Bottled Up

I've spent my entire life trying to recover from YOUR disease.

I've spent my entire adulthood trying to no longer be affected by YOUR selfishness.

I've spent the last 12 + years sheltering my children from YOUR wrath of painful words.

I've allowed YOUR problems to infiltrate my marriage.

I watched YOUR behavior ruin EVERY milestone moment in my life.

I spent years in therapy mourning an earth shattering loss only to find out what I was mourning was YOUR lack of love and nurturing in a time when I needed it most.

I've given everything I can to try and repair this relationship with you to no avail.

Your sense of entitlement to things that I have worked hard for is mind boggling.

Your inability to be accountable for the path of destruction that you laid before me for so long physically hurts my heart.

I used to wonder why I have no photo albums of my childhood, no memory books of my first words or school pictures but it's so vividly clear now...you were too busy entertaining your demons to be a parent.

I cringe when I hear others tell you how proud you should be of me, what a great job you did "raising" me and how proud they are of you for getting rid of your demon.

I got where I am today, not because of you, but in spite of you. However, you got sober thanks to me, because unlike you, I didn't give up on you...and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do...but YOUR disease was killing me.

I see snip-its from time to time of your potential to be a good parent, grandparent, etc. but, they are few and far between. And again I'm mourning. I'm mourning the fact that YOU'RE going to miss out on two wonderful gifts that you were blessed with because you feel that I owe you something for doing what's right.

What scares me most is that I see snip-its of you in me. I too dance with the same demon far too often and find myself yelling too loud and too much...but its not my voice I hear coming out, it's YOURS.  

The difference is, I'm going to take steps to change my path NOW and not be a burden to my children. I will repair the whole me, mind, body and spirit.  I will continue to be a positive influence, a nurturer, a provider and a safe spot for them.  I've seen what happens to a child when they are without all of those things.  It's by the grace of god I made it out alive.  

I wish I didn't have to be anonymous.  I wish that I could say these words to you in a way that wouldn't immediately bring you to become defensive but that's not possible. So, for now, I will hide behind my anonymity but no longer behind the bottle.

Anonymous

Tenderness & Tenderbits

This is today's Truthbomb from the ever-inspiring Danielle LaPorte.

Sounds easy, right? 

Defend your tenderness. 

Of course the things that sound easy never really are…are they?

Tenderness.  Those soft, raw, unexposed pieces of your heart and soul that haven’t been beaten to a pulp yet.

The parts that loss hasn’t carved into with the ferocity of a blade slinger.  

Suicide, drug and alcohol addiction, overdose, loss on top of grief on top of mourning.  

Years and years of mourning.

The weight of it all cripples any tenderness that has the balls to stand its ground.

Tenderness along with innocence are my casualties of circumstance.

What was once tenderness is now covered in scar tissue.

What was once innocence is now cold, hard experience.

What's even more concerning is whatever battleworn tenderness might be bunkered deep within can’t even find solace in my sleep.

This grieving and mourning and wailing doesn’t fucking quit.

I wake up with it.

I live my days with it.

I tuck myself in with it at night.

That's when things really get muddy.

As my eyes close and sleep takes over, my subconscious mind continues to rip apart at my tenderness.

Visions not suitable for waking hours.

Abysmal sadness.

So, so deep.  

It’s a wasteland of despair, my dreams.

I’m failing my tenderness.  

Unable to defend it.

Weak to protect it.

Lacking faith that I have any pure tenderness left.

My own truthbomb is this:  My tenderness is broken. 

Which leaves me with one question...

If defending it has failed and it’s broken to bits...

Is there HOPE to HEAL it?

Because luckily I can say...

Somehow, some way my hope is still in tact.

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.

Truth Is . . .

Most of my Facebook friends don't know the truth about me.  They know what I post or what they remember.  

Truth is, I'm a drug addict. I'm a womanizer. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a thief. I'm a convict. I'm an asshole. I'm not a good person. I've dealt with death, child abuse, fires, homelessness, & much more. 

Don't you dare feel bad for me. I'm a man that has lived life! 

Truth is, I'm a dad. I'm giving. I'm loving. I'm honest. I'm loyal. I'm trustworthy. I show up on time. 

See we are judged by the things we have done yet those actions don't always define us. Just because you knew me then doesn't mean you know me now. 

Once an addict always an addict.  True. But that doesn't mean I'm not a good person. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, yet more that I am. 

I thought there was no way out. Now I can't imagine going back. 

Every door seems closed, until you open it. I can't believe how things can be. I never thought there was another way. 

Just because you struggle today doesn't mean tomorrow is just another day!

Written & Shared by the courageous Bobby White.

Walking Away

Looking back at old smiling pictures, I wonder: were you high then?

How about that one, and this snapshot, or in the album over there?

We sure seemed like a happy family.

And I know we had lots of good times.

So was I just not aware?

Was I oblivious to what was going on around me because I was only a child,

too small to understand?

At what point did I become conscious of what was happening;

that you were almost always high at every party,

for every holiday gathering, during every wedding and funeral.

Did I then simply start ignoring your behavior to protect myself,

to ease the weight on my psyche of never knowing what condition you’d be in,

of having to always be prepared for every possibility, every scenario.

At what point did I go from that happy (looking) little kid to who I am now –

cringing, dreading every time I’m slated to see you,

either individually, at a family party, or otherwise?

Because I never know how you’ll be, how you’ll act, what you’ll say.

Because I never know which you I’ll get,

or exactly how uncomfortable you might make us all feel.

You make me not want to be there, around lots of other people that I love and miss.

Because it’s easier to not have to deal with you there, too.

Because I feel like I am responsible for you in those group settings.

Does everyone else think I am your keeper?

Am I?

You obviously have some sort of anxiety that caused(es) you to drug-up for events,

and on plenty of regular days, too.

But the rest of us do not deserve the price.

And we are not your solution.

Most of the time now, I avoid you,

because I can’t stand not knowing which you I’m going to get.

Would I have done that when I was a child if I could have?

I don’t know.

What was life like before my eyes were opened?

I can tell in an instant, now, as an adult -- one glance; one breath; one word.

That’s all I need.

But what the heck did I know back then?

By a certain age, I knew a damn ton more than a child should have.

Am I giving up all of those happy memories,

rejecting the good times that really did happen, denying their existence;

if, when, I walk away now?

I don’t want to.

Can I keep and cling to the old joy, all the while declaring,

accepting and knowing that there's no future?

Would that be legit?  Ethical?  Acceptable?

I hope so.

So many questions still unanswered.

Is there someone, anyone who can tell me it’s okay to walk away?

Because I’m doing it anyway.

Walking away.

I have to.

I have told you that if you want to do drugs, go ahead –

because you’re an adult that can make your own choices;

just keep it away from me and anyone else who doesn’t want to see it.

But you can’t.

You cannot control it.

You cannot control yourself.

I, however, can control me, and what I let into my life.

No more apologies.

No more gifts.

No more manipulation.

No more guilt.

No more anger.

No more surprises.

No more promises.

No more you.

When (if) I can ever be confident in your state of mind, your status,

how you will be on a given day – constantly, consistently –

when I can know without a doubt that you’ll be fine and good –

then, we can resume some kind of relationship.

On my terms.

Turning, walking away, MY healing begins.

This is about me now.

Turning over a whole tree full of proverbial new leaves.

Deleting the past pain, so that I can’t even revisit it if I wanted to.

1…

2…

3…

Now.

Risk.

Leap.

Robin Donoghue

The sly and trusty Robinator is a square peg – 

not fitting easily into any single category, living not just inside and outside of the box, 

but all mixed up in a pile of them. She’s a walking contradiction  (in the good way) – 

having a wide, diverse range of interests, not being defined by any one thing, 

and willing to try pretty much anything at least once. 

Born and raised in Somerville, this lifelong athlete, foodie who almost always ends up with 

pasta sauce on her (especially when it’s white) shirt, mother of two cats, free-spirited hippie at heart whose socks never match, is socially awkward, yet a flirt, too.  She enjoys photography, traveling, generally being creative, and practically requires having pockets.  When she grows up, she wants to get an RV and be a nomad with her dear husband, or live on a self-sustaining 

intentional community with all the best people she knows and loves.