Scared

I live a very open life.  I came forward 3 years ago now and let people see all of me.  Im not shamed of my biggest secret anymore, it’s an amazing feeling just saying fuck it!  Im worth it.  Im overwhelmed at times by how many people I now have honest open real friendships with, living from afar took a few steps forward it empowering to not be your own victim.  Even though I keep my journey & recovery open I still keep a few of my struggles silent only because I’m learning too and new symptoms come old ones visit it’s just my cross to bare.  I live in constant fear.  Im scared all the time.  I am really having a hard time going out into the world.  Im scared in a white misty cloud every time I go out.  I feel volnerable out there, it’s just scary.   The light hurts my eyes, the noises around me clatter I can’t focus on a dot to maintain balance.  I feel people.  I feel a bad person in a mall full of people I will see you.  My eyes are scanning every single detail, I’m photographing with my mind… snap, snap snap.  With all these sensitivities going on trying to complete simple tasks like groceries has become something I just can’t do right now.  My husband does all the outings and online ordering has been enabling for me and if I do choose to go and force myself to be around others I’m so scared I feel weak.  This is hard!  It’s obvious I’m off and meeting new people!!!  I don’t trust or do this easily but now and then a friend pops out of the clatter.  That’s amazing.

im such a social person yet lately I’m feeling lost and alone.

All this started 6 years ago when I got pregnant and had to have so many apts weekly as I was really high risk.  This protected need to keep that baby safe was so raw and it didn’t feel safe in the world.  It’s not.  As I lost independence at that time I slowly put on my shackles of irrational phobias.  I can control my anxiety and paranoia so much better in my home.  It’s safe.  Until you felt volnerability you don’t understand that fear.  Awful feeling.  Deep in your gut, everything is a possible worst case scenario.  Irational!  I know it yet I’m scared.  Mind over matter at times fades. Then grows the phobia.

After my son my symptoms increased as my physical health declined I lost more and more of independence a little at a time.  I stopped driving my medications are too risky as I have paused and delays.  I loved to drive, I miss that independence.  Then i realized I’ll not be able to financially contribute the surgeries, the apts, the symptoms the pregnancies of uncertain life, the medications the ups the downs the hormones the independence just got lost.  Now I feel a bit trapped.  Going to pick up my son at school was a worry an scary anticipation of going out and seeing people ate at me all day.  I can’t sleep the nights before having to go somewhere.  Just fret myself sick over it.

I feeling at this time my phobias of civilatijn around me and all it’s disgusting humans that walk amongst us have became too big to control on my own.  I have decided with my psychiatrist to start into more intense therapy before the fear becomes another box.

No one seems to accept that I just can’t.  I can’t.

I cant

i can barely understand this myself.  I want to more than anything to be in the world but it’s just not easy.

Forever from afar.

 

I often have dreams. I dream so clearly that I can feel touch and smell things I see in my sleep. Some nights I’m picking corn in a endless waving field of fall corn while the sun goes down glowing that neon pink wearing nothing and feeling so lost in the wind hair twirling that sweet grassy smell all warm and peaceful. Other nights I’m locked in a red wooden crate watching someone through a crack in the box prepare a tank of embalming fluid a dark rubber apron stained in layers of bloody souls. I watch with that heightened awareness, the smell of feomeldehyde stinking my eyes, heart racing my eyes warm in tears. I can’t see his face no matter how many times I see him prepare my table for a live preservation ritual I can’t see his face. As he turns towards the box his shadow steals the wee crack of light that smell of beer like a avalanche covers me, Awake!

I wake most days hungover from the medications I have to take several kinds a day around the clock morning to bedtime of anti- psychotics that keep the visions and voices calm. I can sleep for 12 hours and wake exhausted from living in my dreams. Last night I was with a dear friend in a room filled to the ceiling with knives. We stood side by side chatting packing boxes and boxes of knives happily. It was very soothing the act of constant repatition. This might seem out there but I saw my babies faces, blurry yet recognizable only weeks into my pregnancies, cool! I wish at times I could just be labotimized and live in numb ignorant bliss. Just silence between my ears removing the forever hum of white static noise, don’t listen..

don’t listen..

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Don’t listen!

Shhhhhhhhhhhh!

What?

What?

What?

Shhhhhh!

Don’t listen or it will take the wheel.

Silence!

Uncivilized

I had the most simple of upbringings. Being raised by my grams in a hunting and fishing outfitters camp was a wonderful childhood. Every single good warm & fuzzy memory I have comes from the cookhouse, a non stop parade of hunters, guides, family, ski dooers stopping for a meal and brewskis & of course our river tourists who come from all over to join in on our Fiddlers on the tobique, a float down the river with bluegrass musicians in boats oh yes and our dog sledding g competitions we had every winter, ya it’s so simple as I said. Almost like growing up back in pioneer times. We cut our wood, split and piled it. We ran for ice from the brook that flows across our land. We hD little in the ways of worldly possessions yet that cookhouse was the warmest, friendliest place I’ve known. It’s so sad to know it’s no more, all rotting into the ground because no one in our family of outfitters wants to keep our home, sad. How could the business and traditions carry on when no one even talks. I’m not too sure what happened all I know is one day everyone just separated, moved away, stopped calling everyone just scattered. I’ll never know as we don’t talk about anything. Nothing. I have such beautiful memories and will hold those log camps in my heart as they return to the earth.

When I moved away to go to college I noticed right away that a lot of conformity behaviours I did not know. I did not realize how many things I did not know, like basic practises of being house trained really. I didn’t wash my hands, clean after myself, use a coaster all these tidy things. I got use to people laughing at my redneck ways, roughness & bad habits that just was. We didn’t vacuum, dust things, have rugs and nice linens. It was scratchy grey blankets and mis matched everything. Butter tubs and ice cream containers for Tupperware, using snow on the porch to store food during the winter. We had deer, yep real deer in a pen, a bear at one point, moose hanging from trees, deer bear our trees were hanging stands for the carcasses to drain blood and age. I know how to skin any animal I don’t even remember when it’s second nature. I got a skinning knife on my 6th birthday. Or a doll. The soil of our land and mountain is drenched in blood. I have a few baby pictures left that community members gave me after the fires. A few photos that prove I existed. I’m on dead moose, next to barrels of bear bait, holding sticks of fish and racks of partridge. I am a woods woman. I can track a rabbit but learning g to fold laundry, remove a stain or properly take care of a home, clueless when I first left. I’ll never forget the first Black person I saw, like a ignorant redneck I starred. We had one Chinese lAdy who ironically ran the Chinese restaurant. I was use to hearing racism as a normal dialect, not that my family or any simple country family are mean and hateful it’s truly in all definitions ignorance. I was scared of all these new things, timid and uncertain. I learned one friend at a time first hand re see the world as it was completely flat in my eyes.

I found myself watching and mimici g others. How their closets look, things are arranged and basic life skills. I didn’t even know to wipe myself from front to back, that realization makes me sad still. The invisible girl. I had no one teach me makeup, hair care, anything womanly all I knew was self hate. As if something was greatly wrong with being a girl. A shame. Weakness I wish I had a son instead feeling. Rough & tumble that’s it. When I had my son I had this overwhelming feeling of being completely lost. Just because I had become a mother by birth did not make me a mom in all things mommy. I’m still becoming civilized daily. Boys I’ve had to learn the hard way at times but I’ve come a long way.

I’m always going to be a girl from up river and this I’m so proud.

I just can’t seem to write.

My heart is sorting out a lot of things. My baby sister has contacted me. It’s been nearly 6 years since we’ve had a conversation. We attacked eachother with full hatred and absolute vile poisonous tounges that horrible curse our mother did leave us. The loathing we have and the things said are unforgivable yet I know that person the sister in me is mean, bully with a mission to destroy her. It feels good to know I won I. The game of who crys first. How sick is that feeling. The road to affection was paved in cruelty. I’m a nice human, I’m not perfect shit I’m a bag of mistakes all faults aside my heart I know is good. I’m quiet, smart, friendly and liked by many, not being a pompost ass like douche moment here I’m just being real. I’ve not intentionally hurt another but when it comes to my sister this evil person emerges. I’d never speak to anyone the way I’ve spoken to her. That’s the truth. It’s disgusting behaviour and I own that.

At Thanksgiving I had a mild blip with my brain I had gone manic and crashed hard. I’m ok where I have such a support system fortunately I’m inpatient living outpatient t and a phone call will activate every resource i need. Its wonderful! I hope in my lifetime everyone has that. I was going in and out of the psychiatric floor for medication adjustments and observation. It’s tricky changing my cocktail as I can go very very quickly into psychosis. It’s very comforting for me to know I’m ok, safe. During this episode we call it episodes as it just derails myrecovety not end it. Ok so I decided to take my struggling face forward in hopes my invisible disease could be seen, it’s very obvious if seen, all in our eyes, the dark rings of worry and fear. Took some big lady balls man, I’m not the cutest. By talking about the symptoms most common reaction to to be scared it’s the right response so many like me die by their band. I talk past that into the reality of living with my disease. Well my sister had been emotionally drawn to contact me via my husband. We’ve made very concrete.boundaries.

I’m fucking terrified!

I’m fucking terrified!!

I don’t know if I can grieve her again. My punishment for not continuing a relationship with my mother was for her to make my sister choose. Of course she chose the affection she deserved. Then it was my grandfather. He too is gone because I stood up for myself. Grampa called Christmas Day as well……

ya so a whole lot going on inside. It’s a tornado in my heart.

What happens if… if… I could fill a scribbler of possible scenarios leaving me. Leaving me all shook up again like a snow globe. I love how it feels when the snows on the roof tops. I love it!

I’m just feeling so exposed, gutted, torn.

Proceed with caution.

The lonely orphan

Is this a mistake?

I’ve been triggered.

I’ve been unable to write a single word for I’ve been built of sand and the winds of agony within blow, they blow and the huff and puff till my legs fold. I’ve been holding my pieces together by Will as the greatest days of my life are forever shadowed, by a darkness of realization. As I tuck my kids in all warm and cozy I remembered never being tucked in. Nothing I do remember crying out for a drink and the screams within the stairwell frightened me silent. I bake cookies for Santa I have blankness, I have not recollection of any of these things and when I do receive these flashbacks it humbles my strength still with anxiety attacks so bad we can barely control them anymore. It’s so scarey, so so scarey and lonely .

My awesome children had a absolutely marvellous Christmas, it was so simple, opened gifts all day not a big locus like blur of paper and free of quantity. A few toys, my father came surprising us all by dressing up as Santa Claus and dancing outside ringing bells. Not something that happens in a city too often without aressting someone. Seemy dads a awesome person who handled some heavy stuff very poorly. Can’t be to hard on the cranky loving old fool. Everything g was perfect. Yes I’m a mother above all and my illness no matter the severity I’m s good mother, odd yes but these kids read only a good life. As I’ve said many times I never hurt anyone but myself.

These are the daily things I survive, the thorns in my paw.

Well I know have myself convinced that I’m dying, a cold over the holidays has me convinced. I saw a red ring around d the moon, it made me feel fear of somethings going wrong. So logically of course I assumed I’m going to die. Absolute logic. I know it sounds ridiculous yet I check my jugular pulse, I swear and my heart skips beats. A pain in my chest has to be a massive coronary, right? Logic. I’m so convinced like a wee whisper of doubt always saying, it’s time. Ding death number up. Logic

I’m really having a difficult time with leaving the house. I had this happen before and I know better than to not push myself. I could happily never leave my safe happy home. It’s the truth. I love being alone, silent and alone. Obviously this trait I have is not the best yet I can talk myself inside with a million reasons why. I find large public groups like grocery stores, malls and so on causing me extreme censors overload. I hear everything, see everything, all conversations pulse into my head like a broken cb radio. I can’t focus, the lights make my vision blurry, as though my eyes can’t fixate on anything, it hurts, lights are awful. I make myself go out yet I’m really uncomfortable out there. Always looking over my shoulder. So even though I miss some friends and could use a adult conversation I’m lonely at times very much so but how can I say I love you and admire you and want to be around you but I’m scared I’ll get overwhelmed and make a scene of myself. I’m finding it more and more difficult daily to push myself outside. I’m safe here, no censory overloads, adrenaline of fear, no yucky feelings. See this happened when I was a young girl I would not go outside. One day I called in sick as my chest was going to explode, I went to the doctor. Massive anxiety attack he said. So I called in the next day, the next day and then I quit my job and I did not come out of that sad apartment on the hill behind the old furniture store. I was terrified, could not leave. This lasted nearly 6 months before I had to be sedated and taken to Fredericton where I was treated for social anxiety and phobias of everything and everyone out there. With Zoloft and daily talk therapies with a lovely old male psychiatrist was able to return home quickly. Oh and so so silently, definitely can’t let anyone know. Shameful really being a fucking freak.

Not long after I locked myself in the bathroom and cut myself till the skin had no feeling and each drag of the blade stains the tub red. Te landlord was called and the police called. They forcefully took down the doors and removed me. So lonely watching people out my window wishing I had friends, anyone. Lonely. Isolated, watching from afar.

I can recognize that I’m scared again, I know I can overcome it again yet I am so happy inside.

Lots of sap

I am a pure lover of all things Christmas. The traditions that have been handed down for generations. The warmth and magic in the air takes the spirit high. I’m not a person for gifts even now that I have a family I still don’t see much purpose in a lot of empty things piled under a gorgeous tree that to me is the biggest gift of all. I’d spend hours decorating a tree lost in the lights, that crisp winter smell from the fluffy bows. Visiting ornaments that are so familiar like old friends they hang holding that year within them, where I was, who was around the tree with who hung those precious balls with and the giggles shared and dreams wished hopes and fears and all the magic that year revealed. The Christmas tree for is a special thing, the keeper and maker of memories, warm feelings, sad feelings things of now and people who are gone, nothing seems to engage so much emotion in so many ways. Captivating.

Every year as a girl picking the perfect tree to hold the years festivities was the greatest day ever! My dad is to thank. Every year we would all get in the car and head into the woods to pick the perfect tree. We all as a family would start the journey all following behind dad like ducklings threw the woods as he inspected each tree. My baby sister would get cold and my cranky sad mother would take her to get warm, I hung strong because just being near dad made me feel special. The snow seemed so deep, the crinkling of the bulky snowsuit like a crickets wings rubbed, nose ran air cold. When dad saw a perfect straight top to the snow covered trees he’d take his axe and bump the tree with a clump like thump the tree dropped its winter wear. Dad would go around the tree over and over looking for holes, no holes allowed. I’d sit in the snow watching closely eating the crunchy earthy snowballs off my mittens, knitted perfect mittens Joan my grams best friend made for us each year. None would do and no matter how long it took dad was on a mission. It seemed to take hours, I’m sure it didn’t just now the robe on snow would drop and there it stood, his eyes would light up his ocean blue eyes like a child again. Around her go as the tree met his check list the excitement I felt from his joy was infectious. “Lots of Sap” dad would say laughing to his own joke he always does. The fat, perfect topped, full, smelly tree with lots of sap was the one. He’d chop that tree down left to right the perfect point. Dads a strong man so pulling a tree miles back to the car was his job yet I’d hold a bow and think I was carrying a ton.

We always tied the tree to the roof as again tradition would be and home we would go to put our tree on display for this lovely day. Dad never decorated his perfect tree that was our job,no questions asked. For that perfect month dad would sit by the tree snacking on mixed nuts cracking away just staring at the tree. That’s the magic. It transports you. He never spoke of his memories but in his light lit eyes I knew they were special and sad too.

This very memory has me even though in a large city driving hours to the country to do exactly this with my wee ones. The same rules apply and sure enough that perfect tree reveals itself. I create the moments that ii cherish, that’s so special. It’s these feelings that matter, the traditions over the gifts.

Christmas is in the heart not under a tree.

The fridge

It seemed that dad was working all the time rarely coming home. When he was home he was asleep and even working those kind of hours he still barely had enough to maintain his family, often times not having enough to last the week. I remember having picnics by a lantern because the lights were off until payday. Now having my own family I understand just how hard it is to provide and what it’s like to have a list of I can’t affords. I still remember My sons 2nd birthday/Christmas when all we could afford was dollar store toys, I get it now. My dad worked his hands raw and bloody to just survive. My mom had been asking often for a new fridge, the big yellow rumbling beast that revd its Engine when cooling.. shook the house I loved it as a youngster. I can see my parents still screaming and shoving eachother in the kitchen over needing a new fridge see it ran water that pooled in front and mom had enough cleaning it up. Dad kept patching the problems trying to put this large purchase off until summer. He left that Sunday to go to work screaming over a fridge, sounds ridiculous now, they fought just for the sake of fighting.

A few days later after only having a few sightings of her since dad left. The silent treatment, so awkward and even now I get very anxious and hysterical inside if someone ignores me actually I get pissed and come across vicious I think. Damn temper of mine. I can Remember at times a week or more could go by and my mom would not talk to me nor even turn her head to look at me. I can see myself 8 years old following behind her that big bottom in a nightdress that was mostly eaten by her bum. I remember begging for her to talk to me having doors slammed in my face, it’s a very awful feeling I’d actually prefer a beating to the silent treatment, shiver. Mom just came out one evening very energetic and happy. She put down 3 cans of old paint, brushes and glitter, are we doing an art project? Well it was kind of art I guess. Happily shevpulled that huge yellow fridge out into the middle of the floor. She took a paint brush and splattered dark green paint all up the front of the fridge. I was so confused, this felt odd but I got excited to do something with you, sad but true I’d take anything for attention so lonely all the time. I dipped. My brush into a rose pink can of paint and made a dot on the fridge. Mom was laughing, jumping up and down giggly and I joined in full throttle. We laughed together and I felt like I was on cloud nine, if mom said it was ok then it must be, right? Oddly fond moment. Mom just stopped. She stepped back and had a massive smile on her face. “Now the fucking asshole will buy a fridge. ”

With those words a rush of fear came over me. Mom just shoved the fridge into the hole and walked away like a smerk in her walk. “Make sure you get all that cleaned up” . No good was going to come from this, the hysteria inside grew I spent that night cleaning paint off the walls, floors it was everywhere. I knew dad would be home the next day and I was knotted in the gut about this.

I stayed in my room all evening waiting to hear dads truck come up the driveway. He rolled in the rocks popping of his tires. My heart pounded and throats became tense and stiff. He came in the heightened senses heard each lace undone, crinkling of his coat. Then came the pause. “What the fuck?!?” Echoed up the carpet stairs hitting my chest like a airbag. This massive fridge was painted like splatter art green,pink,blue with gobs of glitter blabbed on worse than a 2 year olds painting. It was absolutely ugly! Dad just left as she came after him laughing and mocking him. ” you pussy!” “Piece of shit” you moron! She beat him down constantly in particular my dads intelligents. He’s a simple fella but not nearly as dumb as she taught me. Honestly I thought my dad was a bit mentally delayed because of her. He’s not at all.

Why?

Baby powder

As a blooming young woman I was feeling all so grown up that summer before grade 8, moving up to the big high school no more girl it’s the first walk into the world of womanhood and it’s bright, glittery, giggly, full of butterfly tummy feeling. Romance and young cute lusty love, all new the energy seemed much more intense. I spent this summer between this changing grade of all hormones gone wild, spent where else? The public pool. Gathering with classmates that are suddenly sexy and you feel the throb in your groin, these beautiful years of womanhood.

I caught the attention of a very handsome dark boy from town whom I did not know. The long glares across the pool, dropping eyes feeling nauseous, ridiculous new feelings and curiosity of boys, so cute.

It was not long and my perfect tanned crush in the hottest wet swim trunks that set my girly dirties on fire came walking over to talk. It’s true the movies are spot on with the mushy slow motion stuff but it happens. His lean body, curly hair and sexy grin, I was just about to explode from blushing as he stood in front of me, so gorgeous! That hair, his hemp bracelets and no fear tshirts, just cool a tall sundae extra cherries. ” want to walk the trail with me?”

Before he finished I said yes. Trying all so cool to get into that change room and pretty up. That walk around the lake was very quiet and beautiful he held my hand and my heart fluttered, touched my back I swore it was ice in my chest. This walk became a regular thing just us, snuck away meeting in the woods to just hold hands.

Finally while sitting on a picnic table he kissed me, at last and it was phenomenal and I became some starving sex girl. We spent the whole summer just making out, everywhere, sneaking away and ravaging eachother, oh the French kissing, just way more than this girl imagined, he was full of passion and a bit dark hair tugs, slaps on the ass surprisingly, he had me so wound up I could bare walk at times from arousal, those making out days. First base, second base for weeks we felt eachother up hour of squeezing boobs and petting Levi button fly jeans,, then came third base… it was going to happen the last make out lead to unbuttoning, I was so so nervous.

I got ready that night knowing exactly what we would be up to. He was staying at his aunts house just down the road. My parents were never around so the plan was to sneak out and meet at my place. I was anxious my tummy doing summersaults. I’d never done this in a normal teen way. My silly anxiety had me so clean in lady land it kinda stung, I had shaved up, very odd the first time. M friend who was older walked me threw it over the phone, it was hilarious. I’m the 90’s it was the landing patch. This first go at my lady bits kinda matched a mans first shave, few nicks, little off here, how do you get all up in that. Then the mirror.. oh my I laughed so hard into the receiver I thought I’d never catch my breathe. “Yes she looks cute”.

I got extra dressed up, lots of cream, perfume, my hair perfect. I’m ready.

I heard him come across the porch we just jumped on eachother, falling into walls and sitting on tables grinding teenagers we are sex machines then. As his hand slid down my pink panties I feel into him total surrender. We made out forever all hot and teasing I ran to the bathroom while he put the radio on nine inch nails played. I suddenly got all weird freaking out I decided to freshen up I felt messy. In the downstairs bathroom I only found baby powder, I’d never used it so I puffed a bit in my panties that would be a fresh clean lady bits.

We fell to the floor and continued this passionate rolling he’s into I’m ontop jeans feeling damp then as the passion increased he unbuttoned my jeans kissing my panties. I was so beyond myself I knew I was so ready as weird as it may be. As the silk panties were pulled down I saw him lower. Let’s say I was a very happy lady and that I’m generous with natural lubricant, anywho still blushing.

All these super awesome weird things start happening it was out of this world. He came to kiss the inside my legs and as he looked up I saw it… his face from eyes down was white!! I sat up concerned and freaked out. “. Your face!” What? It’s all white?!? He gets up to go see and in this terrifying moment we both saw the powder on the sink……

Oh my fuck!!!

I literally got so excited I made paper mâché out of baby powder.

Can’t make that kinda devastating experience up.

We were so awkward I was mortified but we said nothing.

A few years later in senior high he while high told his friends laughing about our funny tale that to me was the ultimate devastation, I painted his face like a white balaclava! I still see his young studly face all white and cracking.

Well let’s say I heard baby powder a lot that year. Only a few knew and that was way too many already.

Embarrassing!!!!

My brain at this point is rumbling with emotions. I can only best describe a feeling, not a easy thing to do cause if you have not felt it how do I make you feel it?

When I’m in this form of mental relapse it’s a Gymboree of chaos inside ping pong balls in a padded room no one hears the feelings if they did I’d sound like some god awful heavy metal band, no one wants to feel that or be near it, yucky feeling, we don’t like that so I stuff em in tight so they can pop around colliding making new feeling like pissed-happy sure. Oh maybe sad bumps lonely, perfect lump of chest tightness,, on and one they go.

Living these episodes are incredibly exhausting feeling so much, at times the rage and tantrums really wear at ya.

My beautiful brain is like a bingo roll cage all stuffed with feelings. Each ball is a emotion there they sit quietly for months, years then the hand of my disease reaches out and begins to turn that cage. Fast, faster, the chittering cage rolls those balls until one drops. What feeling is going to escape?

Sssssssssunk… B6, broken heart beaten with sticks..

Chitter chitter the chaos and rotation like a emotion tornado

Sssssssssshunk… N11 a ball of tears. Well ain’t that fun to randomly drop a feeling out of my spinning mind with little warning.

A public sweat fest or cry over coffee yesterday always leaves s impression on orhers.

That’s the best way I can describe these episodes and at the point I’m so so over it.

Round and round we go what kinda out burst will you bestow

O Hollows Eve

My family is so unique and so very odd too. A village tradition we celebrate upriver almost cult like. The costumes are not bought it’s from the closets and made, it’s some of the most creative contraptions you’ll ever see. All ages gather in our community hall, so old so many memories. We are all related in some way or another and full of talent. The musicians start plucking those strings and the Monster Bash starts. Absolute silliness most have there faces covered and the others whisper to figure it out, who is the night stand? Who’s the giant dildo? As the guess fly around so do the booze and blazing blunts fog the party. The laughter that echoes over our silent village and the mountain lined river is amplified joy. As a kid the noise inside was a roar this event that ends in prizes really is the celebration of our pagan holiday.

Every year for as long as my memory goes our family aunts, uncles, moms, dads, sisters, kids and friends gathered at our family sporting camps cookhouse to prepare a our crew. The sewing kits going, paint everywhere, tying down boobies it was like a large change room of creativity and love, real love we all have. Most of the time our crew took home all three medals, it’s just our thing.

Last night was the famous Riley Brook hall Halloween bash, even away I’m on the phone with, getting pics of and medling I feel kinda apart of my personal favourite family gathering. I got up this morning excited to see photos of my redneck goons and as expected, awesome!

Then I feel lonely.

I feel like I’m no longer family after being away for so long.

Each person standing in my home lady right shared blood and in my eyes people that made everything so much more than it was all because we are so close and goofy.

I’m homesick.

Then I remind myself there nothing there.

Just a twisty turny goat path threw the deep woods along our river with nothing my for sale signs on run down homes that once boomed with families.

Here in my blood all these moments are stored.

Now I’m here in this lovely position of carrying these unique traditions on. We may go overboard as parents and yes every moment is a ballon occasion here. That’s ok cause I celebrate every good thing there is and seek every laugh it offers.

I love this.