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[misguidedquotes]

12/24/22 - 19:55

Christmas Eve is a holiday that used to fill me with grief, sadness, and loneliness. I often associated it with the feeling of dissolving families due to the fact that it was the first holiday that I spent alone here in California. I remember looking at the tree and being devastated by the bright lights. I remember being angry that instead of happiness, I was empty instead. When I found you, Christmas had meaning again. Christmas got to be a holiday that I tentatively began re-writing with you. Whether or not we had money for gifts was irrelevant. There was magic in getting to spend the holiday together regardless of how we spent it.

It feels like all the magic has left this year. I understand the need for our separation, hell I’m the one who has advocated so strongly for it. But it’s so damned hard. In moments like this it is so hard to remember the reasons why we’re apart.

[misguidedquotes]

12/23/22 - 17:18

Things can change in the blink of an eye. Between one breath and the next. In this case, it was the instant between choosing to speak to someone and not. It was the moment between making a connection and existing in a space where I didn't know that connection was missing. It was in the space between asking someone what their D&D class would be if they could choose, and harmlessly looking at the people who were looking for friends in my area.

We've all heard the statement about curiosity killing the cat. My so called 'cat' in this instance was clicking through the subsections of Bumble - dating section included. I can't say how it happened. I don't know if I closed my phone at one  point or got distracted looking at another app, but between the dating section and the friend section, I opened another app and came back to the dating section. I came back and noted someone with a profile that caught my eye. I swiped right because that feature was the same, and I was told it was a match. I reached out first to ask the question I mentioned above. I didn't realize until a little while later that I was in the dating section. But by that point, it was done. The message was sent  and he responded a few minutes later. We started talking, and that was that. I should have stopped the conversation as soon as I realized what had happened, but it seemed harmless enough. We didn't flirt or exchange lewd images - we talked about D&D and music and shows. Someone was giving me attention and making me laugh and giving  me interesting song recommendations.

I thought I was in control of the situation. I thought since he and I had established that neither of us was looking for a relationship (despite not clarifying on my part that I was married), that it would be okay. Obviously it wasn't. Obviously it hasn't been.

I don’t regret what happened. I do regret the pain that I caused and the way things played out. I regret that talking to this person happened on a dating app vs literally any other way possible. I regret that I may have lost the opportunity for a truly unique friendship. I don’t regret that this incident opened the door for the tsunami of pain and grief that was only just being held at bay. I don’t regret that it let me and Cam discuss all of the things that have made me feel lonely in both recent events and in the past few years. It’s unleashed all of the hurt that I didn’t know how to communicate, or that I was too scared to admit to.

Everything can change in an instant.

And everything has changed. I live in a separate home from my husband now. Admitting to the conversation made him look at me with a hurt in his eyes that I have never seen before. It's made me divide my time with my son. Living in the same household has now become a few days here, a few days there. It has meant moving back home to live in my mom's old room and watching my family here adapt to my sudden presence. It has meant growing pains within my family as we adjust to each other again. Seven years I've been out of this house. And now it is my home again. The pain and shock of that hasn't quite hit yet. I love my family, but living with them again wasn’t something I was prepared for. They have been supportive in their own rights, but our personalities have grown and changed. More than anything, we’ve become accustomed to only being near each other for a few hours every weekend at most. It has been an odd experience to try and find stable ground here.

I haven’t truly allowed myself to be sad. There’s too much hurt to feel all at once. Our seven year anniversary is coming up soon. Seven years. I don’t know how to wrap my mind around that. We have never been perfect, and I’ve never expected us to be. But I don’t think I ever expected to feel like this either. I didn’t expect my first year anniversary in my marriage to be with my spouse and I in different homes. I didn’t expect that I would be contemplating whether staying in said marriage was good for me or not. I certainly never expected that I would have loved someone this much just for it to turn into possibly nothing.

I understand that the lessons we’ve learned will remain regardless of whether I stay married, stay with him, become single, etc. The things I’ve learned and the ways I’ve changed will always remain. The hard part now is trying to figure out who I want to be and how I want to get there. If I’d like to live my life with him at my side. Or if I need to be alone and independent first. I’m just not sure.

[misguidedquotes]

10/12/22 - 11:50

I broke last night and sent you a voice night, weeping through the entire thing. I'm sorry that I did, because I don't want any of my feelings to feel like an attempt at manipulation. I don't want you to feel guilty. But I needed you to know that I miss you. I'm hoping you'll come stay for a bit, but I'm trying to understand that I cannot be upset if you don't. In the same way that I'm taking space, I need to give you the space to process, too. My feelings are not the only ones that matter here.

I was scrolling through Instagram and found a quote that took my breath away. It seemed pertinent to right now, to my mental state, to everything.

"How many times have people used a pen or a paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?" - Virginia Woolf

[misguidedquotes]

10/11/22 - 20:08

I wanted to talk to you tonight. To maybe try and clear the air some, to ask you to come stay with me. To let you know how much I love you and how much I miss you. You told me you were tired and that you were just going to go to bed. Granted, I'd told you not to worry about it if you weren't ready to talk, but I guess a part of me still hoped. This silence is so painful. I want to know what you're thinking. I want to know what you're feeling. More than anything I want to wrap my arms around you and whisper reassurances into your skin. I want to tell you that we're going to be okay. I want to kiss your forehead, and feel your arms wrapped around me. I want to put my ear against your chest and exist in the safe harbor of your presence. I wish so badly that you could read my mind, that you could see through my eyes and understand that these choices have not been in an attempt to get away from you. If I could have you and Anduin here with me, I would in a heartbeat. I want my family whole, safe, and happy. If we can all be happy here with my family, can't that be a good thing? Doesn't it deserve a chance? I understand that home isn't a place. I understand that home really is a person. Or two people. Or a space where a family can exist together. I want that for the three of us. I miss you. I hope you miss me too. I love you so much, and I've never needed my lighthouse more.

[misguidedquotes]

Stressors

10/11/22 - 13:58

Personal: Fixing relationship, finding a couples therapist, learning how to center myself during moments of anxiety

Professional: Finding a job that decreases my anxiety, attempting to further my education, ultimately having a career that makes me happy and fulfills me.

[misguidedquotes]

10/11/22 - 13:49

I'm trying to help myself process everything by allowing myself to write my stream if consciousness. It's hard because sometimes my mind moves quicker than I can type. But especially when my anxiety grabs hold, I know that I need to find ways to release it versus keeping it contained. This morning, a lot of my anxiety came from the brief conversation that we had about why I'm feeling the way I'm feeing, and why I had to come down here to untangle it all. I think for the past few months, there have been so many ups and downs that trying to figure out where all my anxiety was coming from was so hard to do. I couldn't seperate everything enough in my head to find the individual sources. But we both know that living with your parents has been difficult for me since the beginning. We know that I got comfortable on 60th, and that the argument that was had there felt like having the rug pulled out from under me. I can't forget that. I've never been able to get past the way I was made to feel when all that happened. And it's consistently been a weight on my shoulders that I've felt in Fallbrook too.

I wish that I could ignore it. I wish it didn't burden me. I wish I wasn't constantly wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. And maybe that is my fault. Maybe that's something that another person could ignore. But I'm not anyone other than myself. And I can't continue to hold myself to unrealstic standards. I deserve to be in a home that I'm happy to be in. And more than anything I want that for us. I want us to have a home together that is just ours. Not one that we share with anyone else. My anxiety feels like a mountain to climb when I think of going back. But I also feel so much guilt asking you to come here. I don't want to make you choose. At the same time, I can't be the wife and mother that I need to be in that household. I love you so much. You are my best friend, and my husband. I want to be able to reconnect with you in our own space. I want us to be able to chOOSE when we want to go see family. I want our family to make the active choice to see us. I want to do all of that on neutral ground. Not with the worry of what might come swinging down on us from people who call themselves our family.

[misguidedquotes]

10/11/22 (1:26 am)

It has become incredibly difficult to try and find words for where we are at the moment, or to name exactly what we are going through. I hardly know how to describe what I'm feeling, let alone categorize this overall. I'm trying to take each day as it comes, and to live each day as simply as I can.

Step 1: Wake up, wait to call Anduin

Step 2: Focus on taking care of myself and getting through the day.

Step 3: Get to the end of the day to call Anduin.

It hurts my heart so much to not have him with me. Kissing him on the head and telling him goodbye felt like ripping a piece of my soul out and leaving it on the chair in that shop. I know that he's been seperated from me before, obviously when you guys stayed with Jess and Andy. But this felt different. This was different. I know that he will be taken care of whether he's with me or with you. I just never really imagined that there would be a point in time where this would also involve seperate households.

I don't like the idea of saying we're seperated. I've seen Friends too much to be comfortable saying we're taking a break. I hate the idea of even insinuating that this is something permanent, or that I'm interested in ending our marriage. I'm not. I would very much like for us to work things out and be able to come back together. But I also think that we need some space from each other. I think that's been the easiest way for me to describe what's currently happening. I think there are some foundational things that we need to consider on our own before we can consider them together. Before we can come back together.

Part of that, for me, includes trying to determine my own feelings. I love you, that I know for sure. But I can no longer tell if I am in love with you. What sucks is that the realization didn't necessarily hurt. I'm supposed to say that it did, and even now in the privacy of this space, I nearly wrote that it did hurt. But that's not true. I think it felt more like making myself look at something I'd been avoiding.

That's not to say that I can't get there again. I'm sure that I can. But I think right now a lot of that is going to depend on our ability to grow, and to get some help for our relationship. Our way of communicating is toxic when we're upset, and I can't even begin to describe how awful it makes me feel. Or the edges it pushes me too. I know it can be difficult sometimes to remember that my reactions to the outcome of one argument aren't necessarily as a result of that one argument. Sometimes I get upset because it triggers memories of a previous argument, or because the argument itself was triggering. In this most recent argument with the dress, there were so many other factors at play. That small disagreement pushed me to an edge where I became a danger to myself, and where my thoughts began to wander in a negative direction. It's why I chose to leave the house, so that I could put myself in a safer environment. It wasn't until the text was sent about me not being ready to talk like an adult that I got pushed to my limit and broke.

Unfortunately, you have a history of making statements like that in our relationship. When there's a disagreement or argument that begins to drift toward something you don't like, you usually accuse me of being a child. Not always, but in enough instances that it has become a pattern, and it is not one that I appreciate. It's not something that I am willing to tolerate. I am your wife, your partner, your lover, the mother of your actual child. Telling me that I am not acting like an adult or that I'm being childish because I choose to handle a situation differently than you would, or because I'm giving myself space, is manipulative, demeaning, and disrespectful. It also makes me feel like nothing that I have to say has any credibility or importance to it because in your mind, you've already dismissed me. It hurts, and it's an awful feeling to experience.

I also came across a term earlier this week that caught my eye. In situations where a person has been abused (physically, mentally, or emotionally), the victim can reach a point where they become abusive in turn as a result of reaching a breaking point. This is called reactive abuse. I hate that this struck a chord with me, but it did. There are too many times that I can go to in my mind's eye where I felt that I was backed into a corner until I had to lash out to be left alone. I've mentioned in the past that I don't like that I feel like I get pushed to a certain limit, and that you push my emotions to a certain level and then blame me for responding in kind. I didn't know there was a phrase for that sort of thing, but there is.

This is something I know we need to talk about in therapy, but it's important to me to make a very clear distinction. Having some negative traits or flaws does not make you a bad person. I do not think you are a bad man. I would not be spending time on us if that were the case. I think that you haven't had the best role models, and that you've picked up some behaviors from those closest to you, but that's obviously a given. What concerns me is that I'm not sure if you're capable of recognizing those things, accepting them, and being open/willing to change. Sometimes it's scary to hold up a mirror and realize that you don't like what you see inside. Trust me. I know. I'm trying to accept that I will always have flaws in some form or another, and I'm trying to give myself the freedom to just discover that.

I do feel like in the majority of our relationship, my focus has primarily been you. Whether it was making things easier when we lived on our own, or when we moved down to 60th, even to moving to Fallbrook, there have been concessions that I have made for your comfort. That's not to say that it's because you've asked for them. There are things that I have done or put up with without being asked because I am your wife, and I know some things are non-negotiable. A lot of that is dealing with your parents. I know Lea Anne bears the brunt of the blame in your mind. Unfortunately, I think your parents both have a very active hand in making questionable choices. You've seen my family dynamic. It feels like two completely different worlds.

[misguidedquotes]

      Across the western sky, streaks of orange light melted into bright reds before vanishing into dark purples. The colors formed a halo around the setting sun, casting long shadows that made the already foreboding desert look even more ominous. Just visible in the tree line that made up the ending of the jungle, Myra Galanodel sat, eyes fixed on the horizon. She sat unnaturally still, barely moving to breathe as she contemplated all that lay before her and her companions. At her feet lay the poorly made arrows she had taken from the Tabaxi folk. They were bent and jagged, looking more like broken branches than anything of use. She’d done her best to improve them, but there wasn’t much to do. No matter. Having something was far better than nothing. The desert before her continued on far beyond her sight, and that alone was enough to make her glad she had the extra arrows. Even if they were a far cry from what she would have truly wanted.

     Absentmindedly, she lifted a hand to twist her hair, a nervous gesture that had betrayed her one too many times. Her fingers closed around nothing, and she was sharply reminded of the fact that most of her hair was now gone. Brows furrowing, Myra’s gaze dropped as she lifted her hand higher still. Her fingertips connected with the frayed ends of her hair that seemed to cling to her scalp, just barely curling around her ears. Memories of the fight that had left her with the short cut flooded her mind. Even now, she could almost feel the smoke suffocating her still. It was part of what kept her out of the hut now. Being shut inside felt like torture, like burning vines wrapping tightly around her frame. A shudder ran through her now, and she brushed her arms quickly. It took a moment before the feeling faded, leaving her breathing a bit quicker than she had been a moment prior.

     A panther peaked its head out from between the neighboring trees, a low whine escaping it as it approached the elf. Myra offered him a small smile, reaching out to scratch behind his ears.

     “I’m quite alright, Jakar...no need to worry.” She spoke softly, though she was unsure as to whether she was attempting to comfort herself or her companion. As she touched him, she noticed the slight dampness to his fur. Despite the setting sun, the heat of the desert was still tremendous. Myra ran her hands along his flank before grabbing the waterskin she’d brought with her. Opening it quickly, she held it out for Jakar to drink, watching him with mild concern. Worry was a constant feeling these days, and when it came to Jakar, that worry doubled. She knew that he would follow her straight to the gates of Hell if she so asked, but her ability to protect him seemed to be waning. The dangers of the journey they were on only seemed to increase, and despite the obvious adoration her companions felt for Jakar, she doubted they would try protect him like she would. Looking into the yellow eyes that so often seemed to speak a language all their own, Myra couldn’t help but panic for a moment. Losing Jakar would be a tragedy of unspeakable depth. 

      Casting another glance towards the horizon, Myra shut the waterskin and stood. They would start crossing the desert in less than an hour’s time, and she needed to make sure they’d gathered everything. Brushing the back of Jakar’s head, she motioned towards the small break in the tree’s that they’d come through. Jakar bounded forward, familiar with the scent of their companions and able to find his way back easily. The short distance did nothing to mask the sound of Aagron’s delight, and Myra could only imagine the smug look that he would throw her way when she made it back to the hut as well. Already, her eyes began to roll.

[misguidedquotes]

Prompt: “Put that pen down this instant.”

          The sound of the pencil on paper seemed devastatingly loud in the middle of the night, sharp scratches of graphite against the crisp white sheet. Pale fingers gripped the pencil that formed the sound, trembling as they forced it to move. Dirt and grit sat firmly beneath the nails of the writer, the mere sight of it looking as though it might never be removed no matter how hard those nails were scrubbed at. That same dirt seemed to continue up the arms of the individual struggling to write, settling into the many lines and wrinkles found there. A tattered shirt clung to the sunken frame that made up the writer. The original color of the shirt was lost, unfathomable at this point in time. Greasy tendrils of hair hung over the writer’s face, blocking eyes that seemed as dark as the marks the graphite left behind. A stern, weathered mouth was pressed into a tight line, concentration evident in the tense lines of the writer’s body.

          They sat on a cold brick floor, huddled before a hearth that had not held a fire in some time. Faux warmth touched the face of the writer if they stared into the ashes long enough. A soft sigh escaped their lips as they continued to moved the pencil, dragging it slowly across the sheet of paper. Scribbles were sat next to each other on a line until they formed some sort of word, some sort of sentence...some sort of story. Crude letters eventually littered the page, but with each word that was written, the writer seemed to grow more and more tense. A noise of frustration followed the sound of the pen being set down. The writer leaned forward, picking up the piece of paper. Raising it to their face, the writer examined it with eyes that told a story of their own, a milky white that seemed strange next to the cleanliness of the paper before them. Discontentment turned the lips of the writer’s mouth downwards as they examined their work, the misshapen words and the half formed sentences. 

The writer sat and stared, and then stared some more. Finally, the writer took their sheet of paper, balled it up, and tossed it into the hearth. Glancing at the pencil, the writer made as if to throw that in as well. As the pencil was set to leave his fingertips, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Put that pencil down this instant.”

Fear froze the man as he turned his head wildly, searching for the source of the voice. Bones cracked and creaked with the speed of the movement, unused to the usage. His heart raced in his chest as his weathered eyes moved around the room. Glancing back towards the hearth, the man was shocked to see the sheet of paper he had tossed into the hearth earlier laying before him, clean and unwrinkled. In the top right hand corner, he saw only the following words.

“Try again.”

Again the man turned around, searching for the one responsible. Again, he saw nothing. Silence seemed a tangible thing as he sat and thought. 

Try again.

The silence seemed to press in on his eardrums until finally, he lifted the pencil and set it once again on the paper. Hesitantly, he wrote ‘Okay.’ The sound of the pencil scratching against the paper seemed a sigh of relief. And so the man sat. And he wrote. And as he did, the youth seemed to return to his body. His mouth lost the stern set it had to it. His hands seemed to move easier. He took a few moments to form a single sentence, but that sentence contained his entire livelihood. He admired his handiwork for a moment before he gently sat the pencil atop the paper. Easing himself onto his side, smiling at the sentence all the while. Allowing his eyes to slide shut, the man whispered the words he had written.

“My name is Hugh, and I have lived.”

A moment passed before the man opened his eyes again. When he did, he found he felt different. Upon further examination, he realized that he was different. His body was unwrinkled, his clothes were clean, and he himself felt happier than he had in a long time. He uttered a laugh as he stood up, all boyish exuberance as he attempted to figure out what had happened. Glancing up in his laughter, the man noticed something he had not before. A figure stood quietly in the corner.

Though the man could not see the individual’s face, a bemused air seemed to surround it. The individual lifted it’s hand and motioned to something at the man’s feet. With a furrowed brow, the man looked down, only to see himself laying on the floor. The ghost of his last smile was still etched there, the wrinkles folding in on themselves as the heat from his body steadily escaped. 

A deep sadness crashed into the still standing man, a crushing force as he realized what had transpired. Shuddering on an inhale, the man glanced towards what could only be Death sent to take him to whatever his next destination may be. Fear surrounded him as he tried to make sense of what had occurred. He turned to stare at his earthly form again when his eyes found the words he’d written again. 

I have lived.

Minutes passed, or they may have been hours. Time didn’t matter much to Hugh in this state. And why should they? Death was an infinite moment, everlasting. Eventually, he squared his shoulders and turned to face the form that stood quietly watching. Nodding quietly to himself, Hugh leaned down to pick up the pencil and the paper he’d written on. Pocketing the pencil, Hugh folded the paper and walked closer to Death. Slowly, he lifted the paper before him and held it in front of the figure.

“My name is Hugh,” He said firmly. “And I have lived.”

[misguidedquotes]

Put that pen down this instant!

Writer’s Block

In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite. Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence. Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

[misguidedquotes]

How do I explain that while body is fighting to keep me alive, my brain is trying its hardest to kill me? That every breath I take goes down like a poison killing me slowly, because while it sustains this body of mine, it also keeps my synapses firing, the same ones that keep whispering how much I hate myself. A weed has planted itself in my mind, its roots curling into the deepest crevices and growing there until I can’t recognize what it looked like beforehand. I can hardly recognize myself anymore, so wrapped up in the doom and gloom of the world. These days I am the embodiment of grief, cursed sobs wracking my frame until I think I could BREAK under the sheer weight of it all. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I think that with every tear that escapes me, I lose a part of myself. And if that’s the truth, then I’ve already lost so much. It’s no surprise that I can no longer recognize the face in the mirror. Nor do I really care to. How I long to release myself from this skin and this life and cease all existence.

“She’s just angry...don’t worry about it, she’s always angry.”

[misguidedquotes]

One day, I will learn how to take my secrets back. I will soak them into my skin in the same way that the ocean reclaims the rain. I will let my secrets sit heavy on my shoulders because freedom isn't weightlessness -- rather being so painfully weighed down but discovering how to stand tall despite it. On my worst days, my name will be Atlas, and the world on my shoulders will be a sign of my continued strength. Even the Gods will marvel at my sheer will. So call me Atlas. Call me an idiot. Call me foolish. Call me strong.  Better yet, call me the girl who learned how to live with a heavy heart on her sleeve.

Lea J, Atlas never harnessed the true weight of the world

[misguidedquotes]

I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind.

Laurie Halse Anderson (via a-thousand-words)

[misguidedquotes]

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Winter has a funny way of turning the world into a grey mass, with snow bringing awareness to my senses with it’s surprising coldness. It’s almost as if the storms inside of me have broken free and become a part of the outside world, numbing me in the same way that everything else has. Only now, everyone else is victim to the cold that exists under my skin. Walking through the falling snow reminds me of being lost inside of my own anxiousness, grappling to find a way out of it with only a few streetlights to guide my way. The snow falls harder, covering my path until only own footsteps exist behind me with nothing ahead. There, in the storm, I stop and stare at the expanse of space before me, untouched. It seems like a travesty to mark the freshly fallen snow with my hesitant footsteps, when it seems so sure of itself in laying there. My mind is telling me that it’s a sign, that I should simply wait for the snow melt or for myself to freeze - whichever comes first. Whichever is easiest. The numbness that has encased me begins to give way to pain, and my eyes begin to water due to the cold. Even raising my hand to wipe them seems like a large effort, something I can’t bear. Then, for a moment, the snow seems to slow and my vision is clearer than it was before. I’m able to see the outlines of the path I’m meant to follow, and things make sense a bit more, both internally and externally. I take a deep breath, allowing the cold air to enter my lungs. With that breath comes a bit of clarity, and I shakily raise my foot to take a step forward, then another, and another. Finally, I’m able to walk steadily again, reaching the same pace I’d been at before the storm overwhelmed me. It isn’t very fast, nor is it slow. I consider it to be a comfortable pace, one that lets me move forward while offering me the comfort of stopping whenever I’d like. It’s a pace that guides me to my next stop on my way through the life I’ve built, one that I continue on until someone else is kind enough to remind me of my path and point me on the right direction. Through the winter storm, I continue on in search of blue skies.

-- for blue skies, L.J.