Sinking Ship


I feel like my life is a sinking ship at the moment. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. I’m trying hard to keep my head above the water and remind myself that my struggles aren’t for nothing and that there is a bigger plan for me. 

Currently, I find relief in very few things. The things I typically enjoy aren’t bringing me the happiness that I very much long for. Between my grandmothers illness and the great responsibility that is expected of me with that, to my family’s blame, to the $2 left in my wallet, and a gas tank on E. From the maxed credit cards, the slight weight gain, and the possibility of not going to school this semester. From making no money at my job, (no matter how many hours I work. My last pay stub said I made 147$ in 2 weeks.) to needing to move out, or do something to fix my living situation. My list is longer than I care to think about. 

I’m struggling. I’m gasping for air. I’m on the brink of explosion. I’m beaten up and torn apart. Frankly, I don’t know what to do. When I thought things couldn’t get worse, I shattered my phone screen, badly. I had never broken a phone or cracked a screen in the 10 years I’ve had a phone. So of course, when I’m poor as hell, poorest I’ve ever been, that’s when it breaks. 

I know that I could have it worse. I also know that you can’t compare anyone’s struggles because everyone handles things differently. 

Currently I’m laying in bed in just my underwear, a towel wrapped around my wet hair, feeling like there’s a ton of bricks sitting atop my chest, wanting to cry. 

I feel needy when I talk to people about my struggles. Everyone has their own, so I don’t want to push mine on someone else. I don’t want someone to think I’m asking for hand outs and pity parties. 

I just want relief. A break. A vacation. Yet most of those things don’t ever seem to come free. Some might say that I have control over all of this and if I want things to get better I need to grab life by the balls and do something. While true, to some extent, I’m not not being proactive. The decisions I have to make aren’t small, and that takes time and careful planning. That’s part of what makes this so hard. 

While I am not going to feel much better tonight, or probably even tomorrow, I am doing my best to find some sort of escape. I will say I have an amazing set of friends who are willing to be here for me in any way they can. I’m very thankful for them and for that. I’m sure they know I’d do the same. 

So, I guess I should unwind this towel, fix my hair and my face, and get my sad ass out of this bed. 



Emptiness engulfed me like I was wooden and the emptiness was a flame. 

I searched everywhere for feeling but found it nowhere. Just darkness and blank spaces all around me. 

Echos of my slow heartbeat filled the room, only reminding me of how alone I am. You could hear a pin drop, if there was only a pin to drop. 

Silence seeps in through my pores, so quiet it covers my thoughts in a blanket, and I can no longer think. 
I stumble through life like a newborn deer just learning to walk. Falling and standing back up, only to fall again. Only, I never grow up to learn how to stand stable. 

I am seemingly a tumbleweed. Rolling through life with wherever the wind decides I need to go. No sense of direction, because the winds are ever changing. 

Everything is blank. My mind especially. No thoughts because there is no reason to think, when you’re a tumbleweed with no sense of direction. 


The title of this post is exactly how I am feeling the last few days. Blamed.

My grandmother, whom I have lived with for the last five years, has been quite sick off and on for about 2-3 of those. At first the sickness spells were spread quite far apart and they weren’t so bad. Now they’re more frequent and more severe. She is currently in the hospital. While I love my grandmother, she is quite stubborn when it comes to her medication. She does not like to take it, so at times she just decides not to. Mostly you can tell when she has stopped taking it and the spells are preventable. Here in recent times it has become harder to predict. This last time, which has landed her in the hospital, there were no signs. She was seemingly fine. Unfortunately, this time has been the most severe out of all of the cases. I don’t think it’s fair, for her sake, to go in depth about her illness, so I won’t delve that far into things.

I found my way into the hospital yesterday and was fortunate enough to be accompanied by one of my friends. (Thank God for her or I might have lost my sanity.) The nurse, whom I very much dislike (she had a very rude way about her when she spoke to me), proceeded to tell me everything that I had already known. She didn’t know however, that I lived with my grandmother. She then proceeded to basically blame me for my grandmothers bad spells. This woman knows absolutely nothing about me, my life, my schedule, or what occurs in my grandmother and I’s residence. As the visit proceeded, more of my family arrived. Those family members also proceeded to blame me for her being in the hospital and for not taking care of her.

Here are the questions I have for them:

Do you know that I work a full time job, and am a college student?

Do you know that my grandmothers illness is not something that can be caused by another human being?

Do you know that anything my grandmother asks of me, I do?

I don’t mean to trash on my grandmother when I say this, but she has a way of telling our family members only of the times that I am not home to help her, and of the times I stay somewhere for a few days. My family members never get to hear about the things that I do do for her, or about how I was working 6 days a week for a couple months there, or that I’m going to school to be a therapist, or about the fact that I have a mental illness. I have to keep a social life in tact or I slip into a depression. I’m very much so a social butterfly…being social is what keeps me afloat. My time with my friends is very valuable to me and my mental health. (Believe that or not.)

It also seems that the same people who say I never help or never do anything for her are the same people I never see around. The same people who only show up when she’s laying in a hospital bed. I love my family very much, (also, believe it or don’t), but you cannot blame one person for the downfall of another persons internal physical health. I cannot make her liver fail. I cannot make it hard for her to walk.

In order for my grandmother to get the proper care that she needs, as expected by my family, it would require me to quit both my job and my schooling. I refuse to do that. I have goals, and dreams, and things that I want to accomplish with my life. I’m 22 years old barely surviving off of a waitress salary. She has grown capable kids, that should be helping take care of her. Granted, I understand that some of them have children and lives, but I also have a very busy life. I understand that I live with her, and I should help her, and anything she asks of me I do do, but her children should be more prominent in her life. I don’t have the financial means to take care of her like she needs. I don’t have the physical means to pick her up when she falls. I don’t have the mental capacity to take care of her on my own. I’ve had breakdowns and I beat myself up over this all of the time, and I feel as though I am nearing yet another break.

Here’s the thing, though. My family doesn’t give a single shit about me. Not a single one of them were there (aside from my grandparents) when my parents kicked me out. Not a single one of them were there when I was laying in that hospital bed on suicide watch. Not a single one of them. I wish that my family would take the time to talk to me. To keep updated. To understand what’s going on. Yet they don’t. My grandmother, in my opinion, cannot be fully there mentally. Otherwise why would she stop taking the medication that she knows keeps her alive? She vents on the phone when she’s mad to anyone who will listen (although, I think we all do the same thing.). Yet, when it comes to the good things, no one ever hears that.

It’s safe to say that I am beyond frustrated. I don’t think they know that I love my grandmother with all of my heart. My uncle, I will say, takes her to the store once a week to do her shopping and takes her to her doctors appointments. I can’t always do those things given my ever changing and very busy schedule. But at the end of the day I’m at home. Helping clean up, making sure that she’s alive, asking if she took her meds, joking around with her, giving her hugs, telling her I love her every time I walk out the door. Why don’t those things amount to anything? He has legal care of her. So at the end of the day, what he says goes. He’ll more than likely send her home, only for the same thing to happen in another month or two. Not because I’m not taking care of her, but because the situation is obviously getting worse and more unpredictable. I’m not told anything about her health. I’m not kept updated…and why aren’t the important questions being asked? The ones the doctors won’t tell me because I’m not her legal caretaker. Like, is her situation worsening with her liver?? Should she be put in a home?

I’m heartbroken. It’s a very difficult thing for me to go to the hospital and see her. Both for schedule reasons and mental health reasons. I hate seeing her that way. I hate seeing my family there, seemingly so concerned. Where are they all the other times…why does no one come visit on a random tuesdsay night?

If it were my choice, she would have round the clock care by someone who is trained and prepared. Especially with how the situations are worsening. Her children won’t do it, and I can’t, but someone needs to be with her at all times. I don’t want to see my grandma go. We’ve had our bad times, but we’ve shared so many laughs and so much love. She stepped in when my parents bailed on me. She didn’t have to do any of that. I appreciate it more than she will ever know.

People, my family included, may never understand why I don’t “do more.” But when I say that I can’t, I can’t. I am doing what I can. I’m doing what I am mentally capable of doing. This stress, of the situation and being around my family, is pushing me to a whole new edge that I am afraid to go over. While I am not close with them anymore, I don’t know how things would be with severed ties. I guess I just feel as though everyone already looks down upon me. Like I’m lazy and not doing anything, but it is so much the opposite.

Currently, I feel depressed. Worn out. Sad. Like I’m letting my grandmother down. I’m afraid that when she does die, that will be placed on my head and considered my fault, because I didn’t do enough, and I should’ve been there.

I guess my question is this:

Where are all of you…?

This is in no way to throw hate upon anyone in my family. This is simply how I am feeling in regards to this situation. At one point our family was close, and now, when everyone needs to be sticking together and everyone needs to be helping out, everyone seems so far away. Or maybe I’m the only one outside of the loop….because this negative light has been shed upon me that shouldn’t even be there.

I think I could explain my life and my reasoning and all the things that I do do for her, and it still could and would never be enough. Never enough. So I am trying very hard to find a way around all of these feelings and trying to find a way to cope. It’s very difficult. If I lose them, because of this, then were they ever really family at all?


My writing has certainly slowed down these days. I guess that’s what seems to happen when life speeds up….unfortunately. 

My life these days has been a crazy whirlwind. Not quite a disaster. Not quite happy. Not lacking excitement. I’m trying to be an actual adult lately. Diet plans, budgeting, scoping out new colleges, fitness goals, you name it I’m trying to do it…or get it together rather. Tennis has become a new hobby. Seems as though working my life away has become the new thing as well. 

I’m tired. That’s seemingly an understatement to be honest. My body hates me, today especially. While my mind is young, my body feels ancient to me. My knees gave me trouble with every step I took, my wrists felt so weak when carrying things. Why do I feel like my body is in shambles? 

Overall, I suppose I could say I’m happy. I’ve moved on and past an unhealthy relationship with my most recent ex. Working a lot, but it makes paying my bills so much easier. I have great friends. I’m trying new things. Preparing myself for the future. It’s just a lot to take in and do at times. Yet here I am doing it. 

I’ve seen my mother a few times. In public. Just a glance. It was very strange. I didn’t feel upset, rather confused. That woman I saw with my two eyes is a stranger. Yet she birthed me, fed me, raised me, loved me even at one point. Now she’s just someone I use to live with, talk to, someone that once knew me. 

I’m writing this with half open eyes. Half thoughts and half effort. I just felt the need to write something. Anything. It’s been far too long and I miss it. Such a great outlet writing is. I’ll have to add that to my list of things I need to do more often. 



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I wonder how different my life would be if I hadn’t chosen to stay with my grandmother. 

I remember the last real conversation I had with my parents. We sat at their dining room table and talked about the possibility of me moving back in. I sat across from them feeling like they were strangers. My dad had tears in his eyes. My mom swore that things would be different. That they wouldn’t hurt me anymore. I made the conscious choice to leave that house and never look back, even after that. 

Granted, I still wanted a relationship with them. I just couldn’t possibly allow myself to live in a household I knew was toxic. Yet that was the night that everything was severed. 

Last night I watched two of my friends get married. It was beautiful. I was so happy for them, yet I found myself in tears of sorrow. The father daughter dance did me in. I’ve prayed many nights for a relationship with my father. I’ve extended olive branches. Yet in these last five years, I’ve continuously found myself heartbroken by the lack of relationship and the lack of effort. So to see a father and daughter dance, happily, and knowing I won’t have that at my wedding, was devastating. I appreciated the beauty, but hurt for myself. 

I wonder where I would be. Who I would be. What hobbies I would have. Who I’d be dating. What I would look like. While it’s all so painful yet, I’m also grateful I made the choice that I did. No one deserves to be abused. No one deserves what I was dealing with. So choosing to not go back home, was ultimately choosing my health and my happiness. 

Choosing yourself does hurt sometimes though. I will say that. In choosing myself I lost my family. In choosing myself though, I didn’t choose to lose them. They chose to let me go. They chose to not get help or understand. Things to this day are more strained than ever. Five years with almost no communication. 

My leaving tore the whole family apart. My parents distanced themselves from everyone. They have no communication with either side. Yet this is something they were already in the process of doing, and had been doing, for some years beforehand. 

I just wonder. I wonder a lot about what would be different. I wonder if I’d even be alive. Maybe that’s morbid to say. I just know how much pain I was in and how much I was struggling at home, and they never saw it. Never listened. Never helped. On my own I found and gained the tools I needed to become healthy. 

Parents are a hard thing to lose. Life has a whole new level of difficulty without them. At 17 I had to get my own health insurance. I have so much extra paperwork every semester of college just to get federal grants to help me through school, because I don’t have my parents information or help. I don’t have my birth cirtificate. I had to get a new social security card. I have all my own bills, medical, car insurance, phone, credit cards, you name it. I had to grow up fast, and much too young. 

Yet I don’t regret any of it. While I may wonder how things would be different and who I would be, I’m glad for the most part that I’m where I’m at. It’s painful, and I struggle, but this is for the best. I can only pray that one day my parents do what I did; grow up. I fail to see, although I’m not a parent, how you can just desert your child. Drag them through the dirt and never talk to them again. Just for choosing to not come live at home. While that may seem crazy, that is the sole reason they will not talk to me. Or would not, at least. I don’t know their reasoning now, but knowing myself, they’d have no reason to dislike their own daughter. 

So I wonder what it would have been like had I chosen to come home that day. Would things have changed? Would I ever have gotten help? Would I be in school? I will never know. I honestly think I made the right and the best descision, no matter how hurt I feel at times. I will always love my parents. I do not like them, but I love them. 

Everything happens for a reason. I have to remind myself of this. With or without them, I will be okay. So far, without them, I’ve become a woman I can say I’m proud of. 

Funny Girl


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I’ve always been the funny girl. I always wanted to be the pretty girl. Or better yet, the pretty girl who was funny. 

This by no means is me saying I don’t think I’m pretty or that I think I’m ugly. This is me saying I do lack a certain kind of confidence. Overall, I am very confident with myself. I’m funny, smart, and I’d like to think attractive. However I still tend to compare. 

Growing up I always wanted to model. I currently still do. I was always told I “wasn’t tall enough” or I “weighed too much” or anything along those lines. Anything to tear my hopes and my dreams apart. Relationships with men always brought a lack of compliments and reassurance which led to a lack of confidence. My friends are all extremely beautiful and have no issue finding suitors. Then there’s me. I have deemed myself the DUFF of my group….minus the fat part. DUFF stands for designated ugly fat friend. 

While I’m not ugly, a lot of the times I feel I can’t compete. I know life isn’t about competing in that way, but as a female, an emotionally abused one at that, sometimes it’s impossible to not. I’m recognized for my humor. Never complimented on outfits or hair or just my look in general. Now, making people laugh is so important to me. But compliments are nice. They build you up, give you a boost. I have lacked that kind of boost my whole life. 

Unfortunately for me, when compliments do come about my appearance from males, they’re not so nice. Mostly based on my assets alone. Mostly vulgar. Mostly tears me down. What about my smile? Or my eyes? 

This post seems very shallow. Maybe this post is shallow. Yet I can’t help but feel this way at times. I have my days though where my confidence is through the roof. As of late it’s really lacking. I want to feel beautiful. I know that feeling comes from within and not from temporary compliments though. It’s something you have to seek within yourself. I also have to remind myself that outer beauty isn’t as important as inner beauty, which I am not lacking in. 

All I’m saying is, throughout my life, I have been torn down, torn apart, and damaged. I’ve had to build my confidence almost solely on compliments I pay myself. 

I am the funny friend. Not the hot friend. Or the pretty friend. Or the smart friend. I am the funny friend. Maybe that’s okay. Because laughter brings joy and there’s nothing more beautiful than joy. 

Tonight I taped a card above my vanity mirror that says “you are beautiful.” Just a simple reminder that with or without makeup, I am beautiful. I need to try to remind myself that it doesn’t matter what someone else looks like, because I am uniquely made. Someone out there will think I’m the most stunning woman they’ve ever seen. 

Looks are so….unimportant in the long run. Yet confidence is so important. It takes so much time to build and a lot of energy to maintain. Society has made us into beings that care so much what others think of our outward appearance. I am so beyond guilty of caring what someone thinks about my appearance. But why? What a stranger thinks should not matter. I’ll probably ever see them again. But compliments feel good and sometimes they can change our whole day. 

Here’s what I hope for. I hope to find someone who loves me first for my personality and second for my looks. I think that’s something we all hope for. 

Regardless though of what society says, we are all beautiful. Because we are all alive. We are all human. And we are capable of creating such beauty, even other humans. 

So, my confidence is a work in progress. I guess from here on out I’m going to try to wake up each morning and tell myself that I AM beautiful. The most important compliments are the ones you pay yourself. 

These Days


These day I….

Feel unworthy of love. 







A whole jumble of feelings I don’t want to feel. My minds always racing, thoughts crashing into one another, creating a huge mess. 

I’m at a point where I don’t know where I am anymore. I don’t know, I just simply don’t. I know what I’m looking for and what I want to accomplish, it just feels at times like I’m never going to get there or I’m never going to find the right person. I try and try and I fight and fight. Yet every time I get nowhere. I get crushed. I suppose that’s okay though. It all will lead me to where I need to be. 

I guess I’m feeling like this lately because I have friends getting married and buying houses and having children. And here I am, unable to even keep a relationship. It saddens me. While I’m happy for those around me, I’m sad for myself. Is that pathetic? Sometimes I think it might be. 

I’m not trying to rush anything, though. I’ll never jump into something that isn’t right just for the sake of having something. I’d rather have nothing and no one than something toxic or doesn’t fit well. I have expectations I need to have met. I deserve something good. 

My last relationship was one I thought was good, but I wonder sometimes if it was even real. My end was very real, but was his? I’ll never know, and maybe that’s okay. I don’t need to know, because I’ve learned from it, grown from it, and it has put me where I need to be. 

I hope one day I find a love that is pure and true. I hope I find the right job. I hope I finish college. I hope I am happy and successful. I will do everything in my power to make these things happen, but I know that I’ll end up where I’m supposed to be. Fate is a very real thing to me. 

For now I’m praying for the best. I just need to make it out of this rut and on to happier times. I will and I can, but right now it’s a lonely road. 

I Should’ve


I should’ve known better. 

I should’ve known that you were a recipe for disaster when all those bright red flags popped up. 

Yet I ignored every single one of them. Avoiding them like potholes in a road. 

They shouted at me, and I plugged my ears. 

The red was so bright I closed my eyes. 

I should’ve know better. 

I should’ve known that when your “I love you” dripped from your lips like sweet honey, that it was only to catch me, much like a fly, and lure me in. 

You didn’t love me. 

You loved my body. You loved the idea of loving me. You loved being infatuated. You loved feeling yourself inside of me. 

I should’ve known. 

I should’ve known that when you got what you wanted, you’d begin to get bored. 

The not so nice side of you began to show. Your harsh words and unwillingness to listen or understand came at me like bullets at close range. 

One night you tried to sleep with me and I said no, and explained that I wasn’t just a body. The next morning you tried again. I said “don’t you remember what we talked about?” You told me I was sleep deprived. I should’ve known then. 

I felt dead when I was with you. Yet I clung to those moments of pure bliss. Like when you called me beautiful. Or held my door for me. Or laughed at my joke. 

I should’ve known. 

I had every warning sign. Yet I ignored them all. 

I hope that the next doesn’t fall for your trickery. Your charm and your sly words. Your fast pace, your perfect smile. 

A handsome face doesn’t make a handsome heart, and I should’ve known. 

Late night thoughts 

I hate making decisions. 

Especially ones that affect not only me, but those around me. 

Why can’t life be simple? Why can’t life be easy…? 

Every action has a consequence. Whatever that action may be, something results because of it. Whether that be negative or positive, sometimes it’s hard to say. 

Right now I’m in a position of decision making. And frankly, I don’t like it. I don’t like making choices that will drastically affect another persons life. 

I wish God could give me a sign. A big ole sign that just slaps me in the face, it’s so obvious. I know things don’t always work that way, though. 

I know there’s a plan for me however. So no matter what I choose, it’s all part of a grander plan. Doesn’t make making the decision any easier though. 

Hopefully some sleep and a touch of time will help me sort this out. 

Sorry also, for not posting recently. Working 6 days a week takes a lot of time and energy out of a person. 

I wish I just knew what the right choices in life were with 100% certainty. 




I think we all wonder what death feels like.

Is it a black, empty space? Or is it anything at all? Do we just cease to exist?

Yet I feel like I know what death feels like.

Death feels like emptiness. Darkness. Cold.

My heart is dead. No longer beating in the fashion that it once did. Skipping beats or not beating at all. Feeling has fled the scene of the crime, leaving me with a cold, hollow body.

Death is not beautiful, or peaceful.

Death is cold, lonely, painful.

Death is feeling yourself slowly dying inside knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop the decay.

So you wither away into something that you can’t even recognize. Someone you never thought you would be.

After death there is nothing. It seems too difficult to resuscitate, so you let your heart slow, and eventually stop. You fade away into a dark nothingness, never able to return to the light, because it’s nowhere to be found.