Haters Be Hatin'

Someday, I'll be living in a big old city. And all you'll ever be is mean.

I've been angry for a couple of weeks. Its over something really stupid that happened a couple of weeks ago, and I'll spare you the details, primarily because those reading this blog already know about them. Also because I don't want this blog to be anything like that. It's not a platform for hate or gossip.  I don't want my life to be like that, so therefore my blog shouldn't be either.  I take that back.  I haven't been angry for a couple of weeks, I've been mourning.

Mourning the loss of a friend.  Mourning the breakdown of communication.  Mourning the end of an era, or the close of a new chapter.  Its frustrating, its stupid, its pathetic really what it's turned into. 

And, I'm not saying this because I'm vengeful or evil or I'm dwelling. 

But, I'm sad. 

And this is what's going on right now.  I'm not going to sugarcoat it and say everything is rosy and full of fluffy little chickies or anything like that.  Life is very raw and tender right now.  I would use a wound analogy and use all kinds of medical terms and maybe she would understand.  Like, I'm this wound and I'm all sloughy right now, I know there's good, beefy granulation tissue underneath, but when I get to it, I'll will still be this open wound.  I need time to heal. 

I am sad.  Not angry, but sad.  Like I said, it feels like a break-up and I'm one piece of chocolate away from calling and crying and letting go of what I know is right.  I know that if I do, then I'll go back to someone I am not. 

I'm not prideful, I'm not biased, I'm not someone who lacks experience because I was given everything. 

I am wise beyond my years, I am someone who looks at all of the options, I am reasonable. 




And you know what?  I am the shit. 

No really, that may sound bad, but I mean it.  I'm pretty cool.  I know how to spike a tennis ball.  I know how to play the Claire de Lune.  I can make my own spaghetti sauce.  I can start a fire with tree sap.  I grow tomatoes from tomato seeds. 

I moved across the country in my second Hyundai Elantra, to a completely different culture and achieved my dreams.  I survived hitting a semi-truck with my first Elantra.  I liked Robin Thicke before he was cool, back when he had dreadlocks. I know exactly what to ask little old ladies to make them stop crying and smile.  I once did a perfect Michael Jackson kick to Billy Jean.  I dream of fly fishing with my best friend in Montana.  I am going to do great things, dammit. 

I don't attack.  I don't lie.  I don't point fingers and laugh at people's appearances.  I don't do things in spite of others. 

And, if this is too soap-boxy, stop me.  But, I'm sad, and I don't want to be anymore.  I don't deserve to be.  I don't deserve these things because I am a good person.  I am a good friend. 

Someone said recently that things don't seem to be good enough for us.  You know what I say?



They aren't. 



I'd like to give a big F U to this year.  It hasn't been good enough. Sure, there have been great things, but there has also been a lot of crap.  And, that's not good enough for me.

Do you expect the best for yourself?  You should.  From yourself, from your boo, from your friends, and especially from your family.  If you don't, why not?


Let's take a better look, beyond a story book.  And learn our souls are all we own, before we turn to stone. Let's go to sleep with clearer heads, and hearts too big to fit our beds. Maybe we won't feel so alone. Before we turn to stone.  And if you wait for someone elses hands, you will surely fall down.  If you wait for someone elses hands, you'll fall.  I know that I am nothing new.  There's so much more than me and you.  But Sister, how we must atone, before we turn to stone. 




I started this blog because I was horribly homesick and horribly depressed.  I was at a point where I didn't want to be anywhere anymore.  Somewhere, deep inside of me, I knew that was wrong.  I knew that there was more to give, more to get from this world, more than I deserved.  This blog became a therapist that I didn't have to fork out money for.  It was the same thing everyday, the same bullshit life, the same problems and the same hardships.  I knew it wasn't sustainable; I knew that it would kill me. 

Somewhere, from within, there was this little light that said, "You deserve better."     



I feel like that light has exploded into this raging wildfire. I'm an advocate for myself now, so that I can avoid being that girl sobbing on the kitchen floor, but also so that I can be this beautiful, healthy, radiant woman who has been hiding. 

Things should never be good enough.  Never.  If they are, then you're slacking baby.  Always reach higher, always jump farther, always push yourself to become better. 


Mediocre is a very crowded room.  Its full of people who are too prideful, too selfish to move up in the world.  They like you plain, they like you stupid, they like you negative.  It may be their fault for awhile, but after repeating the same things over and over, its your own.


All that I know is that I'm breathing now. 



I'm not going to lie, I will be sad for awhile.  You can see it on my face, in my body.  I've loved and I've lost and I don't know how to deal.  So I write.  I laugh on the phone with friends who are in the city that I call home.  I learn to picture a new wedding. I take the negativity and the vile words that were said and use them as motivation.  There will be more tears, but they'll fall less. 

I am the shit.  I'm from Seattle.  I am more experienced than that.  I know what to do next time.  I am a good person and I'm the one who comes out on top because I get me and you don't. 



There is an ancient Native American story about an old Cherokee who told his grandson about the battle that goes on within us. "My son," he told him, "Inside every one of us dwells two wolves, one evil, one good. The evil one is angry and jealous, full of regret and arrogance, greed and sorrow, guilt and self-pity. The other is good. He is kind and loving, full of hope and peace, joy and compassion."







The young boy thought about it for a moment. "Which wolf wins?" he asked his grandfather.






The old Cherokee smiled and simply replied, "...the one you feed."