Olive Me

I am enough.

I won’t change, maybe I can – but I won’t; and no one should expect me to. There are a lot of things about me that can be frustrating, confusing, downright maddening, but those things are all pieces of who I am. You are also made up of myriad things, and maybe some of those things are harder to deal with than others; but I have chosen to. 

l love you, so it’s settled. You are enough.

I’m not a peaceful person. I’m  temperamental, angry, linear, intelligent, obnoxious, and I swear too much; but I am enough. If I were to lose you after having loved you so long I would never love anything again; my soul would curdle like milk. You are enough for me. Slit my throat and kick sand in my face; you will always be the only enough I need. 

There are a handful of people who love me for me, and if you cease to be one of them, everyone else will count for nothing. You are the good inside of me – you are the reason that I am OK with just being enough. I don’t seek validation from anyone else. I’m an abandoned, dark-haired gypsy and you are my Catherine. That’s all there is  to it. Together, we are enough.

I will be in your corner until the day I die. After I die, I will come back as a ghost and haunt your corner. There is no getting rid of me, we are bonded for life; and nothing on my end can ever change that.

You are the only person I haven’t given birth to whom I love unconditionally. Truly. unabashedly. You have loved me through the times in which I am not capable of loving myself. You save me from poor decisions, from over doses, from violence, from  dark alleys, and poorly tied ropes around my neck. I owe you a life-debt. I will protect you always.

You and me kiddo, this is it. I’m soppy over you, and I truly hope that i am, in fact, enough.

100 Acts of Kindness

Looking through my house a while ago, I determined that we have way too many things. Toys, clothes, movies, books, too much of everything. In the interest of making sure that my children don’t grow into ungrateful little monsters, we have decided to make some much needed changes to the way we live.
One night while mindlessly scrolling through my Twitter feed I came across an article about a man from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, who was in the process of performing 1000 acts of kindness in his community. Feeling inspired, but knowing that 1000 of anything is likely too ambitious for my little ladies, we’ve settled on 100.
100 acts of kindness that can be performed throughout the year, starting with this Christmas and ending with the next. We have already performed our first act, and the girls were very happy to do it! Last night we took them to the mall where they picked Santa’s Anonymous presents. The big girls each picked a child off of a Christmas tree- L picking a seven year old girl and P picking a three year old girl- and then we went to Toys R Us to pick out the gifts. We had a lot of fun browsing and in the end the girls picked some great gifts that they each out a lot of thought into.
I was so proud of them for understanding what they were doing and for not asking if they could have something that my mind went immediately to rewarding them with some kind of gift. Knowing that they would defeat the purpose of this whole endeavor, I decided that the reward should be feeling good about helping others.
Our next act involves all of us packing up the things that we don’t need and donating them to a few different places. I have way too many clothes that go unworn, Big Daddy has way too many books. The ladies will be packing up the majority of their toys and too-small clothes. Toys that they actively play with, no more than ten each, can be kept. They can keep their art supplies, and the stuffed animals that have sentimental value. The goal is to strip the house of all of the excess. Relying on things to make us happy is not the lesson I want to teach my daughters, and I think that by teaching them go pass things on to others when they are done is a good way to help teach that. I want giving to become second nature to them, and even though we are starting during a holiday season, by continuing throughout the year they will see that is important to care all year round-not just when we think Santa is watching.
I have some more ideas lined up for our year of giving and learning, and I have every intention of continuing the cycle for as many years as i can. who knows, maybe when the girls have families of their own, they will continue the tradition!
If you have any suggestions for acts of kindness, please pass them on! Has anyone out there reading done something like this? Let’s talk about it! Reach me via the comments here, or on Twitter! (@thesagemum) Let’s get a discussion going on ways to make our children more kind, forgiving, empathetic people.
I will keep track of our progress here, so stay tuned for more good deeds!

Negative Space

My brain is out of fucking control.

I have no idea what is going on in my own head, and I’m starting to feel a feeling beyond terror. Terror and hatred. Hatred and disgust. Disgust and confusion. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I be normal? Feel normal. I’m not normal. I’m a larch tree with a twisted trunk, branches askew. The winds of my mind have whipped me and torn the leaves from my branches, pulled at my bark. I go to the doctor, tell him I feel fucked up, he ups my meds. I take them, I feel fucked up, I go to the doctor, he ups my meds, I take them.

What if meds won’t help? What if my ‘fucked up’ is a special brand that nothing can cure? Why can I seem normal sometimes, but never actually feel it? I think I might be delusional. I see things differently about myself than everyone else. I carry on normal conversations and I do normal things, but on the inside I’m a mess, and nothing I’ve tried is fixing it. I want so badly to be fixed. I cause so many problems with my fucked up brain. So. many. Don’t tell me I don’t, if you think I don’t you just haven’t found out about whatever fuck up I’ve caused yet. It’s all I do.

Did I murder someone in a past life? Am I being punished for former crimes in this life? Why can’t I be normal? I don’t want to fuck my kids up. Sometimes I wonder why I’m still here. They have a normal, wonderful Dad. He could find someone new and raise our beautiful children and they would have foggy memories of their fucked up mom sleeping all day and ‘not feeling well’. I don’t feel well. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt well. Felt anything other than contempt for myself. Fear and loathing. But here we are, I’m fucking this idea up, too. Too fucked to leave, too fucked to stay.

I’m tired of going to the doctor. I’m tired of making a shitstorm of everything. I’m tired of not being able to slow down on the inside. I lack the ability to repair anything inside of myself.

To hell with it. I’ll start over again tomorrow. Just like I do every day. Research different ways to fix myself. Get nowhere. Medicate. Repeat. It’s all just bullshit, anyway. We’ll do it live.

Deep breaths.