfather.
Her last moment with her grandfather was over a bottle of Patron Silver. She had gone to Mexico to say goodbye since she was moving to Missouri for graduate school. Her beloved grandfather asked her to sit down and have a chat with him. He brought out the bottle and started to share with her that he once travel north to be a guest farm worker in the 1950s-60s. She sat there proud in knowing that her abuelo was part of history. As they both sipped tequila and talked. He told her that he knew she was destined for greatness and that he wanted her to be happy and find a companion. "You are too much of a good person to be alone." She nodded and thought of many feminist comebacks to his comment but she didn't say anything. She promised him that she would make him proud and his response was that she already had. Soon she realized that they had finished the bottle. This was her rite of passage as her mother explained to her later that evening. This was her last memory with her grandfather.
She never went back and she did not get to say goodbye. He passed away on February 22, 2011. It was a cold and dark day.
Two birthdays had pass since that day and the feeling of numbness is still there. She hates her birthday. For now it is a day that celebrates death not life. She cannot help to feel that she was cheated. She should have been there but she was not. She wished she would have gone back to share more moments but she never did.
Today is just a reminder that two years ago her grandfather passed away.
Two years ago on her birthday, her grandfather passed on. All she remembers from that day was a pain that she has probably only felt twice in her life. It was as if she had a hole in her chest through where her soul escape. It was a feeling of numbness and endless tears. She was in graduate school a 1,000 miles away and she did not get to say goodbye. All she had was a farewell memory from 2009 and the unfulfilled promise that she would come back to have more talks of wisdom and life. She never went back. She got lost in her world. That year for her birthday she was silent, she did not tell anyone that day about her loss. She did not cry when she told any of her friends the next day. The only time when she felt something other than pain or numbness was when she shared her last moment with her grandfather.
Her last moment with her grandfather was over a bottle of Patron Silver. She had gone to Mexico to say goodbye since she was moving to Missouri for graduate school. Her beloved grandfather asked her to sit down and have a chat with him. He brought out the bottle and started to share with her that he once travel north to be a guest farm worker in the 1950s-60s. She sat there proud in knowing that her abuelo was part of history. As they both sipped tequila and talked. He told her that he knew she was destined for greatness and that he wanted her to be happy and find a companion. "You are too much of a good person to be alone." She nodded and thought of many feminist comebacks to his comment but she didn't say anything. She promised him that she would make him proud and his response was that she already had. Soon she realized that they had finished the bottle. This was her rite of passage as her mother explained to her later that evening. This was her last memory with her grandfather.
She never went back and she did not get to say goodbye. He passed away on February 22, 2011. It was a cold and dark day.
Two birthdays had pass since that day and the feeling of numbness is still there. She hates her birthday. For now it is a day that celebrates death not life. She cannot help to feel that she was cheated. She should have been there but she was not. She wished she would have gone back to share more moments but she never did.
Today is just a reminder that two years ago her grandfather passed away.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Growing Pains,
This is not a home, it is a hiding place. There are days when it feels like a home but there are other times when I hope and try to imagine that there is a silent and open space. There is an entitlement of suffocation here. I miss the place where I felt safe. I miss the place where there were people that cared and that although they did not understand they tried.
This is a blog about remembering please do no mistake it to be a cry for help or a blog about complaints. I just feel that sometimes it is important to just say it or write it, I miss the place and the people that made me feel safe. I hope this does not make it sound as if I am unaware of the wonderful people that are in my life now. There are just some days like today that all I need is a dinner with the posse or a rock band with Jenn and Jess or a place in the bar next to my boo.
Sometimes I just need to remember that these hard times will end and that they are just a kind reminder of the good times ahead and the good times that I have had. Today is that day when the only a few things keep me sane. Cheers to hope and the growing pains...
This is a blog about remembering please do no mistake it to be a cry for help or a blog about complaints. I just feel that sometimes it is important to just say it or write it, I miss the place and the people that made me feel safe. I hope this does not make it sound as if I am unaware of the wonderful people that are in my life now. There are just some days like today that all I need is a dinner with the posse or a rock band with Jenn and Jess or a place in the bar next to my boo.
Sometimes I just need to remember that these hard times will end and that they are just a kind reminder of the good times ahead and the good times that I have had. Today is that day when the only a few things keep me sane. Cheers to hope and the growing pains...
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