Sunday Confessions: Denial

  Today I'm linking up with More than Cheese and Beer for Sunday Confessions. Our word prompt is "denial". 

  

  I will go on and admit, I am in denial. In denial that I'm getting old. Here's a perfect example. AirBear asked me to hop with her. 

AirBear: Let's hop like a bunny! 

Me: Ok! I like being bunnies! 

  She hops on ahead of me and in my excitement, I forgot I'm nearly 40.

  On the first hop, my head pounded. I fought on and ignored it like a trooper. On the second hop, my boobs nearly knocked me out. I could've been killed right then! So, I decided to just ignore the pounding brain and hold my boobs. Hopping we went! 

  On the third hop, I broke my liver. Yes, I said liver. Can a liver be broken, you ask? Nope. But I'm pretty sure mine broke. 

  I suffered through the agony of my broken, and surely, bleeding liver. I hopped on! AirBear was in front of me, laughing with joy! 

  "This is fun, mommy!", she said through her laughter. 

 "Oh yes..fun", I agreed through my tears. 

 

  After eight hops, I was ready for someone to call 911. My legs were creaking, my back ached, my liver was dying. 

  I'm not ready to get old. My heart still tells me I'm 18. But my body bitch slaps my heart and tells it to shut the hell up before it gets me killed. 

  Who knows what I would do next! I would probably be trying to do a cartwheel. Imagine the horror. I'd break my entire body then. 

   In three years, I will be turning 40 years old. I'm totally expecting to just fall apart right then and there. 

 Do they make WD-40 for old folks bones? Cause I need some. 

Sunday Confessions: Sex

  I have been waiting a while to write about this. Sex... 

  I won't lie, I enjoy sex. But that hasn't always been the case. It took me until I was in my 30's to realize sex was even enjoyable. 

  I used to honestly think something was wrong with me because I just couldn't get "into it".  I couldn't get excited. Couldn't get turned on. I sincerely hope that isn't TMI. 

  I guess it took meeting the right person who I "clicked" with. Or better yet, someone that knew what the hell he was doing. 

Now, sex inspires poetry. So I'm going to bore you with one I wrote. Here it is, it's titled "Beautiful Climax". 

"His hands are on my body 

My skin is scorching hot 

I run my fingers through his hair 

And beg him not to stop 

He softly kisses my wet lips 

Making  his way to my neck 

My heart starts to race 

Wondering where he'll go next

His breath is hot and fevered 

My body arches close 

I wrap my legs around his waist 

I want him and he knows 

He pulls my arms above my head 

Puts his hand around my wrists 

He leans his head down to my ear 

And whispers that I am his 

I answer with yes..yes..yes.. 

Take me now my love, please 

He kisses my aching breasts 

And settles between my knees 

Then he makes love to me 

With his hands, his mouth, his lips

His head is between my thighs 

His hands are gripping my hips 

I am in agony and I love it 

I don't want him to ever stop 

Once I reach the beautiful climax 

He lays down and pulls me on top

We make magic together 

It's amazing how he turns me on

I collapse in his arms exhausted 

And together  we greet the dawn" 

That pretty much says how I feel about sex. Sex is awesome. May I even say, it's Spock-tacular? 

  

Sunday Confessions: Hope

  Hope. There have been moments in my life that I've had no hope at all. I just wanted to give up and throw in the towel. Life sucked. I didn't see it ever getting any better. 

  It felt like I was in a boxing match with life and it was beating the shit out of me. I kept waiting for the referee to ring the bell to stop the fight before life finally killed me, but the ref was no where to be found. 

  I wanted to lay there and just take the beating, since I had no hope of things ever changing. I didn't believe I deserved any better than what I was getting. 

  Maybe I had talked smack about life before the match and he heard about it. Maybe he was pissed at me for being ungrateful for the chances he'd given me in the past. Maybe he decided that this time, he was either going to beat some sense into me, or kill me trying. 

  Maybe this time, he was going to bring me to my knees and make me see that things could only go up from here. 

  I was at my lowest. I wanted to die. I waited for life to take the final blow. I was ready. I closed my eyes and prepared myself. All hope was lost. I had nothing to keep fighting for. I braced myself for the punch. 

  But he didn't do it. He leaned down and kissed my forehead and whispered "Don't give up..keep fighting..there's still hope left."  

  I left the ring bruised and battered. I could barely stand. I could hardly function. I walked outside and felt the sun shining on my face. The warm, soothing sun. Oh, how I had missed that sun. 

  Suddenly, I could feel my heart beating again. I could feel it trying to put the shattered pieces back together. 

 Maybe there was hope left for me after all. 

  

Sunday Confessions:Forget

  What comes to mind when you think of the word forget? As for me, many things come to mind. 

  The one that stands out the most, is the fact that I've gotten to that age where I forget everything. I literally forgot my own age. Seriously. I had to count back from the year I was born. That's sad, I know.

   I couldn't remember if I was 37 going on 38, or if I was going to be turning 37 on my next birthday. 

   I'm not sure if it's a combination of motherhood and age, or just my age. 

   It seems like the instant I hit 35, my memory ran away. It not only ran away, it hasn't returned since. 

   I'm always forgetting what day of the week it is. I use my calendar on my iPod more than I do anything else. 

   I left my house once and forgot my shoes. That's even more sad than forgetting my age. What makes it even worse, I didn't even notice for ten minutes. I had to walk all way back with my head hung in shame to retrieve them. 

   I guess you can blame that on growing up in the South. Growing up, we only wore shoes when we went to school or out somewhere. 

   To top off this beautiful platter of memory loss, my boyfriend has the worst memory around. He is no help whatsoever. He expects me to remember stuff for him! 

   It's almost like he's forgotten that I forget EVERYTHING. 

   I'm constantly checking burners to make sure I turned them off only minutes before. I can never remember. Ever. 

   I'm worried one day I'll forget my own name. If I do, someone please remind me that it's Chasity. 

  And now I have forgotten where I was going with this post... 

Sunday Confessions: Without

Without.. That's a word that could take this post anywhere.

 It could lead to funny conversations, like the time I left home without my shoes and didn't even notice for nearly ten minutes. 

It could lead to deep conversations, like how I'd be lost without my family. 

But instead, I'm going to write about me without caffeine. 

How can I best describe me without caffeine? Hmmm. Let me put it this way. I'm a bitch. A total bitch. I'm grumpy. Moody. I'll rip your head off over the least little thing. 

Let's say you breath too loudly around me. I will look so deeply into your eyes, with an evil look, and curse your very ancestors for creating you. I will practically breath fire at you. Burning you to cinders. 

Ok, I'm getting a little carried away. But you get my point. Me without caffeine is not a pretty picture. 

I'm hooked. I'm an addict. A caffeine junkie. Is there rehab for caffeine addictions? No? Good! Because I don't want to be cured! 

Stripper, my boyfriend,  often harasses me over my caffeine addiction. My reply to him, "Caffeine is my ONLY weakness! I don't smoke, don't drink, don't do drugs! I could be addicted to much worse stuff! Let me enjoy this, dammit!" 

Rise, all my fellow caffeine addicts! Let's rejoice! Then let's enjoy a tall glass of whatever your caffeine preference is. Mine is Coca Cola. 

Excuse me while I go open a cold can of happiness. 

Sunday Confessions: The Gas Epidemic

 

During my eighth month of pregnancy with Mini, I began going to the doctor three times a week. My pregnancy was high-risk and I had a lot of complications. My doctor was about an hour away from where we lived. 

Anyhow, I had to take the Metro there and back, which was a three hour trek because I had to wait on the next bus, etc. 

I would usually leave our apartment at 6am, and not get back home until 5 or 6 that evening. I was always exhausted.  

One morning during my ninth month, I was sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office. I was my usual dog-ass tired. Plus, I was experiencing so much gas. Just so much. Apparently I dozed off in that overcrowded, tiny room. 

I felt someone gently shaking my shoulder. It was a nurse. I guess they had been calling my name. I noticed that the two people that had been sitting beside me were no longer there. They were standing against the wall. 

My face immediately turned red. I knew what I had done. I could smell it. I had passed gas in my sleep. I went to get my huge body out of that tiny seat, and PASSED GAS AGAIN. 

The room was soooo damn quiet. I wanted to hide right then. Everyone looked at me and a few kids started laughing. How flippin' embarrassing. 

Let's just say, I made a point to stay awake the last few times I had to go. 

Sunday Confessions: Resilience

 Resilience is inside all of us.  Even when something unimaginable happens and you feel like it will absolutely break you, somehow you will bounce back from it. 

No matter how many times your heart gets broke, most of us will still mend it and be ready to love again. 

No matter how many times people let you down and disappoint you, most of us will be willing to trust others again. 

No matter how many times people show you their worst side, most of us will still believe there is good left in them. 

It's amazing when you think about just how resilient a human is. We can  bounce back from nearly anything. 

 I've experienced a lot of horror in my life and even when I think I am emotionally bent to my breaking point, somehow I come back from it. 

 I come back stronger. I'm better prepared for the next time something  happens. I'm resilient. 

Sunday Confessions: Rejection

 Today's topic is about rejection and although I have experienced a lot of that in my life, the one person that rejected me and hurt me the most, was my father. 

That's been on my mind quite a bit lately. Especially with Father's Day coming up in a couple weeks, and with the issues with my mom, who was forced to be a dad and a mom to me. 

My mom divorced my dad when she was pregnant with me. I only saw him a few times as a child. He moved on and found a new family. 

 When I was 12, my father took a sudden interest in me. A man that had never cared for me before, suddenly wanted me around him. 

 I was thrilled. In my young mind, I thought my dad loved me and wanted me around him so we could bond. 

Little did I know, I was about to experience the worst emotional, physical, mental and sexual abuse imaginable. 

I ask myself now, why did I allow it to continue for so long? Why didn't I tell someone sooner? Why did his acceptance mean so much to me? 

I wish I knew the answers to that. Even now, I do not. 

I do know what he put me through made me the type of person I am now. 

 Abusing someone, or even an animal, is not in me. I can't even say cruel things to anyone. I know first hand how badly it hurts. Instead, I try to always show kindness. To show love. To show acceptance. 

As some of you know, I write poetry as well. Below you'll find a poem I wrote for my father. Writing is the only release I have. It's what kept me from going insane. 

"How dare you help create me, and then just walk out on me?

Never once did you try to make me a part of your new family. 

Instead I was an outcast, I was never good enough. 

I could never please you, never earn your fatherly love. 

But your hatred and resentment was as clear as the light of day. 

I saw in your eyes every single time you looked my way. 

I felt it with the beatings you felt I so richly deserved. 

It was in your voice every time you ever uttered a word. 

Yet  I was desperate for your love, for your acceptance of me. 

But your heart held no love..it was dark , cold and empty. 

Instead of allowing your cruelty to turn me into a person like you, 

I became better, I'm able to love..which was more than you could ever do. "

I will end my post with this: Rejection hurts. I don't care who you are or how old you are, it's painful and it's tough to deal with. 

Sunday Confessions: Friendship

Sunday Confessions: Friendship

 I can't say I have a lot of close friends, because I do not. I'm a private person and prefer to keep my circle small. But I do have a few. 

 I have my little sister, my boyfriend and my mom. As most of you know that read my last blog post, my mother is dying. 

 I guess I still can't wrap my mind around it. I can't understand her decision to not seek help and at least try to save her life. As much as I want her to live, it will not make her do so. 

Her friendship means so much to me. I literally talked to her every single day. I say "talked" because since we found out about her illness, she has nearly stopped all communication with me and my sister. I guess she got tired of hearing us beg and plead with her to get help. 

 I'm not one of those people that suddenly cares about someone once they find out their dying and then claim that the said person was their "best friend". 

 My mom truly is. She listened to every complaint I had, allowed me to vent, and I did the same for her. 

 My mornings would start with a good morning text from my mom and then followed up with an hour long phone call soon after. I told her I love her every day and she told me. 

 I'm not sure what I will do once she's gone. And it crushes me every time I think about it. It's like a horrible, painful waiting game and it's killing me. I wonder every day if it will be her last. I stay in a near panic, dreading the news that I know will surely come. 

The loss of her constant friendship will devastate me. I don't know what I will do without it. I honestly don't. 

Her love and friendship has made me into the woman I am today. It has taught me to cherish every second you do have with your friends and family.

 Don't waste a second of your time. Make it all count. 

 

Sunday Confessions: Pet Peeves

 Today's topic is pet peeves, and although I have many, my number one pet peeve is parents that don't correct their kids when they are rude. 

 Here's a prime example: 

We took Mini to a children's museum yesterday. She was playing in one of the play areas, when a boy walked up and took the toy she had right out of her hand. I glanced to his mother, who was standing nearby staring right at him and Mini. I waited for her to correct his behavior and tell him that he was being rude, but she never uttered a word. She just stood there with a blank look on her face. 

 I took it upon myself to intervene and correct him. Was it my place to do so? Maybe not. But I wasn't about to stand by and do nothing. 

He ended up waking away and finding another toy. I don't really blame the kids when they are that young. He only looked to be around 4 or 5 years old. I blame the parents. Especially when they are STANDING RIGHT THERE. 

I wish that was the only example I had of a parent failing at teaching proper behavior, sadly it's not. I've encountered it more than I care to admit. 

It never ceases to amaze me either. And it never ceases to get under my skin.