Turned 30 and I’ve started gaining weight. I know you’re probably thinking, “you skinny ass bitch, shuddup!” But I didnt say I was “fat,” I am just gaining weight. And normally I wouldn’t even care, but my pants certainly keep reminding me of the fact. And I’m starting to not like it. I don’t like having to think hard about what I eat, so as not to upset my pants. It all is taking up too much anxiety and thought space. Because I love food and I like to eat. I’m actually really good at it. And honestly, for me, food is alot more than just eating it. Food is an emotional experience. Food is a way to relate to the world. That’s deep thought though. I love food, I mean, I actually really love food. But reaching my 30s has changed that for me. Now it seems… I might need to start buying “mom jeans” to get my stomach to shape up.

Respite – Day 2

Childhoods end…

Every year, we would pack up for the weekend. We would drive for miles Out the Road. I’m sure the road had a proper name, but to us, it was simply Out the Road. Thru the trees and along the beachy coastline. Too often, I’d fall asleep, just wanting to be there. When I’d open my eyes, we’d be pulling into the parkinglot facing the small inlet. Other families unloading their bags and packing them onto the small cart. This was it, the beginning of the long journey by foot, along the beach, around the wide corner, and to the camp site..

Respite, day 2. Or maybe not. There is no real rest to be had here. But it is not me who is the unlucky one. Perhaps I am actually fortunate, to be here, at this time…

We were a group of families that showed us kids love. We were a group of kids, all adopted. We were a group of kids who were invincible. In hindsight, my childhood was probably pretty idealic. We all grew up in a bubble of safety and ease. And maybe to some extent, I accidentally left my soul back there. Back where it was all safe and easy. Because I can’t make sense of this. These things don’t happen to us. We don’t die of drug overdoses. We don’t get rare forms of aggressive cancer. We have kids, and husbands, and lives. We are only in our 30s for Gods sake.

I woke up this morning, to a snow covered dreamy landscape. Coffee was brought to me, and all the fur babies were nestled into my covers. It wasn’t long before I realized I was actually in a horrible reality. My childhood friend, one of the crew, one of Us, was dying.. 

“We don’t know how long she has. She wants to be married tonight. Please come…”

The snow is melting and our coffee grows cold. Its easy to put on the brave face now, but I don’t know what will happen later. I’ve had my share of death before. Family members passing, patients at the hospital passing… but this is different. This is not right. And I’m a little bit scared..

This weekend we all packed our bags. We made the long drive to the ferry terminal. Along a road whos name I don’t know. Some, coming from even further. Thru the trees and to the sea. I fall asleep, not sure what we will be arriving to. When I open my eyes, we pull into the small terminal facing the sea. Other cars fill the lot as we wait. This is it, the beginning of something that will change us all forever, something cruel and unfair, but undeniable..

And when she goes, alone, we will be a group of families that show each other nothing but love..

I am who I am

This last year has been bad, the worst. I entered my third decade of life and I’ve hated every minute of it. I have never been faced with so many challenges to my life and personal identity. I’ve never questioned my own self so much, and felt as though I’d lost so much along the way. I’m 30 and I feel like I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing. I’m 30 and I’ve never felt so lonely. But the truth in my heart, is I am who I am. Long ago I came to terms with the fact that I’m not cookie cutter. I do things my own way. And that not everybody is going to accept that, and that’s okay. I’ve spent so much time and energy trying to make others happy, that I’m not happy myself. And I’ve let people make me feel ashamed of myself. March to the beat of my own drum? The truth is, I don’t hear a drum. I bask in the sound of my own silence. And I like it. And I’m going to be okay. I’m going to have more bad years, and I’m going to have great years. In two days, my year from hell will be over, and I survived it. Today, while waiting for my coffee, late in the morning, the woman behind the counter looked at me, and told me she was proud of me. And that was all I needed. In two days, I’m going to turn 31, and I’m going to have the best year..