I have come to realize that im no longer in debt to the unsolicited gift that i've recieved. This so called "gift" of life has cost me so much, yet I know for a fact that every penny that was once owed, has been paid.

I know this because life has been, and always will be this extremely costly and emotionally taxing thing. The thing that drains my shiny pink piggy bank of things like joy and innocence.

I guess I couldn't recognize how much I owed on a gift that was given to me, and not asked for.

But at least I know that my debt is paid because there is this lingering feeling that maybe, or surely...

life could be a poor investment after all.

I used to pucker up like fruit that had rotted to its core, too late to save from dying. My coping mechanisms involved how I could shrink my body to fit the mold of society, her words following me. I dropped out of college and she asked me how it felt, to throw my life away like that. Now, I would rip that sentiment to shreds; I would spew confidence. Lips curled, I can spit fire language like a rapper who's career needs lifting.

I'm no victim, and I'm not sorry about anything.

I think of my past in snippets, like a black and white, old movie that cuts to new scenes rather haphazardly. I struggled with being myself - the girl who cut herself down so frequently couldn't really, surely, at her core, also be me?

So I picked up a pen and cut deeper than I ever had before. On the page, I could be free to be just myself, in its entirety.

But now, it's holding me back - this feeling of over-sharing. I struggle with transparency. I was shut down for so long, both physically and mentally.

I needed to scream, the pain seeping out of me. Writing has offered me an outlet I never knew I needed.

Everything I do, everything I write, I do in spite of my upbringing.

But I struggle with the fear of someone watching. I can't keep recklessly airing my dirty laundry.

At my core, I am a writer. Sharing my experiences, or at least writing about them, may have saved my sanity. It has also made me better. I can organize my thoughts, make them easier to comprehend for others. I just hope it's not too much information.

I have come a long way. I think of my old therapist, her office. How there was a watercolor painting of a bowl of fruit. I thought - is this supposed to represent life? How, when we preserve ourselves, we don't die?

Rotten fruit doesn't survive, but I sure as hell willed myself back from certain demise.

Right now my own personal challenges are to de clutter my tiny little house so that I can focus more on my art and work instead of worrying about what needs to be accomplished before I get to my art work. What hinders me now isn’t mental issues on letting go of things, now I’m ready to let go, but physically I’m not able to move about anymore. The challenges I faced when I was young were about handling the lives of sweet little ones, but that came easy as time moved forward.

Now after kids and dogs and horses, my body has decided to stiffen up and shut down on me. Pain is a constant reminder of my rough and tumble cowboy days, but I don’t regret them. It just gives me fond memories of all I went through to get here. I went through a lot.

I used to think I couldn’t handle having more than one child at a time.

Then I had two!

I used to think I couldn’t handle more than two children at a time, God laughed and gave me another so I had three.

Then I thought Lord I couldn’t handle anymore children!

In Gods infinite humor and wisdom he smiled and gave me one more, number four!

Four sons all in a row, all good boys how I love them so!

If only God had seen fit to give me a horse before he gave me children, maybe I would’ve been a better mother. Everything I ever learned about being a better mother, I learned from my horses. If more people took lessons from horses, I guarantee there would be much more harmony in the world!

Our beginning was tough, life wasn’t easy, but lessons learned.

Loneliness, a mysterious companion, walks beside me, its shadow stretching across my emotions. It's a paradox, suffocating yet oddly comforting. It whispers like a haunting melody, weaving tales of isolation, leaving an ache within.

In its presence, the world feels distant, veiled by mist, and the weight of emptiness is overwhelming. Loneliness is an echo that reverberates through the heart, a yearning for connection.

But amid the darkness, it teaches. It compels introspection, forcing me to confront myself. It is a crucible of self-discovery, where solitude fosters growth, unlocking hidden strengths.

Physically alone, emotionally entangled, loneliness is transformative. It's a dance with solitude, a struggle for equilibrium. In these moments, I learn self-compassion, a balm for wounds.

Loneliness weaves its narrative uniquely. It is both burden and gift, an invitation to embrace the human experience in all its shades. Within this vast emotion lies the promise of connection, like stars shining in the darkest night.

Woke up in a Mini Cooper

Pondering the night's regret

Feeling guilty, feeling super

Strung-out drinking... Walker, wet

Pitiful and drunken stupor

But the girl I can’t forget

I think her name was something with a...

Maybe it was Juliette

I'd seen her in her satin shirt

This young, petite, long-haired brunette

Sprayed on denim jeans overt

My eyes to something less a threat

But when her eyes found mine to flirt

I know I broke out in a sweat

I introduced myself and she said...

Perhaps it was Bernadette

Drinking, dancing, flirting, glancing

At her slender silhouette

I'd considered refinancing

Going deeper into debt

For such a beauty so entrancing

Eyes like none I'd ever met

I'd watched her lips as she revealed

I'm positive it was Jeanette

We drank a toast and danced engrossed

And I would make a bet

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Would pine for this coquette

She would banter, I'd riposte

Each other we'd abet

No question, I would not forget her

I think her name was Antoinette?

The fire alarm caught someone chancing

Careless with a cigarette

And sprinklers rained on our romancing

We stayed there while others set

To dash away while we kept dancing

Silky smooth and soaking wet

In her hand a Johnny Walker

In my arms I held... Paulette?

Ushers ushered us outside

Breaking up our sweet duet

Her rushing friends rushed in and pried

Our hands apart and seemed upset

That we would stop and stay inside

And cause their blushing cheeks to fret

And so without a goodnight kiss

I said a sweet goodbye to umm... Collette?

With nothing left for me to do

I wandered, pondered, wondered yet

I strove to know the name I knew

The girl I know I’ll not forget

Sweet Antoijeanbernacolljuliorpaulette

I ordered a drink at the bar I'd come to

Only name I recalled: Johnny Walker... wet

And wound up in a Mini Cooper

Thinking ’bout the girl I can’t forget

Ah! It's Amy! Ha! 100% positive! It was Amy. Definitely Amy.

94% positive.

Memories are only sad when I let myself forget the joy.

There's a strange kind of envy felt for the person who I used to be---

The one who burst with energy and wrote of hope for life to come

And spent her days in trees and books and laughed through all the pains of life.

It's easy for me now to pity the person I've become

Because my space is a mess, my mind's even messier, and in general I've thrown myself into chaos.

And I'm up at night convincing myself that I need to be that kid again

Because kids don't worry about these things, they just want sunlight and sugar and love.

But lying there just hating myself and staining my memories grey with regret,

I'd forgotten that kid who just wanted a life where loving was all she needed to do.

I'd forgotten I can still climb trees and lie in the sun and eat sprinkles on their own,

Even when my mind tells my heart that the things it loves are no longer possible.

And memories are only sad if I let myself forget the joy.

And life is only pointless if I let myself forget that kid.

Now I just want to tell her that she's going to become a big, hot mess.

But her heart goes right on loving even when she feels it least.

Cold, gray static

Emptiness

A matte fog of numbness

My saturnine world muted

Of color and sound

Food so tasteless

Appetizing as ash

Nothing moved me

Or brought pleasure

While peering over

The observation deck

Of everyone else

Around me

Seemingly so alive

Coils of apathy

Would squeeze me

In a suffocating embrace

And dangle me over

My personal abyss of

Bleak nothingness

sadness creeps like a vine

up my heart

strangling everything in it's path

spreading like a disease

infecting everything around

help

won't somebody help me

it seems im alone though

in the garden

of my own self-destruction

tears like a watering can

Shadows swimming at the corners of my vision,

Ghosts taunting me from every angle of what I could have been.

There's a sunrise, a moon at night,

But somehow shadows find their way to light.

For every possibility unfurling before me,

There's a thousand more I never stopped to see.

And it's those that haunt me in the middle of the night,

While I plow along the path I decided was right.

Nothing but ghosts, never to be realized.

I keep them in a quill pen I've long coveted and prized,

So ghosts can keep living in lives that aren't mine,

And the path I chose gives them life in the lines.