Why do we write?

Of course I can only tell you why I write and speculate on others.

It's not about the attention. (This blog isn't all that popular.) It's not about the love of language although I do have that.

I write because getting it out on paper or online helps me make sense of things. It shows me clearly what I think and why I think that way. In that way it gives me insight into myself.

I write to just release it. When I write about things I rarely speak of  like death, despair, and tragedy, I remove the weight of carrying it alone. I write most when I'm depressed and worried and angry. It soothes me. It's popping the blister and letting the poisons drain away.

I write because I want to share my thoughts and feelings. To seek out a new connection with others who have gone through similiar things. To possibly give someone a new point of view.

I write to try to explain the me underneath. It's sharing what made me ... well... me. I want what most everyone wants. To be accepted and loved for who I really am. Flaws and all.

I want to tell my story.



 

Forgiving the Unforgivable

Back when I lived in CT, while I was still young, I knew a family. They went to the same church as we did for awhile before switching to a new one. The wife's parents stayed very active in our church.

They were nice and kind and the young children were good kids. I helped take care of the little girl in AWANA. AWANA is a church youth group that teaches kids bible verses. Lots of games and singing and praising God.

When they left the church and found another home church, I didn't think much of it. I was a teenager and didn't think much about a lot of stuff.

Until the day I read the paper and started crying like a baby. Scott Pickles had killed his family. He smothered his daughter with a pillow  and beat his son to death with a bat and then stabbed his wife to death. The daughter was six and his son was only 3.

I was 3 blocks away when he was snuffing out their lives. I was sickened and terrified that it could have happened. It shattered my illusion that the world was safe.

After he killed them, he drove to his brother's house in South Carolina. He told his brother what he had done and his brother called the police.

3 days their bodies sat and decayed in an empty house three blocks away from me.

I was shocked and angry. Terribly angry. Angry that he had taken their lives. Angry at how he had done it. Angry that he wasn't dead himself. Angry that my world had been turned upside down.

He pled insanity. The prosecution decided not to pursue the death penalty.

Side note. Ever since the death penalty got reinstated in CT, it was never used. No prosecutor had the cojones to do it because of the public outcry.

I was enraged. He deserved to die for what he did. He killed his own flesh and blood. One after another after another. That prosecutor was a spineless idiot.

He ended up in a mental institution for a while then prison for life. No possibility of parole.

Jail wasn't good enough in my mind. Why did he get to live? Where was God in all this?

I hated him. Wished him dead. A slow painful death of stab wounds and beatings and asphixation. I didn't realize I could hate that much.

It was 1997 when they were killed. I won't ever forget them.

It took a long time for the anger to go. I knew they were in heaven. I knew that holding onto anger never helps anything.

I finally was able to let it go. It was a slow glacially slow process. I can be very stubborn.

I didn't forgive him because I thought he was sorry or because I thought he'd suffered enough.

I forgave him because holding that hate inside for so long was damaging me. I had to let go of that burden. He certainly doesn't care that I hated him. I very much doubt he remembers who I am. It didn't solve anything.

My hate wasn't going to make him suffer. My hate wasn't going to dry the tears of their relatives. My hate wasn't going to magically bring them back or change history. My hate was useless. My hate was making me bitter. My hate was a waste of time.

I wish I could've made myself let it go sooner. Ever since I did, I feel lighter.

I hadn't thought about the Pickles in a while. This tragic school shooting with the senseless violence and dead children brought it all back.

The children are the hardest. Innocence lost. Lives never fulfilled. You what if and coulda shoulda woulda. No what if will ever bring them back. Their lives were shooting stars burning bright before fading out.

The shooter is already dead. People are searching on where to put their blame and hate. Hopefully they will put down their hate quickly and love each other instead.

Terrible things will happen no matter what we do. But that is not what I focus on. What I think about is this. Wonderful things will happen because of what we do.

Susan, Elizabeth, and Alexander Pickles. Gone but never forgotten. May God hold you safe in heaven until we meet again.





 

It's Complimentary, my dear!

I started a new facebook page. The Random Compliment Project. It's sole purpose to make others appreciate their loved ones.

So much happens in our daily lives that we lose track of what makes us actually like each other. It's easy to take the friend who has always been there for you for granted.

We should let our loved ones know that we love them and why we appreciate them just being themselves.

There is only two rules for The Random Compliment Project.

1. No negativity allowed.
2. Mean it.

The world will always try to tear us down and stomp on our dreams. We need to negate the negativity and spread the love.

Sincerity. Don't fake it. Complimenting someone without meaning it is just plain icky. Look for something real to compliment. Not every compliment needs to be grand. Something as insignifigant as "Nice shoes!" can change someone's day for the better.

Do it for yourself too. Making someone smile can and will make you smile too.

I sincerely appreciate the gratitude and love I've seen shared so far and look forward to lots more!

Love. The more you share, the more you have. So share this page with someone you love and share the joy!

Please Hold.

Please hold. Your call will be answered in the order it was recieved.
La la la la.

That's what life feels like right now. A wait. An annoying wait with unhelpful customer service agents avoiding answering.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting to happen. Or why I feel like it may happen at any time. I don't think it'll be horribly bad or ridiculously good. But something will change in a big way soon.

In the meantime, it's life as usual. Work, karoake, reading, shopping, cleaning.

I'm getting impatient for it to happen. One way or the other, the shoe will drop.

But I really really really hate waiting.

It can't get in the car!

So I was driving down roads aimlessly getting totally lost with my friend Jess in the car.

 Not that one the other Jess. No the other one. I know a lot of Jessicas.

We ended up on this dirt road and the trees kept getting bigger and bigger on each side of the road. There were no lights except my headlights. No houses anywhere in sight. The branches of the trees began to weave together above us blotting out the moonlight entirely.

Suddenly a dog starting barking loudly. It sounded like it was coming from directly outside the car.
I started screaming but couldn't drive any faster because of the visibility.

Jess starts screaming over me.

"It can't get in the car! It can't get in the car!" She kept repeating it until I started laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

Did I ever tell you that I'm so happy my friends know me so well?

She got me from freaked out paranoia to laughing at myself in four sentences.

Thank God for true friendship.

FML

FML stands for Fuck My Life. It's becoming more and more popular. It's also dangerous thinking. We should not be training ourselves to think about every little thing that's gone wrong anytime one little thing has gone wrong. It's popularity isn't all that surprising given that kids do adore superlatives. Everything is epic or a total fail. What's disturbing to me is the amount of adults picking up the phrase.

Words Have Power. Anything we say has the right to be used against us in a court of law.Angry words bring on more anger. Soft words soothe. Words educate us about the world and tell us a lot about who's saying them.

So when I hear someone say "I got a flat tire. FML." It annoys me immensely. In the scheme of things, a flat tire is a minor inconvenience. So now I must assume the person complaining is just a whiner. Or someone who just doesn't think before they speak. Or is terribly mechanically inept. Or is already depressed and the tire is a last straw.

When you use the phrase "Fuck My Life" it's giving in to all the negative. It's probably the most negative thing you can say. So when you say it, you are saying your life is worthless and nothing goes right and noone is there for you. Well I regret to inform you, you keep up that attitude and that's what you should expect. People are attracted to positive things. People like fun and smiling. People get frustrated and upset with others who are consistently negative.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU THINK.
If you keep thinking FML, your life won't get better. Another little thing, life will never get better on it's own. Work for it. If you aren't willing to make the effort, someone else will be.

So suck it up and count your blessings and do SOMETHING about the stuff you care about. You can change the world but not by just bitching about it.

What I'm Supposed to Do

Today I was supposed to go to a funeral.
I was supposed to be there for my friend who lost her husband.
I was supposed to be able to help.
I was supposed to be strong enough to do it.
I was supposed to suck it up and get it done.
I was supposed to forge on.
I was supposed to be ok.

Who's saying I was supposed to?
Me. That's the problem. I can't get away from that judgemental bitch.

My reasons for not doing what I was supposed to do:
I didn't know the man other than meeting him twice briefly.
I think funerals are for those who loved the deceased to gather together and bond in their grief.
I get sick to my stomach thinking of going to another funeral.
I'm bad with death. This would just add to the weight I already carry.
I just don't have it in me to force myself to go right now.

What my conscience is saying:
Excuses, excuses, excuses.
You should've sucked it up and gone.
You're a shitty friend.
People can't count on you anymore.
You need to get over the death thing and just do it.
You've just proven that when the chips are down, you won't be there.
You're just a selfish bitch who can't be there for other people.
You just lost a friend over this.(I can hear my mother's voice in this one.)
Go hide away from death and pain, little girl.


Words from the superego:
Knock it off with that kind of thinking.
You know you're your own worst enemy.
Relax. You are allowed to be flawed and human.

I'm supposed to be better than I am.