Whispers of 2018

Dear Hearts,

I hate myself.

That’s what the voice in head said to me last night when I was trying to fall asleep—or maybe it was this morning after I got up to the bathroom at 6 a.m. I was awakened by an especially rousing game of Mousey that Angel was playing.

I hate myself.

That is the in the shadows, unfiltered truth. And all the tattoos, Bible verses, Faith, and “self-care” is not going to change that.

There is one thing that makes me worthwhile: helping Papa.

There was a time I didn’t think that Angel could live without me. But, I think she could.

That is the only reason for my existence right now. I am helping Papa.

Until I don’t hate myself, Christ, St. Jude, Jed, Mother Mary, prayers—nothing will change.

I also hate New Year’s Eve. First, I am an East Coaster. Forever, baby. So when the ball drops at midnight in NYC and it is still 11 p.m. here—it’s just queer. It turning midnight here is meaningless.

And, then there are all these expectations. Oh, new year, fresh start, resolutions.

It’s another year gone. Wasted.

Mom texted me after “Epistles” the other night and said I was so dark again.

1.     I don’t want to work at a place where I have to cover my ass every second

2.     By staying at BB, I was dropping anchor and living in my trauma.

3.     Papa needs more help

4.     I can go Home now

5.     I can keep my own schedule

6.     I can prepare for my next “Great Opportunity”

7.     Forest through the trees and all that bullshit

That was the positive spins I was putting on losing my job.

But really, and I felt better after writing “Epistles” the other night, I got the Darkness on paper.

I feel like a fucking loser and failure. I don’t care of that is not objective reality. It’s like Papa who keeps causing himself pain by wearing tight pants and buttoning them up. Even wearing a belt. Nothing Aunt Faerie, Mom, or I say can change his mind even though we know that he is causing himself pain.

I feel like a fucking loser and failure. That’s what I feel. I haven’t liked myself for the better part of 30 years.

There are two wolves at war in me. One is Dark and one is Light. Even winners bleed in a fight.

Okay. Let’s take stock of 2017.

1.     House: a year ago today I COULD NOT say the words “getting rid of my house.” Now, I—well, I do give a fuck. I am mourning all of what that means too. But, I don’t give a fuck if the pipes freeze. Not my fucking problem. I am freed from the Albatross.

2.     I found, what I thought was my calling, my vocation and then was told to leave.

3.     I have been drawing, cross stitching, and writing.

4.     I have had good times in the past year. But, the Light is so crowded out by the Darkness.

5.     I learned and got the okay from a monsignor who knows Pope Francis that I don’t have to go to Mass to be a Catholic. Yesterday, sitting with E., who is 91 and lonely, was more important than attending Mass. She says she is ready for God to take her any day. (And her three-year-old grandson cannot really read—he is just parroting back a book he has heard repeatedly.

6.     I started running. I haven’t done that since early 2012 when things were at they’re best.

7.     I am becoming an Illinois resident. Eh. Aunt Faerie, I am sorry, but I will never be “At Home” here.

8.     I speak up for myself and don’t just let Papa have it his way all the fucking time because he is 97. I have told him NO on more than one occasion.

9.     I have learned that stuff will never bring me ultimate happiness. But, a  $5 Barbie from Walmart can bring a smile to my face—especially when I put on her the Barbie Club Exclusive Shoes.

10.  I know that I have so many, many, many Blessings from God that I don’t deserve.

11.  I’ve become a coffee snob.

12.  I turned 40 and kinda liked it. I am done apologizing for smoking (to which I have resigned myself—four a day is the same as a pack a day), swearing, sleeping in late, having tattoos, and being a Reagan/Bush Republican. I will just apologize for my general existence.

I owe my parents thousands of dollars. I can fall into a panic attack in seconds. Yes, there has been good this year. Really. God, I recognize that. I recognize all the blessings I have. I do. I really fucking do.

But, I still cannot see a future. I do not know how to not hate myself.

I wish I could be all profound and shit in this last blog of the year…but profundity can’t be planned.

Mother-fucking-Sweet-Mother-Of-Fuck nothing can be planned.

I am so afraid. I try…

“Do not be afraid; just believe.” Luke 8:50

Live…

Okay…here it is…my profound resolution.

Keep up the Good Fight with the Light Wolf.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

UC Remission

Health

Family

Chocolate bars and brownies

Coffee

Cigarettes

My wolf night-light

Barbie

Clean sheets

Angel

************************************************************************************

THANK YOU, GOD

God spoke to me.

Yeah, maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was my subconscious creating a “Burning Bush.” Maybe it was nothing. Or, Maybe it was God.

He doesn’t always talk in great booms. Sometimes He whispers and you just have to listen really hard.

When you express love for someone else—when you talk to them deeply and sincerely—do you shout it? Or do you sometimes whisper it?

Anyone who knows me knows that my CC&H is sacred. I make the joke that if Christ Himself Came, I would tell Him that I was going to finish my first cigarette of the day.

Patience. The answers to our prayers sometimes look different than we think…

One of the Bible reading for today was from Genesis. God promised Abram that he would have heirs as plentiful as the stars—even though he was old and his wife barren.

When I took out my Rosary to prayer before my first cigarette, it was tangled up. I remembered that it had been tangled last night and I was just too tired to untangle it. My Rosary has a picture Pope Francis on one side and Mother Mary Un-Doer of Knots on the other. Also, Pope Francis’s pectoral cross.

It gets tangled periodically.

It was a bitch this time to untangle. But, I persevered. The Rosary actually came apart. I was up and down those basement steps half a dozen times. Usually, when I  go down there with my coffee and cigarette, I am gone for an hour. (The basement is where my smoking nook is.)

I struggled with the Rosary. I used old pliers. Tweezers from Gram. My fingernails.

Finally, my Rosary was together again. My CC&H was cut in half because I had to get Papa’s dinner for him. Did I still enjoy both halves? Yes. I took Xanax the second half—but as the even wears on that is par for the course. The first half was perfect. The second part flawed, but still so worthwhile.

Patience. Perseverance. God’s Time. 

I am reading My Story by Elizabeth Smart. People make choices. For good or ill.

“And I also knew that God wouldn’t leave me to suffer through this alone.”

BB chose to fire me. I choose the next step out of spite or by following my Heart. AND it so just not about BB. That is just a small part of it.

I think I will wait for the whisper.

PS: I am going to watch the Twilight Zone marathon, because that is what Dad and Mom are watching at home. I will Face Time with them at 12 a.m. Eastern. I am going to color the angel wings I drew.

Faith. Hope.

2018-Bring it, Bitch. I slay. Hooooowwwwwlllll

A sign post up ahead...