Losing Trust

What happens when a relationship is majorly damaged? What happens when so much drama ensues, so many parties get involved, and the two main parties never quite touch base? What happens when this goes on for months? What happens to the children involved? What happens to the actual relationship?

Earlier this year, a relationship ended between me and someone who I considered family. It has been so badly damaged by the angry words, the extra parties involved, the he said-she said crap, and the lack of communication. Not to mention when one is purposefully being vindictive. The damage of that has trickled down to my kids. One is eight years old and the other is four. The eight year old is biologically related to the person, but my four year old is not. Even if he did call her his sister, and she lived with us for five months. It is now effecting my kids, and it is time for it to stop.

At least every month or so, this person will text or Facebook message me or my husband. Either she has something to add to the argument, is asking about an inconvenient time to see her brother, or I’m asking her when she’s seeing him. Each time I’ve tried to set a time up for her to see him, a bunch of verbal slews have been thrown, and it’s gotten down to her threatening the law on me. I’m just going to get one thing out their, and this isn’t to threaten her. The law can’t do shit. She’s not a parent or a grandparent, and they are not both children under the age of eighteen. On top of it, it’s not like I haven’t tried working with her over and over again.

So, what happens when you finally, after five months, start talking civilly? What happens when you can finally agree having third parties involved wasn’t a good idea to begin with? What happens when this person asks to take your son out of your home, on their own, and do something with him? The answer is no. It took months to lose trust in said person, and it will take months to build it back up. My eight year old is not a toy, not something to just be tossed around.

This has nothing to do with what happened between me and this person, as they believe, as much as it has everything to do with my child being out of my sight and limits. I’m told “Well, *insert name* takes him and does *this* and *that* recreationally” This person you are trying to talk down on is my brother, and we have had our own share of trust issues. We went months without talking, back when my oldest was not even two years old. He approached me one day and told me he wanted a relationship and to “agree to disagree” with what we fell out on. He did not immediately start having my son on his own. We starting hanging out at first, altogether, and he would play with, or read to, him. He spent time with him under my sypervision. And then, he worked his way up to having him overnight, and he didn’t start picking him up and taking him places until more recently, when he finally got a stable car. Also, he is my brother of twenty-six years.

So, what I am trying to say is, in order to rebuild that trust, and for her to start taking my son out on his own, we need to start with baby steps. We need to start with her just hanging out, and rebuilding a relationship with her brother. A lot has gone on since she left, a lot of time has passed, and my eight year old is not the same kid from when she left.

So, what happens when trust is damaged? When a relationship has been put on hold for months? You take baby steps to rebuild it. It takes time to get what YOU want as an adult, and it’s most important to keep in mind what is best for the kids of the situation.

My Mother’s Voice

This isn’t going to be a very inspirational post. More so, my thoughts. These are the inner demons I fight.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I hear my mother’s voice so often in my adulthood. And I don’t talk to her. I have this recent inner battle where I don’t know if I want to be thick, eat junk food, and be happy; or eat healthier, workout, and get thinner.

My mother “let herself go” after my youngest brother. Or so that’s how I thought. And she always pointed out when I was too heavy or too thin. She pointed out a lot of my physical flaws, therefore, lowering my self-esteem.

I look at myself in the mirror now, and I’m okay with the thick thighs, the belly pooch, and the saggy boobs. I really am. I’m finally comfortable enough with myself, and I don’t have to be a size 6 to feel this way. But, I still have a dissatisfaction with myself. Like, I should be thinner. I was thin for most of my life. I had thicker thighs than most, but I also had a tiny tummy, and perkier boobs (but losing the perkiness is from having kids). I feel like I should be eating healthier (I’ve been eating horribly lately), and working out. I feel I should be striving to be thinner, because everyone around me is.

I also have this little voice in my head that is telling me I’ll be like my mother if I don’t get fit, don’t become thinner. Because I’ve always compared myself to her, to make sure I wouldn’t turn out to be her. Because of all her abusive attributes, and physical qualities. I know I need to stop, and I guess that’s something I need to work on.

What are your inner demons?


The above is a mockery of ItWorks. If I am gonna lose weight, it’s gonna be the traditional way.

Life After PHP

Life after PHP. A familiar goal I heard from each person leaving the program.

(One important thing about having a mental illness is taking care of it. It’s important to see a psychiatrist, and have a therapist. It’s important that when you feel so low and you don’t feel like going on that you seek help.)

It all began in August of 2014. My mood took a downward spiral, and it took four months for me to get in so deep of a depression that I didn’t leave the couch until my husband got home, and then I retreated to my bedroom. While up there, I would just lay in bed like a lump, with nothing to distract me. Finally, as Christmas approached, and I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit at all, two people very close to me suggested I admit myself into the psych ward of my local hospital. I was against it at first. I didn’t feel that I needed it until I listened to stories of others going into a psych ward and getting the help they needed. Then I made the big decision to admit myself.

(As a note, once you admit yourself into a psych ward you can’t just walk out, even if it is voluntary.)

The admittance was great for me. I met a couple of great women with amazing stories, and similar situations to mine. I shared stories with others, and group therapy helped us explore some of our deeper wounds that most of us kept hidden, or in my case, forgot. I was diagnosed, for the first time, as bipolar, along with PTSD. The stay changed me, and the doctors changed all my medications.

After my stay in the psych ward I went into a Partial Hospitalization Program, otherwise known as PHP. I was referred to one that was mostly made up of people who had to be there, for probation or parole reasons. There were a lot of people with substance abuse problems. Even though a chunk of the people there didn’t take the program seriously, there were a few who wanted to benefit from it. So, sharing my past, and going into my issues of PTSD, seemed easy. Others had similar issues to mine. I was in that program for six weeks, and between the groups and my personal clinician, I got so much out of it.

I got out of PHP on a high. I was going to find work, and get back into eating healthy and exercising. I did those things, and started feeling great about myself and my life. I was, once again, more attentive to my kids and my husband, and I got out with friends and did things to keep busy. It felt like I’d be okay, and I wouldn’t hit another rut.

Then April approached, and the hits started coming. I lost a friendship, with someone who I thought I was close to. We had been friends for a year and a half, and became best friends quick. She was a fellow navy wife and 11 years younger than me. I took her under my wing when her husband was first stationed on my husband’s boat. We all became fast friends, and my boys called her aunty. But once the friendship was over, contact between her and my boys was too.

Following the end of that friendship was the end of a relationship with someone who I had considered family, and who I took under my wing for ten years, since she was ten years old. She is also my oldest son’s older sister. The two relationships ended simultaneously, and were connected. This girl, who I considered my stepdaughter, was colluding behind my back with the most recent person I cut ties with.

In the end, I lost two relationships. One that I could easily live without, and one that hit me to the core. I was having panic attacks on a semi-regular basis, and the “stepdaughter” was the one who watched my youngest while I worked, so I had to quit my job. To top it all off, my medication was not working properly. The mixture of my anti-depressant and my mood stabilizer were making my moods cycle rapidly. I was angry one moment, crying the next, laughing after that, then crashing. And it cycled like that, over and over. I felt like I was going crazy. I needed help, and it wasn’t going to be a quick fix.

In July, of this year, I went inpatient at the same hospital I had gone to this past December. They noticed what was wrong with my medication, and weaned and added medications accordingly. I was there for a week. There was no deep connecting bond with anyone, even though I felt like I had clicked with a few people in there, and I didn’t have any deep discoveries of myself. I felt like getting out and going back to my daily life would be too much for me to handle, so I was referred to the same PHP that I went to in the beginning of this year. After going to an orientation for the program I was told I couldn’t start until a month away from when I was referred. I panicked. I needed something, I needed a program. I called another hospital in my area, and spoke to the head of their program. I broke down while talking to her, explaining that I would have to wait a month for the program I was referred to. She sensed my need, and I was in that program a week after discharging from the hospital.

This new program I entered was like no other. It was different. It was personal. It was deep. People wanted to be there. The connections between those who had been there for a while were deep, and I could sense that. Immediately I shut down, though. Not knowing where to begin with my story. It took me a couple weeks, at least, to finally start opening up and talking about the happenings that helped send me there. Once I started opening up, and receiving feedback, as well as giving my own to others, I couldn’t stop. I started digging deeper. I came to the realization that I never got over my abusive relationship with my oldest son’s father, partially explaining the PTSD. And, when facing discharge, I felt I didn’t have enough time to dig, to share, to open up.

So, life after PHP. It’s been a week since my last day, and I have to say I still have so much more growing to do. This past week I have allowed myself to slack off on my coping skills. I haven’t journaled in a week, and I haven’t colored in almost as long. Coloring is a sense of meditation for some, including me. The journaling was helping me reach into my past, and work out my current feelings towards it all. I know I need to get back into what was helping me, before I reach a downward spiral once again.

I have the ability to better myself, despite the obstacles I face. I know that I will get better, because I am worthy of happiness, and I am growing.

I’m a Mom

I’m a mom, and I won’t judge you fellow moms. No matter how you discipline, ridicule yourself, or bask in your glory. No matter if you enjoy drama, or keep secluded in your home. No matter if you keep your heart guarded, or love openly. No matter if you eat ho-hos and jelly beans, or eat organicly, and cook every meal meticulously.

Because, it’s not my place. I am a mom of two, and I know I don’t make the greatest choices. And I may not agree with what you do with your time, and the choices you make. But, who am I to say you’re wrong? Who am I to suggest how YOU should parent? Because those who tell me I should do a certain thing, or be a certain way, have never gotten their way with me.

I am who I am as a person, and as a mother. No one can change that. I may change my ways from time to time. I may change our family’s diet, and buy mostly organic sometimes, to try and be more healthy as a whole. I now replace fruits and veggies with fruit snacks and snack cakes, when I feel that urge. But who am I to tell someone they should do the same? I buy happy meals from McDonald’s, and treat my kids to snacks at the gas station. Someone else may not do that, but that’s what makes us different from one another.

We are each unique in our parenting styles. You have every right to parent and discipline how you see fit. I mean, straight up physical and mental abuse is pushing it and, I will say, wrong. But as long as your not harming your child, or your family, then who gives a flying fuck what anyone else says or thinks about you?

Surround yourself with positive people. Raise your children into the little human beings you want them to be, and live your life the way you see fit. The way it makes you happy.
Be you, and be proud. Fuck everyone else.

If You’re Ever Going to Donate to Gofundme…

If you’re ever going to donate to a Gofundme account, be sure it’s legit, and know something about the person. Get the real story, and be sure the money is going towards what you think it is.

With that said, there is a local boy in my area in need of a new wheel chair. He has outgrown his current chair, and has had a lengthening surgery that is supposed to help him eventually walk. He needs a special chair for this that Tricare refuses to cover any part of. They claim it’s a luxury item, but it’s actually something he needs.

I don’t know this family personally, but I know of them, and have even seen Austin a couple times at the community pool with his family. This is me, as a stranger to this family, reaching out to the general public.

Every little bit helps. Please click the link below for more info, and remember that any little bit counts.

Austin Needs a Power Wheel Chair

Atheism and Good People

Just because I am an atheist does not mean I am a heathen, or a horrible person to fear, and hide your children from.

I was not always an atheist. I was once a Christian, and then I was agnostic, and then I was a born again Christian. Do you know why I decided to renew my faith in a “god?” For a man. Not for myself, or my son. I tried oh so very hard to be a Christian for a man. Not my proudest moment. I felt like if I could be what he wanted of a woman, then he would want me. Soon enough, I found out that wasn’t enough, and that he didn’t even want me for that goodie-goodie Christian woman I tried so hard to be. He liked me for my body, plain and simple. I tried so hard to hold onto my faith, still, after our relationship ended. Wondering why “god” would let this happen to me.

I was still in this phase when I met my, now, husband. I listened to Christian music, I prayed, and I read the bible. I also listened to sermons, and sang the gospel music.

So, you may ask what made me change my mind. Well, I noticed the true fakeness of the women of my church, and the original pastors had already moved from the area by then (the best people of that church). I was judged for mistakes I made, that were fully known of a friend of mine from said church. But she had been baptized, and “washed away” of those sins. I was told homosexuality was a sin, “because the bible says so.” I couldn’t take a book written by man, and believe a god wanted me to live by it. I started to not believe, and being with my husband made that easier. I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t with him.

Come to present time, and I’ve come to a status in life that I can accept, and be happy with. Science and facts help me to realize the truth, and yet there is that wonderment. I’m an atheist-agnostic. I don’t believe, because there is no hard evidence, but if ever there is I am open to it.

Moving on from what made me believe what I do, I want to say that being atheist does not make me a bad person. Raising my children atheist does not make them bad people. Just like being Christian doesn’t make others better people. I’ve met a lot of Christians who think they’re going to “heaven” because they’re good Christians. They go to church, and they tithe their income. They help others out, in their eyes, whenever they can. They may babysit to help someone in need, or have coffee with someone weekly. But when you get under that top layer, you may not like the person underneath. I understand Christians are people too, but my point is that they are no better than atheists. They gossip, women speak up in church, they divorce, they lie, they cheat. But homosexuality is a sin.

Let me tell a little story of a recent event. I was driving to our local mall, with both kids in the car. We came by a homeless man with a sign, asking for help, and my 8 year old showed genuine concern. He asked me, “Mom, why does his sign say he’s hungry and will work for food?” And I answered with, “Because he’s homeless, and hungry.” He asked, “Can we help him?” And then I remembered the five dollar bill I had in my wallet, leftover from the bowling party we were fortunate enough to afford for him. “Yeah, we can help him, Bubba.”

We went into the mall, and weren’t there for more than fifteen minutes before my three year old had an accident in his pants. I, of course, didn’t have the bag I keep his change of clothes in. So we left right away, and my eight year old reminded me about the homeless man. And on the way out of the mall parking lot, we stopped and gave the man my last five dollar bill. Because, I’m certain that I will have more of those, while he may not see another one for a while longer.

So, before you judge us, get to know us. We’re human, just like you. We love, just as you do. We give, just as you should.

We may be atheist, but I will raise my children with morals.


A Letter to My Mother

“I don’t think you get the point of why I lost touch with you. We’re not fighting, I let you go. I can’t go on in life holding onto my childhood, and I don’t have a mother who can face up to her mistakes in an honest and generous manner. I know you have your issues, but I also know you don’t face up to them. I can’t have a relationship with someone who lives in denial and justification for what she put her children through. There is no excuse for what you did to us. And to continuously go through other people to get to me, and to try and hold things over my head. To guilt trip me through my family, to try and get me to Oklahoma on your time. I can’t forget that. All I can do is let it all go, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not sorry for my decision. I’m doing what is least toxic for me and my kids. The cycle ends with me. I wish you the best in life, but I really don’t want anything to do with you. If I go out to Oklahoma, I don’t want you approaching me. Give me my space, and give me my time. I can’t go nuts every time you decide to rear yourself into my life. Good luck.

And, yes, I sent it.

Bipolar Disorder

Today I want to openly talk about a recent diagnosis of mine; bipolar. I’m no professional, obviously, but I have my share of views on it.

Some days, I am so blissfully happy and unaware of anything bad in the world. Sometimes that feeling only comes in increments of minutes or. hours, and other times it can last for a week or more. When you’re that blissful and unaware you can do stupid things, like spend money you don’t have, or sleep with people you don’t know. You can decide to go skinny dipping, and walk down the middle of the street, drunk off your ass.

Another part of bipolar, is the crash down from the blissful period. Ah, the depression that ensues after the stupid choices you made when you felt bullet proof. You start to regret the grand you blew on who even remembers what, and the list of guys you slept with to keep your mind occupied from the one who broke your heart. You start to feel so intensely, that you curl into a ball and convulse, violently and painfully, as you become a crying mess.

So, you may think bipolar is easily explained. I mean, originally it was labeled as manic-depression. Such an easy label, right? You can be up, or you can be down. No. It’s not that easy. Because, wedged between the ups and the downs is the paranoia, the guilt, the emptiness, the euphoria, the anger, the sadness, the lapses in memory. You make so many bad choices, and sometimes good ones, but always second guess yourself.

If bipolar were as easy as flipping a switch between mania and depression, I’d take that from the constant mood swings I actually deal with, and can’t control.

What Most Athiests Believe – Ask Us

I watched an excellent video today. It really opened my eyes on ways I can explain Atheism, and this helps me. Being an atheist does not make me a bad person. I still have morals, and beliefs of my own. Like this guy says, I believe in family, friends, and especially my husband. Here’s a screen shot I took of the actual article.

2014-10-22 13.08.25

There will be people out there who call me a hypocrite. I won’t name names on here though. I did have two bouts of “Christian life” where I really, truly wanted to believe. I tried so hard, but the truth, to me, just could not be shoved to the side. There is no science to God. The bible told me to believe things I could not. Told me to trust in Jesus, and that he was my savior. No. Just, no. So, finally, I can be real with myself, and the world. Sadly, because of that, I lost my church family and friends. But, honestly, what does that say about them? Because accordimg to the bible you are supposed to love your neighbor, your “sister”, even if they don’t believe in the same as you. I think the biggest problem for them, though, is that I am not quiet about my lack of “faith.” That’s too “negative” for them.

Go ahead and check him out yourself, and have a great day.


I don’t feel at ease here
Or at peace
There are no fond memories
Just an empty spot in a crowded plot
No room for your soul to breathe
Oh, what a distant memory
A little girl at the foot of her papa
The pitter patter of tiny feet
Ready to jump into the arms awaiting
Time has since faded
That little girl is no longer.
A woman when you passed,
Yet a child still at heart
Memories left scattered
And I’m left to wonder
If you feel forgotten
In this overgrown plot
With pieces of you missing
Divided, as is your sanctity