Semi Colon ;

Please let me say this now, in no way do I mean to hurt anyone’s feelings or make light of your own personal struggles or mental health issues. This is my story. I just feel that if things don’t get said no one hears the dialog and things just stay the same.

I grew up with a parent who was disabled by her mental illness. I was teased by peers because my Mom was weird. Kids were often mean and let’s be honest didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand. I struggle with my own sense of worth because of how I was raised. It is a daily struggle for me to believe that people like me and in spite of myself it is true. The World right now is in an uproar about suicide and mental health but I am not sure the World really knows how fucking hard it is to let someone into your suffering. Everybody has the answer the day after. No one likes to be held at arms length to be judged. Some times that is the reoccurring theme of a person living with depression, judgement. Do you know how many times I have heard in my lifetime that my mother was faking her mental illness just for the attention.  The words of disbelief from people because they were under the false assumption that my mother had her shit together but was putting on a show.

If I concentrate and close my eyes I can still see my mother’s tear stained face. I can feel her anguish. I am unable to help. She doesn’t want to be sad but she doesn’t know how not to be. It is not about the things you have in your life. It is that you are in your life. You are convinced that everything would just be better if you went away. The number of times my mother threatened to abandon me by dying…has left me with scars that never quite heal. My pain is just below a brave façade I put out there for the people in my life. The face I want the world to see, not the person I really am. Every time I learn of another death caused by suicide I can’t help but wonder how long that soul fought with themselves, years? weeks? months? too afraid to ask for help? or too caught up in their own demon flow that they just felt they were not worth saving? Or???? Questions I cannot answer, haunt me. I am returned to my childhood; I struggle to regain {my sense of who I am}the ground I have fought so hard for all of my life. My nights are filled with terror and nightmares.

Everybody has the answer the day after. I stopped blogging for a few weeks because I needed to figure out where I was going. I had started to give away things I own. I have been obsessing about down sizing because I am getting older but I have been ANGRY, agitated, and feeling like I just wanted my ride to be over. I guess I didn’t realize how easy it was for me to slip into the abyss. How many times in my life did I stand frozen with fear watching my mother in the depths of her illness, in pain and anger and self loathing, struggling to find a reason to stay? I knew from an early age she had to find her own reasons to live, that we weren’t her reasons. I think sometimes that is why I feel like I am not enough. Children should never be responsible for an adults happiness and well-being.

Never under estimate the power of a smile or a kind word or a firm well meaning question. Someone in your life is out there trying to find a way to keep you in this life. Believe it. You are loved so much more than you give yourself credit for. You are strong in a way that makes your inner beauty shine. You are kind. You are wanted. You are everything to someone. You are ENOUGH. I love you. Everyone struggles. Everyone cries. You are not alone.

I have been having a difficult time finishing this piece. Menopause is no joke. I hate the person I am right now. Overly emotional, tired, and hateful. I am not this. I am better than this. Trying to come up with answers I could swallow, I made myself sick. I have been having a hard time trying to figure out where I am going. I took some time off from blogging to relax, breathe and reconnect with who I am and what I want for myself. Love is the greatest gift we can give. I LOVE YOU.

For more information about Project Semicolon please visit:

Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant TO BE



Trying Week

What a week. I threw my back out on Valentine’s Day. Not doing anything kinky = (  which would have been way more preferable to the actual , “I was reaching for the bar of soap.” I was trying to get ready for an afternoon with some friends; new, old and yet undiscovered. I was invited to a Galentine’s Day brunch. A day to celebrate the women in  our lives that don’t have that special significant other. A friend and fellow co-worker invited me. I am married but she thought I might enjoy the fellowship of some other ladies outside my social circle. Truth be told I thought the idea was sweet and I was flattered to be invited.

Even though I was uncomfortable, the pain in my back was not of the emergency room visit type, so I decided to keep my plans and go. I am not sorry that I went.  My friend, Linda is an excellent hostess and her home is lovely. The food was amazing. I had a enjoyable time chatting and laughing with the other ladies present.

I paid for my merriment the next morning. I should have hit the heating pad as soon as I came home. I should have taken some anti-inflammatories. I should have known better. I awoke Monday morning unable to sit up on my own. I couldn’t get into the shower. I couldn’t dress myself. My back muscles were in true full on spasm mode. I have never wanted to scream so much in my life. It hurt to draw breath. I called out sick from work. I sat for the entire day on my couch watching countless hours of crap TV. I am thankful I don’t live alone. My hubby was truly worried about me and did his best to assist me in anyway he could.

I stuck to my WWS program the best I could. Food prep was not a high priority on my to do list. Too painful to stand for any real length of time. I feel that I managed quite well.  I will satisfied with whatever outcome shows on the scale this week.



She used to be here. Now she is not. She used to love me; now her love lives in my heart. With her I never had to be anything more than who I already was. She never wanted anything from me other than myself. She was my biggest fan and my best friend. The youngest of three. She was known as kid sister to me.

One might think that eleven years later my sister’s death would be easier to live with. I move through life. I am still waiting…for the pain to be less, for the sting to fade but it lingers.

I am that favorite vase. Shattered and cracked. Fused back together with Superglue and good intentions. Like the vase I look ok but if you get close enough things might let go and spill its contents over the floor.

She had a way about her. She was so shy almost timid when she was a little girl. Fragile. I always felt like I had to protect her. She got hurt anyway. I couldn’t save her from that. People played on her vulnerability. She knew how to be defiant. She would fight with her whole being to suppress a tear if it meant she held the upper hand. When she would allow herself to cry it was usually in my embrace. Me, her safe haven.

The saddest thing? She never understood what SHE was worth. I know what she was worth. My time, my life, my joy, my laughter was better with her in it. She is still missed. I still look for her in a crowd, certain she is out there somewhere just out of reach, waiting for me.

Wish You Were Here
Wish You Were Here


When I sit down at my laptop to write it is often to compose myself, to take a breath in before I dissolve into tears. I know I am not the only person in the world in pain. I just choose to share mine. I guess that makes me a little different but I have been odd duck out my whole life so it comes easier for me to bear my soul to strangers. I never try to pretend to have the answers for feelings. I hate to know that people I care about in and around my life are feeling distress or sadness. We are all on our own journeys even though we travel the same path. We all experience loss. I can not keep anyone from knowing it. I wish I could keep you from sadness but your pain is not mine to shoulder. I can only hold your hand, wipe our tears and hope that tomorrow will shine brighter for us all. I don’t think I have ever said thank you to those of you that take the time to read my posts. I am grateful and your feedback has been amazing.

I am just one voice in the night trying to hold on until morning. EVERDAY