Connections Should Never Be Abused

I am not sure how life moves in such a motion. Or why some have choices and others don't. There has been thoughts that have been pounding my brain for weeks and weeks. Connection doesn't always fall in your lap. It isn't something to be learned or something that you can just obtain. Connection just happens. However, some people don't always accept it or they abuse it.

For the past few months I have felt used or absorbed by people, a connection gone wrong. A connection manipulated. I tend to be this fill in person. This person that gives you all this attention and emotions. When that connection is evident I have a hard time seeing the other stuff. I get distracted in that fairytale scenario. I do stupid things to keep the connection lasting.

I have felt like a fill in girlfriend/boyfriend for a bit now. If you have ever been queer you know being someone's, who is same sexed, desired choice partner is never fun. It involves a lot of work. It involves a lot of patience. It involves a lot of you. Being a fill in girlfriend is the same thing which is pretty ironic. Connections should never be abused. I'm just sad it took me so long to understand this. Connections are meant to be fulfilling and spirited.

I've never felt so good about myself and who I am. I'm going through a pretty strange stage in my life right now. It has taken me awhile to fully grow up and deal. I have worked on myself to no end and have tried to become the best me as much as possible. I'm tired of the open ended relationships and the friendships that are occasionally there. I'm tired of the lies and deceit. I'm exhausted by people's bullshit.

Over the past few months I have obtained a friendship I thought would never happen. There was a lot of hurt feelings and bad moves when we first met. I see her almost every day now. I've never had someone be so confrontational and real before. She has taught me a lot about my self-worth and has developed my existing qualities into foundational pieces of myself. It's interesting how a toxic connection can transition into a beautiful connection. No lies, no deceit, no harm, no disrespect...

I've had a wild ride with life and there is no wonder that trauma was apart of that. I haven't been the best human in life. It has taken me years to get inside my head that things had to change. It's slow but it's there. Things haven't worked out with people for a reason. Sometimes it was my own fault, sometimes it was their's, and sometimes it was just plain mutual.

I hope that someday I meet that person and it's a no brainer that we are meant to be on both ends. The organic-ness of everything just moves like nature. However, for now I'm not going to be a fill in. It's pathetic. It's just gross and unfathomable for myself. I am better than that. I am not going to be dragged into a whirlwind of satisfying someone else and with no reciprocation. I can certainly be content on my own and intend to be until that one enters in or if they have already.

When you find yourself...don't lose yourself. Hold on to you and what makes you you. Filter out that bad. Make real connections with people and work on it with them. Don't let that fade away. I can't let connections go sometimes...but now when they turn sour I have to. I'm just tired of being lied to.

I wonder at times what if I am suppose to be just me...and then I think really hope not. I thrive on connections way too much for it to not be a thing. Solo Dolo. I'll always be there for those connections that aren't going anywhere but filling in just can't be done anymore.

Well, honestly sometimes I feel like I am an alien

I am me and no one else.
I am me and I do not have to be anyone else.
I am reserved but kind.
I am anxious but I am ready.
I am sensitive but I am honest.

I have been having this conversation with one of my best friends over a course of months. It has been stuck in my mind since November. I experienced a form of a break up that really impacted me. It was something that really makes you look at people and wonder.
I have a constant thought in my head that is, I do not understand people. I do not understand how they work or why they work the way they do.

Communication and honesty are the number ones in a relationship in my mind. I will struggle if I do not have these. They have been produced to be number ones because of past failing relationships...I actually am not really sure. Time and time again I get into things and do not understand how they get all confusing. I do not understand why people can't be honest. Life to me seems easier that way.

I have learned that I am very sensitive. I have learned that I am very private. I have learned that I get along with almost anyone. I have learned that when I start caring and allow myself to it isn't half assed. Because I am sensitive I protect myself from others and keep my feelings private and hardships out of sight.

Introspection.
It should never be not a thing.

I will inspect my heart and mind over and over again. I will take what people say about me and see if they are right. I do not enjoy critic but I do accept it. My life seems to be going faster and faster however all I want to do is to improve myself...and see people for who they are.

But yet I do not understand people. I do not understand why people have to be mean, rude, insensitive, and dishonest. I understand that hurt will forever be in people. I understand that I have the capability to be completely mean, rude, insensitive, and dishonest. I just try not to be. SO I've been trying to be quiet when I feel like I am going to be like that. I have also tried to be more honest and outspoken about how I feel.

Human.
When does saying I am only Human stop being an excuse?

I am sorry I am only human...Well, honestly sometimes I feel like I am an alien. An alien in a human's body trying to adapt to this world. Trying to understand why people have to be like people. It isn't guns, laws, government, churches, schools, and etc that is wrong with this world, it is people. They are not only the problem but the answer as well.

I am an alien. For you to figure out and for myself to figure out you. I will never be perfect. I am another alien in the sea of people.

Dear Mother's Day Nurturing Comes in All Forms

Dear Mother's Day,

I have learned to love you. I couldn't stand you for the longest time however. The way you present yourself in May catches everyone by surprise. Mothers are always busy and sometimes forget. Children tend to be reminding fathers and older siblings. Mothers are reminding mothers. I remember when I hated you. I hated you because you made it aware that my mother is in heaven.

Though over the years that have gone by I have realized that I love you, Mother's Day. Did you know you are the holiday that the church attendance is almost as high as the Christmas service? And that Father's Day is least attended...It took me awhile to understand that mothers come in all forms. Care comes in all forms. Nurturing comes in all forms.

I used to think that because I didn't have a mom anymore I couldn't celebrate you. I could remember my mom and pay tribute to her but I couldn't take her out to breakfast or make her some craft that she would enjoy. I couldn't spend the entire day with my mom doing whatever she wanted to do. I would though become jealous of people that had a living mom. I even became jealous of people that were moms.

Mother's Day you made me so sad in the past. You were an awful reminder of what I didn't have anymore. Mother's day you still make me sad but you also make me overjoyed. I think of my sister-n-laws who are now mothers. How brave, courageous, strong, resilient, unstoppable, and humble they are. I think about my friend's mothers...knowing some may not be the best but how blessed I am that their child is my friend because they gave birth to them or they were the ones who mothered them. I think about the ones who mothered and keep showing their mother qualities to me. I think about my father who has had to change and require some motherly skills. I think about the ones who don't have mothers or their mother isn't the greatest human. I'm not glad that I was given the ability to sympathize with them. I am glad that I can sympathize with them.

Mother's day you remind me that I have a lot of work to do in order to be the amazing mother my Mom was to me. I realize a lot of the times my blog focuses on the issue of my Mom's death. It is because that event has impacted me in a way only a handful will understand.
Mother's day you remind me how amazing my Mom was and this is how amazing she was:

She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 4. I believe she was 36. For the next 13 years of her life she battled the on and off again fight of cancer. At the beginning of the diagnoses she was given I believe a year or maybe 2 to live. She is considered a miracle. She raised 5 children and lost one at the age of 4. She worked part time and still managed to decorate a beautiful home, have a wonderful home cooked dinners and desserts practically every night (when we were given meals when she was recovering from treatment or surgery, we would complain that it wasn't her cooking), she wrangled all 4 children to clean the house and do yard work every Saturday, she danced in the kitchen and blared Celine Dion, she would set new clothes on my bed when I got home, she attended my last volleyball game even though she was in a wheelchair, she was amazing at making anyone feel loved and appreciated...the list goes on in how this woman was a warrior.

Mother's Day I appreciate you being a holiday because if you weren't there I wouldn't be able to celebrate my saint of a mom or the people in my life that have mothered me along this journey with my own mom.

Love,
Brenna

This week I would like to take each day as a day to appreciate someone.This life is too insane not too. There are incredible people all around you and even the ones you might not be on good terms with...they are incredible too. We often think of these holidays as something that is so constricting and it can only fit one mold. That is highly untrue. We can make this holiday into whatever we need realistically.What I do know for certain is that I will be celebrating my Mom and the ones who have mothered me along the way.

I was this human that wasn't human but a shell. I was a vessel for toxic tendencies.

I'm an observer. It is something that has portrayed me as shy and quiet. However, if I am comfortable with you and have plenty of sleep I am not shy and quiet. I like to watch people and listen to people. I presume that people don't always find this as true. I do not ask people to understand me. I ask people to not assume.

When I first start to get involved with someone I tend to be hyper aware but intrigued at the same time. Talking about myself, like most people, comes easy to me although opening up about the dark corners of my heart and mind are troubling. I get attached easy. I want to relate as well. Though opening those dark corners is opening myself up in ways not many people receive.

I recently got out of a relationship a bit ago. I'm not one to over analyze too much but I am one to try and understand what happened and how did it happen. I started to not feel heard. I started to feel as though my problems were not big enough to be heard. My heart retracted and started to detach. I drew back and started to observe again, to understand the situation. It was already too late. Things happen to us and we instantly argue and think that it is the other person's fault. Oddly enough, it so could happen to be that the issue was mutual.

When someone critics my character, life choices, personality, and the like I want to change it for the better whether it is true or not. I become quiet and observe in my own life at my own self. I look around and see how people interact with me. I have dealt with a lot of anger in my life and it doesn't suit me anymore. It impinges my heart in a way that I can't stand.

A simplistic lifestyle is something I enjoy. Admittedly, I like the expensive things and all the tasty foods but I find when I cultivate simplistic values and experiences I am more happy. It is a viewpoint that can change your world view dramatically.

The pain I have felt and have had to deal with is a lot to say the least. My story is my story. When I work with my patients, kids and teenagers who are mentally unstable, I see my younger self sometimes. The scary thing is I could of benefited from going to intense therapy or maybe even a partial program at a mental health hospital. There were times were I couldn't think clearly for more than a hour. I was this human that wasn't human but a shell. I was a vessel for toxic tendencies.

It has only been three years that I have felt me. I have experienced the real me. I find that relationships have been easier to build and maintain. I have two people in my life that I cannot imagine life without. They have seen me at my worse, have felt my worse, seen my best, have felt my best, and have guided me. My love for them is a great and empowering love.

I have been observing again. I've been observing people I once knew only a month ago. I'm observing people I just met. I have been observing how people relate to me and I relate to them. I have been observing how people dissociate and associate to pain in their own lives. It has taught me that change is possible and a human is complex. It takes more than a few months or even a year to fully know a human. I can't judge a human in my life solely on a few months of knowing them. I wouldn't want that for myself.

I believe the best way to get to really know someone and who they are is to see how they deal with pain. In that you will find how resilient they are, how determined, how resourceful, how spiritual, how loving and caring, and how their body heals mentally...what being healthy is for them.

Trauma doesn't understand healing.

Beauty and honesty can go hand in hand. There is beauty in honesty and honesty in beauty. This is something I've been trying to write for years and years but there never seemed a right time until now. 

4:09am. I’ve woken up between 3am and 4am for years now. It’s my fears and tears still trickling in. Somehow now I can’t shake it off. In October it will be 9 years. When I was living on the coastline in the sunshine there was this timeline that has forever impacted me. It sometimes prevents me to make contact with the most simplest interactions. 

4:09am. My brother woke me up. 4:09am my brother woke me up on October 31st, 2007. It wasn’t to prepare for all those early trick or treaters. But it definitely felt like a trick, like weighted bricks on my back ready to somehow attack me to the point that I wake up now between 3am and 4am every night. 

She would make me one of my favorite desserts. Combining egg whites with cake batter to make me angel food cake. Hearing her chatter in the kitchen to some best friend for hours. Outside in the sunshine I would be picking flowers for her to say I was sorry for splattering the batter all over the floor. 

She nicknamed me precious and called me the icing on her cake. Once in awhile I would let her dress me in pink and think thats what I wanted…though all that would happen would be a bellyache growing inside me. I was her little girl, her only girl. I wasn’t allowed to like girls. 

4:09am I woke up to my brother saying “It’s time.” He couldn’t utter the words, for saying She’s dead, she died, it happened, forms an instant stutter in your mouth like peanut butter incrusted on your lips. You dip into this mood that forms an eternal feeling of feeling like your unveiling your deepest self every time someone asks “Where does your mom live?” “What does she do for a living?"

After dinner, my dad asked me if I was willing to give my mom a shower. A tower of the most uncomfortable feelings surrounded me. The cancer spread from her breast to her hip to her lungs to her brain. I wasn’t trained for this. I didn’t understand this. 16 and showering the vomit from your mother’s body. Her mind was losing control only to show me tell me with smile before I showered her, “It’s like your my mother now.” 

When trauma sets in with a warning or not, the impact is an attack for your entire life. Cutting in like a serrated knife and trying to gain friction to get away from the affliction and constriction. Oh, Momma there is always this drama in my life. I’ve been in a coma, this comatose state. I let depression hit me like a freight train that I couldn’t tame for years. I got my diploma like I said. I forgot your aroma and the sound of your voice. I make choices sometimes that hurt the ones around me only to ground me so no one gets too close. I break down and bring down, let down because trauma…doesn’t understand healing. 

When I was 16, 4 in the morning was her last breath on Halloween. Trauma. Tragic trauma. It has made me strong and create these bonds with certain humans. It has made me frustrate and deflate others. I’m tragically imperfect and I don’t need your verdict to know. But yes this is me, this is my circuit. I try to rewire and resurface myself because trauma doesn’t understand healing. Healing understands feelings even the most unappealing feelings. So yes I am selfish because one day you will die too and I don’t know if I will be able to handle it.

B I T C H

We hear this word more often than not. It doesn’t have to be before a gun shot goes off. Or after the thought of someone mistreating another. Don’t bother to guess because I’ll tell you anyways. The word we used started to describe a female dog. And not the kind that just sits on a log waiting to be petted. No, this kind of dog is the one that's over sexed. Or how they say it? in heat. Let me not beat around the bush but it may used when a woman is not in heat but being beaten. Normally it isn’t for the women that are sweetened a little, no its the women that seem to taste like a lemon. It’s not for the smitten kitten who seems to be wearing mittens sitting in the kitchen on Reddit. Its for the villain or the timid chicken in the story. Its the timid chicken swimming in someone else’s linens in prison.

The word is bitch. When I get nervous I itch the side of my arm or the side of my head. This word bitch makes me itch and twitch. A bit ago I found myself on the ridge of this word though I think I found a bridge that doesn’t glitch. A bridge to start to build the gap and remove it from the word witch or bewitched. It removes the word from bullying. Mistreating. It helps to improve us, women. It’s called conversation and to remove the starvation of attention to this word. I call to attention the usage and the abusive tendency it has to offer.

Feminist are starting to change it or is that just Beyonce. Or I’m I saying Beyonce because I like to use Beyonce in all my spoken words? Bow down bitches? Or is the  mountain range feminist have to climb high and far but by far this is one word has to change.

Then there is another phrase that has been developing. The ways in which it seems to be staying is relevant in that fact that we now dress up as them in Halloween, even the tweens do. In today culture it may seem native to this breed and it is anything but invasive...or is it? Basic bitch. A basic bitch defined in my handy dandy urban dictionary comes out to be a “bum-ass woman who think she the shit but really ain’t”, although the one that struck in my head the most was number 4, “A person, particularly a female, who believes they are the shit because they own a certain type of clothing/material that differentiates them from other people. They may also believe they hold a higher standard then regular people.” Somebody who is boring and unoriginal....They are not scoring or roaring their achievements, they are pouring with snoring attitudes.

But when you think basic bitch, all you think is a bland white female middle upper class woman. Is the term tearing down a culture? A gender? Or is it just fun to say?
When we surrender to this terminology, we render the word and make in slender than the actually meaning by putting all the definitions in a blender and calling it funny.

Is it acceptable? Are we making this word adaptable? IF the skeleton of the word falls in to the wrong hands it does make it extremely terrible. My dream however is to ream out the ugliness of the word bitch and be able to scream it whenever. The word when you say it makes you feel some type of power. Is that good? Beyonce does say bow down bitches but Jay Z says 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one...
What does the word bitch do to you? Does it itch the back of your throat and make your voice go into a high pitch? Is your brain unhitched from your tongue which makes it impossible for you to see that the word bitch, basic bitch, bitches, needs some action, some reaction?

If you call me a bitch I won’t twitch, flinch, and have an allergic reaction to this transaction but let it roll off your tongue because it has flung off my tongue like a pile dung before. It has sprung out and stung the ones close by me. But when I say “My Chain hits my chest/When I’m banging on the dashboard/My chain hits my chest/When I’m banging on the radio” I feel like a bad bitch.

Rest in My Laughter

"A tornado flew around my room before you came

Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain

In Southern California, much like Arizona"

Alarm off no wait alarm to snooze. Ten more minutes

"A tornado flew around my room before you"

Alarm off. Get up. Change my clothes. wash my face. put something on my face. do something with this hair. 

Go downstairs. Make coffee. Make lunch. make breakfast.

Get in the car. clock in. sit down for report. 

Read through the sheet. Act like nothing bothers you. nothing bothers anyone here. Then wait you see something huge and the words “What the fuuuu?!?” spew out. 

I have these stories jumbled in my head.

I force them in sometimes so they don’t tumble out to the floor. 

They will either bore them or frighten them and silence ensues. 

Kids yelling Kids screaming. Kids saying Fuck you. 

little hands doing grown up things. 

little minds not so little here. 

though most of the stories make me laugh. and when you bring them to the surface for others to hear there is no laughter. 

But when you work my job, laughter is what saves you. bow down to laughter. behave in front of it or it disowns you.

I’ve been swung at, I’ve been cursed at by a 6 year old, I’ve been grabbed at, my chest has been grabbed. But I haven’t been bitten, yet. Though my clothes have been ripped. 

I’ve been a support system….a safe ground. I smile to find and hide in your pocket forever. I’ve been a friend for 8 hours. I’ve secretly cried on the inside when they told me their story. 

I’ve asked them, if you could combine two animals what would it be and what would you call it?

I’ve asked them, you have two months to travel all paid for where do you go?

I’ve asked them, you are stranded on an island what two items that you can buy on amazon would you pick?

I haven’t asked…how long did it take you to make those scars on your arms? I haven’t asked how did you escape from that last mental hospital? I haven’t asked what did you think about last night in those super fucking cold rooms?

Instead I make them think and tink around their mind to find that someone here is willing to be their friend. and not have to bend over backwards. 

Performance performance performance appraisal. one year down in the pin. at work I try to do my best in any situation even if this might not be my vocation. Someone mentioned that I appeared unprofessional but over all I was professional. I get it. I’m too funny for work. I get it I’m too laid back for kids who talk to doctors all day. that see shadows in their room. that think the only way to survive is to die. I get it my humor isn't wanted. I get it having my mom die and falling into thoughts of suicide means I can’t be professional and having my degrees in Psych doesn’t mean a thing. I get it. 

though Laughter, I want to laugh. I want to laugh like a giraffe does, isn’t that a funny picture? I want to laugh like the golden cafe did when the Israelites were anxious for Moses to come down. I want to practice a level of care that isn't obnoxious, that doesn’t make you anxious, that isn’t being an actress or actor like that other doctors, I want to be a blank canvas for those who are anxious, obnoxious, actress or actors 

The factor is, what are you going to do when they reach the boiling point reactor. You gotta be the butt joint to hinge the joint from rage to a page of chronic laughter.

Being harmonic with not their demonic side but the laughter that's inside. 

When the page turner comes around in report and nothing makes sense to how they are acting…you gotta say What the fuck is going on…If I have to spit and spat like donald duck to make one of them laugh then I can pass that on as a success that I did my best. 

This life isn't a bust rather its an opportunity to be great

The process of growing is such a concept. It's almost as if personal growth is just like your body growing from a child to an adult. Things don't fit the same way they used to. Your voice changes and you learn knew inflections. Your hair changes colors. The pains in your legs start happening as the body grows taller. And when the years pass you look completely different. The process was probably expensive and sometimes the pains really hurt but you changed.

I've been experiencing a lot of personal growth lately. Those growing pains are for sure getting to me. My father keeps reminding me that I need to let the process take place and I need to ask for it. It is a hard pill to swallow but I swallowed it. My body needs so much sleep lately just to keep my mind processing.

Push myself. Allow the pushing. Excel in the pushing.

I've realized time and time again my stubbornness never fails me. I do not really get giving up or finding the easy way out. Because it's just going to come around again and bite you in the ass. I learn quickly but I also fall into the hard way of things. So this personal growth thing is always a struggle for me.

When I was depressed and anxious all the time a few years ago I couldn't understand the world. My eyes were cloaked by the black curtain of depression. Even grasping the concept of personal growth wasn't an option. The option was staying alive. When you meet a person that has ever dealt with something like that it's probably a good idea to get to know them. They can be such a talented and amazing person. That path of growth is one of the hardest things to do. However, when you do get past it the things you have learned about love, connection, humans, beauty, compassion, intellect, kindness, grace, and etc are extremely exciting and a great experience to encounter.

When I start dating someone or become friends with them I come off as thoughtful, caring, and really nice. There's a reason for that. I don't want anyone to feel as alone as I did. I'm not doing it for you to push me over or around. I'm not trying to subject myself to be subjected by someone else. I've been through a lot and at times my life really isn't easy. So I am going to try my hardest to make you feel special. That's what personal growth does to you. It changes your character.

I'm human like the rest of you. I might show my darkness a little more than others but it's all apart of being honest and real. If you can't handle being around someone who has struggled with trauma ya gotta gtfo. You're not willing to get know them. Even though they could be a big blessing to you. They could change your life. I'm not optimistic or a pessimistic. I'm in-between. I am me. This life isn't a bust rather its an opportunity to be great.

To further my personal growth I'm going to try and finally perform my spoken words in public again. Maybe write a new one.

The only person that made it extra special was my mom

It is January. A new year has rolled in and has magically made the last year disappear, or so it seems. January is one of my favorite months. I love the new year and celebrating it. It reminds of new life, new chances, a fresh start, and honestly it feels like the moment you step into the shower. It's this cleanse that provides these moments of new chances. The other part of January is my birthday.

In my house your birthday was very special. The only person that made it extra special was my mom. When I was younger and even well in my teens, I would come home to new clothes on my bed. Of course they would be on sale. Sometimes I loved them and sometimes I secretly hated them. That was just on random days. Your birthday was ten times better. When it was my birthday I got to open my presents in the morning before school. One year that was close to when my mom was getting really sick, I had my driver's ed training and she pulled out a sweatshirt that was suppose to be for my birthday but my birthday was months away. I didn't know it at the time of course but I think she knew her time was coming and decided to give me something before she passed away. When I come across my birthday I become so grateful. I am granted another year of life to spend with the people I love.

At the hospital I work at a lot of teenagers come in for depression, suicidal ideation, and suicidal attempts. When holidays come around I have this overwhelming feeling of wanting to embrace them. When my birthday comes around I want to tell them every reason why they should keep on living. The year after my mom passed away I dealt with suicidal ideation. I had a lot of anxiety, depression, and just simply grief. Getting passed it was the hardest thing I think I have encountered with. Defeat was always around the corner. However, being 24 going on 25 I have this appreciation for life that I cannot explain. Life can be explained in that cliché way of it being a gift but I think its more than that.

It is a gift that keeps on giving. A lot of people prefer not be given flowers but instead a plant or even a small tree. I love that idea. My family has always done that when something is a bit more serious. A tree keeps on growing and if it produces fruit, it provides food. Even if it doesn't provide fruit, it provides shade or a home for an animal. I want to be a tree. I want to give a gift that keeps on giving.

25 is this number that could be overwhelming for some. It is a bit overwhelming for me. I absolutely miss my mom during this time. I wonder at times what it would be like if she was here. I'm sure I would receive some type of present(s) in the mail. Though honestly I would love to just pick up the phone and talk to her. Tell her everything about myself at 25. Tell her about my job and how she would be genuinely interested in it. Tell her about all the dates I've been on. I know she wouldn't be happy about me not going to church and I would hear lectures about it. Although, I always come back to the point that if she had never died I would never be who I am today. Sadly, I think I am better person because of her death.

When birthdays come some people avoid them and/or don't even tell anyone about it. I do not understand that. Celebrate your life because it can be gone or destroyed at any moment.