Tag Archives: sadness

Family Drama and the Best Man

Im in Boston or some other huge city trying to avoid my grandparents, Angie, Ashley, and Danny; I have no prob running into Ryan. I seem to recall being in a mall at first, but then it transitions into the city. Architecture and landscaping looks familiar only to me because I’ve been here before in my dreams, but it doesn’t exist in real life. It’s always when I run away from people or am trying to catch up too then I end up here. I remember giving Ryan a hug in the mall and trying to catch up to him while Angie and grandma are combative and present a faux grandur in their confrontation towards me. Ashley and grandpa are paired up together as information exploiters and drama creators; I hold my head high around them with my own air of pride and conceit, but it’s the defense I use so they can’t get me down. 
At some point the dream transitions and I end up being a backseat observer, following the events that unfold before me with no real attachment to the storyline, much like an extra cast in a movie to walk down the street. I remember this guy named Christian watching me dance at the mall (now watch me whip, now watch me nae nae), and he invites me to this wedding as part of a dance party. I love weddings, so sure, I follow him…it turns out Christian was the best man and had to give a speech, but once we’re at the wedding everyone begins to wonder where the bride is. Someone finally receives a text, and the bride decided she’s not showing up. She fled the country and she’s not coming back. The husband, fearing how this not only reflects on him, but worried about the guests who’d all showed up at their own expense for this moment, decided that it is a party and should remain that way, but before people start to enjoy themselves, the best man must now give an impromptu speech at the grooms request in light of circumstances, in order to comfort people and talk about how amazing groom is. It turns out Christian is terrified of public speeches with major anxiety, and now that the events have changed, he has no speech to read off, and he’s in the spot light. He couldn’t get beyond 2 words before choking over himself..

“Uh… I..”

I could hear his thoughts. Christian wanted to say he thought the groom was amazing, but couldn’t. He didn’t know where to start, he didn’t know how to begin it. I’m in the audience hearing his thoughts, hearing what he cannot say, when suddenly something goes horribly wrong. No longer is he figuritey choking on his own words, he’s now doing it in real life. He turns a deep blood red color, collapses on stage, and dies in front of everyone to the horror of the groom. We find out later Christian died from a drug overdose combined with the single glass of alcohol he had consumed at the wedding. It was purely by accident, and the drug was ecstasy, meant to be used as some form of elation to counter the anxiety he was anticipating before going on stage…

Strangely enough, I felt sad for Christian, and it never occurred to me to feel bad for the groom until hindsight kicked in from writing this dream… The groom lost so much more, but all I could feel was sadness for the best man. 

Who Do I Want To Be


Who do I want to be?

The truth is I thought I had it all figured out… Mapped, planned, carefully considered based on “who I am”, but I don’t know who I am anymore, and as a result, I’m uncertain of who I want to be.

I’ve lost my drive for schooling, and with so much in my life going on, I feel unqualified to pursue it, but I still intend to apply because by next year I may have a different perspective.

Who am I? Am I kind because I want people to see me as kind? Am I kind because I’m learning how to be kind?

Who am I? Am I a monster because of how I’ve blindly treated others in my ignorance? Am I blind? Am I ignorant?

Am I sensitive? Yes… This much is true. Thinking that I am somehow blind or ignorant does feel hurtful inside… it doesn’t feel like the guiding sort of pain either… It feels different.

So I am sensitive… Am I fragile? I believe I’m getting to that place. The warrior in me wants to believe that setting myself up for harm gives me the ability to overcome or conquer my weaknesses… But rushing into battles doesn’t respect all of me. Children shouldn’t fight, and the inner child in me I’m 90% certain doesn’t want that…

I labeled myself an over-eater, but I’ve mysteriously lost 25 pounds, and I’m still going… Though I’m sure the anti-anxiety med has something to do with it. With the amount of stress I’ve been under for years perhaps I was just judging myself too harshly without looking at the full story.

I look at how my dad describes me… “You were a very angry child.” Before that I was very insecure, and my grandmother was my source of protection where my mom was lacking… I was a very wounded child. I’m a very wounded adult. I can’t say I don’t want to be wounded because denying my wounds is simply running away in some way shape or form at this point… I want to learn to love myself, and my wounds… I want to feel whole. I am spiritual, and I want to feel spiritually enlightened. I’m a runner, and I want to go back to running…

I’ve done this before, this similar exercise – think of stories that highlight who you are… But shame is a barrier that prevents me from understanding forgiveness… Somehow it’s easier to forgive myself now than it has been in the past, or at least the intensity of hatred isn’t so prevalent… I don’t know… I just don’t know…

Who am I? I feel sad… Lost… I just don’t know…

You’re Not Being Abandoned


To My Younger Self,

The one whose wounded…

The one whose scarred…

The one who’s afraid you’re going to be unloved the whole of your life…

It’s okay. I’m working on us. They aren’t your parents, they aren’t your family, and it’s my job to heal your wounds and let you know that. 

I’m sorry you hurt every time they walk out. I’m sorry it feels like they’re sneaking around you – I promise you they’re not.

Things are getting better, one day at a time, one step at a time. You don’t need to hate yourself for feeling wounded. It’s not your fault you were abandoned and abused. It’s not your fault. It never was and it never will be. 

It’s okay to feel this. You need too. You feel left out because I locked you out, and it hurts every time you see that door… Afraid you’re being locked out, afraid they’re gonna walk out… But you know what? Let them. They have their own lives, and we have our own to work on. We can have fun too. We can talk too. We can be meaningful and do meaningful things. You don’t need their light because it’s only going to mislead you; we need to find our own light and let it shine. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not a child anymore, and you’re now a grown-up… So to my inner child, the one who feels stung, bruised, slapped, kicked, and abandoned… Please… You’re okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. 

Just grieve…

Be that lighthouse. 

Become one within me. 

Breathe. 

Controlling others won’t heal your loss, but grieving will. 

Breathe…. Just breathe. 

A Slave to Control


I’m either an enabler who can’t say anything or a control freak for opening my mouth – that’s how I feel. I feel trapped over the stupidest shit, and in the end I know it’s because I use control to prevent anger outbursts because that’s the defective wall I hide behind versus saying I’m vulnerable, but where’s the room for me to say that in this situation?

It was shaming, blaming, and “no I’m not willing to talk about this” crap. I’m trying to turn it inward and ask myself where the panic comes from, where the emotions come from, and all I know is that my fear of being controlling starts with my mom from raising her children and needing to maintain the household (effectively losing my childhood), and my fear of not being able to speak up and therefor give in to enabling comes from living with my dad. He was so micromanaging that if I spoke up I’d be punished, so shut the fuck up and get it done. I’d ask him why something needs to be done and the answer was to get in my face and retort “because I said so.”

I hate myself for feeling so unbalanced, for feeling the need for control beyond a healthy limit – it mirrors codependency so damn much…. Then the moment I meditate I lose the ability to process the emotion. I do practice “rain” and attempt to re-parent my inner child by talking to my emotions as the were their own entity because in a very real way they are; each emotion is an isolation, a frozen state of time that I haven’t processed. Sadness is my early childhood, anger is my preteen/teen years, and somewhere between they evolve. Touching those emotions is touching a fragment of time and I’m shocked – it’s been 10 years since I’ve lived in a state of obsession under my parents roof, recalling every wrong, replaying every detail, and I walked away from it because I figured out it was hurting me more than it was helping, but damn… This would have been easier to deal with 10 years ago….

I’m speechless within myself, unable to conclude where to end this inner dialogue… Something feels so incomplete and I don’t know what it is.