Talk, Talk, Talk

So I have trust issues.


And I invited someone else to join the party.


Some of you may in fact be wondering why the hell I would actually do such a thing. Especially with trust issues. And all that jazz. Jared's poked me a couple of times about it himself. Why I decided to trust him when he puts Lissie in such a fit. One who endlessly comes onto the both of us (though it's harmless really, he's just a slut acting exactly like he's always acted), and who seems careless when it comes to considering other's points of views.


Okay, he's not really that bad. And there's a couple of legitimate reasons that I let him take the keys to the truck from time to time.


The first is simple: experience. He's got a whole bucket load of that. And we, as in Lissie and I, have like zilch. And we could use someone whose better at surviving and not being persuaded and all that shit.


The second? He's familiar with Shepherd. And though the man's been quiet, I don't think he's quite slipped out of our lives. Doesn't seem his style to let go, more his style to let us get comfy then come on full force when we're not expecting it. And I don't like not knowing what to expect.


I guess the last is that he's hot. I'm going to just be honest and blunt and let you all know how shallow I can be. He's totally banging. (Read my sarcasm and snarky bitch tone in that please. You're welcome.)


And that's that. I have no regrets. Except all of my regrets.

All That's Left is Rage

Realizing I shouldn't be out in public.
I'm not fit for it.
I don't socialize well right now.
I'm not people friendly. I'm too busy yelling at the idiots.
I shouldn't be driving either.
Everything's a blur and I'm just so...
So...
So... pissed off.
The fucker took my baby girl.
The fucker took her.

A Little Under the Weather

Been less than stunning lately. Kind of catching up with me.


Don't worry, I'm sure everything's just fine. All in working order. Just kind of feeling shitty.


Birthday plans will have to be postponed.


Sorry Lissie Love.

Commentary

Lissie's in a mood. Misplaced blame is not a thing she gets on with, nosiree. It's funny when Lis is the one who wants to smack some sense into people.


Another thing: sometimes fellow bloggers use words and I have to wonder if they really know what that word means. Like, for instance, "rules." Rule are things that always apply. Things that are going to be true when faced with the test of time and will always be true. Save for a few choice exceptions. Rules are also based in fact. Scientific observation made by multiple unbiased parties willing to change their perspective should science deign it appropriate, not just personal observation. These are almost as high as laws, which have no exceptions whatsoever.


Anyway.


The point is, I guess, everyone makes their own path and it's not guaranteed to lead them anywhere specific. The human life is not a thing that can be put so narrowly along expectation row. In sum, I will not let my life be led by silliness you all think is fact.


I won't let my child be led along on her path of life by stupidity or the expectations you've all built of us.


You're letting the fear you've all built up as a result of this thing rule you from a to z and you've all forgotten how to live. How to love. How to be human. Well, not all of you, I'm sorry if I implied things that would make you uncomfortable in advance.


Try not to forget how to be human. I know it's hard sometimes, especially when you're coping with fear so shoddily that you've got snot and spit and all sorts of other nastiness seeping from you. But you have to try anyway. Because otherwise you're going to lose yourself in the fight, and then you'll lose sight of your motive, and why are you even fighting if you don't know what you're fighting for anyway?


And now I'm going to go back to driving and letting Kailin and Lis rule the blog.


Also, morning sickness seriously sucks.

Just a Note

Not that it really is terrifically significant to me right now, considering I'm not there right now, but the 9th Circuit Court ruled that Proposition 8 is unconstitutional. Woohoo! In a lot of ways though it is really significant to me. Because California is where I spent a lot of my most recent years, and a lot of the friends I made there are going to have a shot at equality. And that's important. I want to see my all my friends walk down the aisle in brightly colored converse.


I really hope the appeal for that ruling falls to shit though. We don't need all that drama bull again. It's just annoying.


If you don't know what Proposition 8 was, use your own google-foo. I am, at present, too lazy to actually give a proper explanation or link.


I dunno. I guess that was all I had to say. Maybe I'll drive back and get impulsively hitched to Lissie in 28 days? It's a possibility. We'll keep you posted for that one! (Also watch the comments for inevitable Lissie-flails on that subject.)

One Foot in Front of the Other

I have two points to make. Or address. Or whatever. One is more of a story. The second thing just... needs to be said. For formalities sake.

First thing's first, let's address visiting California. Under circumstances that are just... not pleasant enough to warrant a happy week.

Blake's mom... is probably the sweetest little woman ever. Standing at not over 4'11", shaped like a pear, mouse-brown hair that stands on end no matter the weather or how she attempts to put it all together... she's just incapable of putting it together anyway but frizzy.

Utterly adorable with a personality to match.


And three baby brothers. All idolizing him. All with matching sets of locks like their mothers. Blaise was always the odd-blond-out. But he loved them so very deeply.


I had to... give them some sort of closure. Blake hadn't called in weeks. And hardly a word before Christmas. I knew. I knew he wasn't all right. His family knew he wasn't all right. What little communication was so... garbled... so twisted. I don't know what they thought.


So I told them... a lie. A bald-faced lie.


I told them we had an argument on the road and there were tears and we had parted ways for a night. I had thought it was just a night, that we just needed some separation, but he didn't come back in the morning. I told the lie until I started to believe it. I started to believe I had no idea what had happened to him from there. I started to believe that we had looked for him for weeks. I believed it entirely by the time I was in tears and... I had to tell them that I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Because I won't. It's impossible.


I told them I didn't know he would react so badly, and I didn't know what he was doing, and if he would ever come home. Even though I know he never will. He can't. And it's my fault. I tried to console the boys. I hugged when it was appropriate. I cried when it was inappropriate.


I played a good part. They had us in for dinner. We were emotional and apologetic. The topic finally changed though. Something insignificant. We left before dark and were out of state again before dawn. I'm going to keep this far and away from them.


And now I've no idea where we'll end up. Maybe the midwest. I like the snow even if Lissie claims it's nothing but mischief.


---


Part two, the oddly hard part of this post...


I'm pregnant. I'm keeping my baby. And I'm going to fight for my little. Don't be mistaken. These are not the circumstances I want to be in for raising a child. I'd rather not be running for dear life with the father who I once loved dead.


But I'm keeping the baby anyway.


I think I can raise a child right. And so I'm going to let myself try.

Some 'Splainin to Do

(it seemed appropriate, with Konaa's return.)
It's been a week. Okay, more than a week now. A week and a half. Had to squeeze in time to see a doctor after the test and hope I was... fooling myself. Panic attacks can do great changeful things to a woman's body.


Unfortunately this is not one of those times. Unfortunately, now, I have a decision to make. Unfortunately I have a lot to think about on the matter. Reasons to keep the unknown parasite, reasons not to keep it. Factors that can't be let go so simply. I don't know if I'm determined enough right now...


But it would give me plenty of reasons to keep going. To persevere. And Lissie would be here with me. That much is nice to think about.


I haven't made a decision yet. Don't make this about the rights and wrongs of woman and her body and the things she may or may not chose to carry within it. I haven't made my decision, so it's not the time to hatefully discuss hateful matters.


After I've made up my mind, I'll let you all trample me with all that. For now, I've all the reasons in the world to not care about the moral blasphemies.

Well, Now I'm Pissed

I just missed my...


Fuckshit. This fucking sucks. Give it a week. Calm the fuck down.


I'm fine.

Words, Words, Words...

Words are fucking hard sometimes.

I broke him. I feel like... maybe, maybe, maybe there was something I could have done to stop this from happening. Ages and ages and eras and eras back. Responsible. I was cold and cruel and mean and I couldn't have just given him a little more. Just a little more maybe. Maybe then he'd be okay. Well and alive and okay.

I can dream. Dreams are silly though.

There's this ache... it comes up between the moments where Lissie is holding me together and Shaun plays some comfort song to keep me from hiding myself entirely. It's guilt. I know the thing for what it is. And it is guilt. It's nauseating. It never goes away. And I think I deserve it.

Between the moments where Lis has her hand on mine to remind me that I am not alone and I am no longer bound and the moments where Shaun gives his sage-words of true comfort and sympathy... I retreat. Back to that moment. Could I have changed it? If I had been less petrified and thrown and betrayed and hurt... if I could've gotten a handle on my emotions, could all this damn ache have been avoided? I'm normally better than that. I keep my composure. I hate weapons.

Seems terribly selfish. My primary motiive. Make my own aching stop. I've never been to great at giving. Or getting. Where does that even put me on the social scale of givers and getters? Puts me in the 'I don't like people, not really at all, leave me alone because it's just easier that way' category. Where does that even fit into the spectrum? It doesn't. It's an outlier.

Ah yes. There I am. An outlier. A product of my own making. A societal freak of nature. Unwilling to receive or give trust.

I am fighting my own nature. Moment by moment I am fighting it. I want to go back, years and years back when it was so, so, so, so terribly much easier. Back, way back... to right about 8 years old. When I could trust and it was easy. When mom would tell me "Dad will be home in 136 more days," and I believed her. I believed her because she was my mother and I trusted her and trust was easy and not impossible. I believed her when she told me her Tiana was the sweetest, most beautiful, kind and caring little girl she had ever met. I believed her because she was my mother and these things were still true.

I was kind.
I was sweet.
I was caring.
Beauty was inside and out.

I have learned bad habits as I've grown up. I've grown out of childhood niavety, but I wish I hadn't. I wish I was still beautifully unmarred by the coldness of the world and the reality of the situation and the cynicism. So much cynicism. I wish that I could be childlike in my worldview, but adult enough to know the value of that worldview. Unfortunately I am only the latter. I drift in and out. Between hoping and wishing there's still that ache. And I know the world is not the place my childlike perception would have had it.

I am not 8 years old and I am not blessed with a kind, caring, trusting heart. And I am here. He's not. Won't be. Ever.

I'd never killed anyone before. And I trusted him. Myself. Us. So well.

My nature says retreat further Tia. Reatreat and shut them all off. Just keep them out. It will be safer for them. Safer for you. Because you don't like people and what could they possibly like about you? People are changeable, malleable, untrustworthy things Tia: reject them all.

I can't do that though. That's not fair. Not to Lissie nor Shaun nor the comforts they provide me. They're not people I tell my nature. I don't have to like or trust people, but these two are not people. They are worthy of my trust. They are not people, my cruel nature, they are my friends. I won't retreat. Not from them. They deserve better, so I will give them better.

It's Still Cold in Alaska

I'm so so sorry... I hope you find peace Lover.

Firewood and Christmas Lights

It's cold here, Lissie told no lies. It's a bit chilly. I might be understating. I might have woken up to see snow lining our window. It's quite lovely. Lissie thinks it's... "shenanagins." I'm not going to complain, however. I like getting in snowball fights with strangers young and old. I like making snowmen and snowangels and the snow sculptors who emerge early on these mornings.
So out I went.
Played I did.
Dragged Lissie along kicking and screaming (I kid, she only protested so much. Giving her cocoa lightened her mood by miles).
Despite the cold on my nose and the chill on my cheeks, there was that smell of warmth in the air. Like firewood for the chimney and the charcoal the wood will inevitably become. The smell of freshed cooked meals and cinnamon in your cocoa and ginger in your cookies. It smelled warm.
The friendliness of christmas wasn't just trees in the windows and lights on the houses. It was there too, but it was in the hellos and the friendly waves and the red sweaters and the scarves wrapped twice around your neck for extra warmth. It was everywhere, just like Lissie's said. It was in the snowflake that fell just on the tip of my tongue and melted away. Fresh and cool and welcoming.
We're doing well, we're doing surprisingly well. Even if the snow's melted by now - it'll be back later. So will we. Promise. Even in all the dark on the outside, right now we've got ourselve protected with Christmas lights and firewood. We're doing just fine.

The Battle with the Heart isn't Easily Won

Falling out of love is hard business. Especially when you're - you know - the hard battle girl. Yeah. It's not something that's easy to talk about, but I think I need to. Even if I'm the one that did the breaking it off bit. There's still all those little bits of feeling that can't be left to linger.


You have to deal with them one at a time, slowly. Pay them all the same amount of attention - they deserve that much at least. They all have the same heavy weight of meaning. The candle you burned on your anniversary, the silver spoon you passed back and forth when you ate ice cream from that ornate glass bowl his mother gave you, the songs you used to sing together on long drives, the favorite movie quotes you used to pass back and forth at the drop of a hat - just because you could. You have to accept that these things still exist - but they don't mean what they did before. You have to put the spoon aside and give the songs new meaning and maybe throw the candle away.


There's more than just those physical things though. There's still those little things that confused strangers most, the not so obvious things. Like the way you would dance with him on the subways to no music but the music in your head. And that was good enough at the time. Or there's that little subtle glance that tells him he needs to kiss you right then, or the poke at his side that's a reminder for him to sit up straight. And that was good enough at the time. The way you knew what the other would get at a restaurant before they even verbalized it, and that was more than good enough.


After you've been with someone for so long... you start to build your life around them. You know them better than you know yourself - so it would seem sometimes. You feel the way they feel and know instantly when something's off and you start to have a rhythm. Normal sex on Mondays and Fridays, Wednesdays are kinky experiment night. Saturdays and Sundays you visit friends and family, and Tuesdays and Thursdays are your maybe if you're not too tired tonight nights. Of course, the pattern extends beyond bedroom schedule, it goes so far as Tuesdays you wake up early to make breakfast special, on Fridays you go out with him someplace you've never been before - maybe it's a museum or maybe it's just a different part of town or maybe it's just a tree you've never paid attention to in the park you frequent.


It's all... built for you. You don't actively realize when you do it. But it's you make this life for you and he and you both fall into it so comfortably that nothing could possibly be bad with it. You get comfortable. I got comfortable. Comfortable is a scary place to be - don't let happy people and romantic comedies fool you. Comfortable is the worst place you can be in a relationship sometimes.


It was good for us - the unexpected move. It took us out of pattern and comfort. Don't let Lissie tell you otherwise. Don't let Blake fool you with his bitterness. It was something that changed our habits just enough to keep us from being that perfect couple. No one wants to be that perfect couple, no matter how idealized it is. It gave me hope.


...having it end was something I would not have seen coming. No matter how prepared I claimed to be.


Was I prepared? Not at all. It's too late for that now. Now it's over. Now I'm at the point where I have to stop rambling and accept that not all is well and as it was. I have to accept that Wednesday will no longer involve discovering something new about leather and skin, Saturday is no longer about having lunch with his mom or mine, and dances on the subway will never happen with him again.


Falling out of love isn't all about ending it with him. It's about... it's about discovering yourself without him again. It's answering the question "what are you unattached?" It's knowing you'll survive.

Do You Like to be Surprised, or Do You Prefer Anticipation?

(I personally prefer Anticipation)


I needed a happy-spot over these last couple of days and I think I found it. Everyone should know I retreat to book-land when I'm looking for it. So I found a new book. And finished it in less than a day.


If you can read anything for the Christmas Holiday, if you've the time to read at all, read Dash & Lily's Book of Dares. Even if you don't celebrate Christmas. Even if you hate the holiday season - and even if Christmas makes you especially vomitous. Even if you want to wallow in misery and bemoan the cruelties of life. Read it.


It's delightfully optimistic and romantic with ups and downs and young, sweet ideals of love and lovers and maybe losing your virginity - or just your first kiss. Read it because it might make you laugh or sniffle or smile or maybe even feel hope if only for a millisecond.


Be proud when you march into the teen fiction section of your local bookstore, searching for it alphabatized under Cohn (or maybe Levithan if your bookseller was confused when shelving) and pick up that book off the shelf. It needs someone to read it. No, it doesn't matter that it's targeted at the teen market, it's well written and we all need some nostalgia from time to time. Sweet, saccharine nostalgia.


You need a book to read. I needed that particular book to read. I think I can smile for a bit now.
Read it because it's hopeful, and let's be honest, we need some hope right now. 


Read it because I dare you to.


"I knew the truth: It was so much cooler to be the weird girl." -pp. 54 Dash and Lily's Book of Dares.

Today was Hard

Really, really hard.

...

I think it'll be easier just to show you.

And this was inside them (excuse my non-existant photo manipulation skills):

(you should open the massive image files in a new tab... better resolution to make it readable.)

Needless to say I'm less than pleased with the day. We made it to our next place for the time being. A little closer to the west coast, not quite there yet though. Soon.

Elaboration

I'm going to try not to be overly emotional. Meaning I will probably fail. But I'm going to at least attempt it for everyone who reads our blog so that they are properly informed of the situation.


Blake has been... well I think it's obvious from the previous posts. He's not been himself. He's very kind and loving and puts everyone else first and thinks about every action and consequence before doing anything. I know most of you are just taking my word for it, but he genuinely meant for good things to come for people. He's normally a very loving man. He does things that are unnecessarily kind and unfathomably sweet.


You know that we went to Barcelona on a three month leave once over our years together? Well, for our anniversary that just passed he had recreated our trip on the roof of Hope (may the building and all who fell with it rest in peace). He had wine and tapas and flamenco music and it was really a beautiful night. Of course my favorite part had been hiking up to Montserrat and Sant Miquel de Fai, but you can't really bring that part to a rooftop dinner can you? At least we had some height.


And that was the man that I loved very, very much.

...he fucked that up today.


It was early, we were all tired admittedly, but there are no excuses and he crossed a line. You know we were only discussing where to go next? We were just talking like normal and then Lissie interrupts him without thinking and all of a sudden there's a loud smack of a noise and Lissie's crying and covering her just barely recovering face and his fucking eyes were all wrong. He just wasn't him. The Blake I know could hardly harm a fly, and Lissie? Oh that's several steps beyond a fly.


The very first thing I did was pull her behind me and clarify very specifically that he had indeed crossed a goddamn line and he would not be travelling with us or even me whilst he was still behaving badly. And under no circumstances will I change that. No, while Blake is behaving irrationally and angrily and badly he will not be in Lissie's, and thereby my, company.


I don't think I've glared that hard since... well since Micheal, but before that since High School.


We left then. It was deceptively easy. Our things were already packed and we had everything in the truck. We just threw him his two bags and booked it. Drove for like 6 hours before we even stopped for the lady's room break. Food was take-out and unhealthy, I'm surprised we both managed to keep any food down considering things though.


I didn't even kiss him goodbye. I just walked out. I didn't know... I could do that.


I'm not going to lie, this stings, it stings a lot. Like when little angry bumblebees are buzzing about you because you're their flower and you won't yield any pollen, and then they're dropping dead around you because of all the teeny tiny angry pokes at your skin. It hurts like that. And hundreds of little bees leaving their venom inside of you makes you tired, drowsy, sick, nervous, wishing for the perfect antidote. I guess victims of angry bees are lucky that an antidote exists at all aren't they?


I, however, am not so lucky am I? It's okay. I'll survive. It's what I do after all.


I'm tired now.


'Oh god, now when's the time for me?
Oh, when will you see me through?
Oh god, mind is eating my heart out
Oh god, my heart is beating my mind out.
Oh god I can't believe in you
Just because I'm afraid you're true.'
-Ida Maria, "See Me Through"

Tendrils Dark are Eating up the Light

Do you know that feeling, like when you don't know where to start a story? Like when you wish it was just a story and nothing real at all? Like when you're stuck thinking 'If this were just a story, it would be much, much easier to tell'? All the jumbles of words can't seem to coordinate themselves into a proper sentence and we're just stuck... staring into the dim light of your computer screen, asking yourself, repeatedly 'Where do I even start?'


That's where I am, right now.


...


So tell me, where do I start this story?


On a roller coaster. I start this story on a roller coaster. I'm going to openly proclaim right now I never want to ride a roller coaster again. I never want to see fair food or hear jingling key chains or see smears of spilled slushie on hot cement. I used to have fond memories of these things. I don't anymore.


Maybe it starts when we got off the roller coaster. When did the people start fading out? I'm not really sure when the park started emptying or the dark started settling in. When did the air go stale and still? I'm not sure where things started going wrong. It seemed like all of a sudden things just weren't what they were before and suddenly we three weren't together anymore.


They like leaving me alone in these places. They like having me run about and look for people in large empty spaces. They like giving my panic attacks because they can. I think in a cruel way, they like making me feel the need to release my lunch everywhere. You know, and then I actually do. It happens. Happened. A bit. Maybe more than a bit. I'm feeling a little prideful about it.


I kept a handle on it though. It wasn't so bad this time you know? No curling in on myself. No falling asleep and thinking 'well this is it'. None of that self-deprecation shit either. It's not my job, according to certain other members of the party.


I didn't sleep much over those days.
Couldn't.
Too full of energy.
Didn't eat much either.
Wasn't hungry.


So I looked. I looked hard and long. And I found what I was looking for, eventually. Blake was on one of those big swinging ships, strapped in, passed out. I had no idea how to operate the thing. It seemed to be operating on this infernal timed loop. Stop. Start. Go go go. Stop. Start. Go.


So I waited. Eventually it stopped again. And then I went and grabbed him quick as I could manage, before it started up again.


So now I had a passed out Blake on the loading dock of this swinging ship, and I'm crying and screaming at him to wake up, because I need him to wake up. I need him to wake up right then.


And by some miracle or magic choice of words, he does. He snaps his eyes open and he's there with me again. The rush of relief right then? Unspeakable.


After a time I manage to get him walking, and it's back to looking. I keep his hand in mine. I never let go.


We found Lissie in the fun house after what felt like a whole nother day of looking. She barely awake in the mirror room. I found her by her manic laughter. It stopped when we got into the room. Turned to a more sick gurgling. All the blood in her throat. It's a miracle she didn't choke on it.


Oh god that was a sight to see.


Zip-ties, curled in on herself, blood under her finger nails (not entirely sure that it was hers), nose a shambles, neck bruised and caked with dried blood, ribs broken - again. When we cut the ties off her, she could hardly stand on her own. We didn't make her.


She guided us out, she knew how to navigate it, someway or another. Maybe it was instincts in this place, maybe she's got a talent? I don't get any of it, but I'm practically dragging the two of them out, Lissie coughing out her guidance.


I still hadn't let go of Blake's hand.


He was right there with us. Right there. Next to me. He felt that first breath of fresh air. That life again. And then he was being dragged from my grip. Dragged. Clawed. He clung. I clung. I reached. He reached back for me. Everything was warped.


A face. There was a face behind him. Or the shape of a face. A warped image of a not-face. Seen it before. I couldn't hurt it. Never could. Couldn't sway it. Couldn't make it's grip on Blake loosen. Me? Just a non-consequential being. Powerless. Everything distorted in that moment. Suffocating. Somehow.


I couldn't pull Blake back. He was out of my grip. Then he was gone.


I'm getting him back. Don't you think for a second that I won't.

We're Out

Sorry Hope people. Sorry everyone, but after yesterday I think it's time we moved on.


I talked with Lissie about it and she agrees.


There's some things we need to move past - literally and figuratively both.


Hope has been a wonderful place for us. We've grown and learned here and we may regret not staying longer later on, or we may not. But it's been plenty a while, it's been fun, and this is a sort of "See you later everyone!"


We'll be back. Or we'll see you all again. Or something.


We'll work it out. Thank you.

An Open Address to all Lissies

It's 6:31. Your 24 hours are up. Hopefully the positive attitude will continue anyway.


You're a brat.


You're also a sweetheart.


People love you.


You'll learn to live with it.


Maybe you'll even think you deserve it someday too.


<3

Dance, Fucker Dance.

It was a good night. And then it wasn't.


Shoulda stuck to drink'n lone. I didna know... bout... bout things. Not my place to say. M'sorry everybody. I did a bad thing.


And it all started cause a stupid anger. Stupid, stupid anger.



FUCK YOU
AND FUCK YOU
AND ESPECUA-
fuck that word righ now.
FUCK YOU A LOT.


Yea, you, you get a lot of fuck yous in the face. You know how many times... how many times making Lissie cry is too many? NO? Let me make it abundentally clear that you crossed that line fucker.


I am not happy bout it. Nosirree.


...olordy Lissie'll read thisinthemorniggg...


fuck it. ss'allready mornin.


m'really, really sorry.

Fine. Fine.

Fuck. You. Sheperd. Give him back. Givehimbackrightnow.


You son of a goddamn bitch. You give him back or I swear I will find you and break your little neck in half. First though, first I will make you regret ever coming near him. I will break so much of you and make you feel humiliated and angry and vengeful and incredibly goddamn stupid for messing with my man.


I'm not giving up here on my end, and I know he's not going to give into your little games either. I know him better than to think that he'd break just because you think you can break him.


Because you think you can break us. Fuck you Sheperd. He better be here at Hope before 4 PM or I swear, I will find you. Don't even think I'm joking.


Now I know he didn't just go. Now I know he's being held. And I will not tolerate your bullshit. I will not.


Also, we want Lissie's truck back. And if you tail him back to Hope, I will know. I will find you, and I will break you. I will break you harder than you could ever possibly imagine one girl could manage with only her hands.


That's the deal. 4 PM.