If I'd have never known your name... I'd still be driving that old green Nova.

I've settled into my big gray hoodie and my country music. I am quite certain these things keep me safe. This week I've felt the cold chill of spindly fingers grasping at my neck and have made sure that comforts are never far. It has been a while since this feeling has creeped over me with such ferocious density. I could blame the cough I stole from someone else... or the schedules I've been keeping... the stress, oh momma... the stress, but ... I can't. Because I can't lie to myself. 

I wish I could find an eloquent way to describe this knot in my stomach. The why's and the how it got there's. I wholeheartedly believe that would make me feel better. A little verbal regurgitation... there's never any harm in that. Right... 

Fear. Breed by Vulnerability and shrouded in Shame and Insecurity. That's the best I can do. Sterile and technical. I used to despise Vulnerability. It's nasty little tendrils gripped fast and strong.  It wasn't until very recently that I was able to address that specific emotion for what it was. I just knew it as suffocating and overthrowing. It was only through the entanglement of a new presence in my life that I was able to realize it's name. The realization started with an occurrence... a situation... a complete 'uh-oh' moment. I began the recoiling process and started throwing things blindly in the dark from behind the fence I'd quickly built. But at some point, I took a deep breath and and stepped over the mess I was making and walked into the situation. 

You see, I have had this really nasty habit of just accepting certain situations and attitudes as they are, regardless of their effect on me. Of course... that can only last so long. Eventually, I implode at the re-occurrence of whatever disturbance is about and then eventually... I lose my mother loving mind. I snap. The air chills and I start scratching at anything near me. 

I spent the better part of last year discovering my inner darkness and confronting all of those monstrous parts we always fear lie within us. I do believe that was the most emotional strain I have ever encountered. It cannot happen again. I will not happen again. I cannot hold other people accountable for the way their actions effect me if I cannot express the pain it causes me to them... as it happens. Oh, the horror... openly expressing myself... my confusion... but... that would mean that I am displaying my insecurities... my fears... my vulnerability. I have never been able to do that...well, not until all those emotions have a thick shell of anger to hide behind. 

So, armed with this new awakening and still nursing my wounds, I stepped over that familiar mess, and I ousted myself. I laid out my insecurities. My jealousies. My struggles and my fears in my calmest of manners. I admitted my biggest faults and my weaknesses and waited for the door to slam. But instead... I was welcomed with the warmest hug and one of the first most authentic and real conversations I've ever known. Every hair follicle tingled. Every defense mechanism disarmed and that presence was right there and then, sealed to me in a way I'll always fail at communicating. Yes. Yes! This... this is what I have been wanting. Brutal honestly. Complete openness.  No shadows, no secret corners... just the most sacred bonding of understanding and complete acceptance. 

I sincerely love that presence and the effect it has on me, I just wish Everywhere had the same rules and Everyone understood the, albeit terrifying, but beautifully intense moments found while embracing ones vulnerability. I am imperfect and wired for struggle, as Brene says. I will always look for purpose and meaning in all my relationships and interactions. I am constantly looking for new ways to fall apart. It is through that process that I grow and through that growth I flourish. Being vulnerable is only my weakness if I treat it as such...

...but the most difficult part, is swallowing the fear and saying, "Fuck it. I am taking this risk. I am accepting these terrifying moments and I'm going to be grateful for them" that still stops me cold. Old habits are hard to kill and it's a struggle to not look at a significant piece of your past and think, but if I just let this time go and don't cause a conflict, I won't lose this. And oh, how I enjoy this... 

I am growing more and more afraid that I have been here... in this place... before, though. It never works well. It's just a matter of time, though, before I lose the fear and let the risk taking happen. It's a bittersweet, tortured state I keep finding myself in with him.

Life is imaginary. It's your dreams that are real.

One fine day to be... nude.

Honestly, I'm feeling a little burned out today. A little more vulnerable. And I hate it here. I need a pick me up tonight.

Its a sad awakening when one realizes the locks and chains around their beating heart. Humbling when one realizes the effect it has on someone they care about. Embarrassing when efforts to change go unnoticed. I'm probably just doing it wrong. Yeah, that's it. Patience, I guess... that's the only word that my limp brain can muster right now. 

I've never been comfortable in my "patient pants"... and even if I were... I'm sure they wouldn't fit right now anyways.

...the taste still dances on my tongue.

The night before Thanksgiving 2007, having the holiday to ourselves, J and I were at the grocery store shopping for our dinner festivities the next night. Laughing and carrying all our groceries inside, my phone rang and although I am a multi-talented girl, the talent of juggling grocery bags, the door and the phone eluded me that night. Once safe inside and possessing the ability to use both my hands freely, I checked my voice mail. It was from Spencer, Addi's father.

Spencer: "We're in an ambulance on the way to the hospital."

His voice was hurried, stressed. If it were a physical being, you would surely see it collapsed in the corner, sobbing. Questions flooded my head. For whom; him or Addison? What hospital? Why? What the fuck?

Several attempts later, I finally made contact with Spencer. The fear and sadness in his voice confirmed the worst and encouraged the growing knot in my stomach; something had happened to Addison. She had collapsed, had a Grand Mal Seizure and had stopped breathing.

The trip to the hospital is a blur. I merely remember everything as an echo. I only saw black.

We were sent home after a few minor tests and some papers containing multiple prescriptions and a diagnosis of "Febrile Seizure." There wasn't much sleep to be had that night. Worry was at the edge of all our words and fear consumed our thoughts.

The following morning, I received another call from Spencer. Addison had another seizure and they were on their way to the ER again. By the time J and I arrived, she had had another seizure. Spencer was a wreck, rightly so, and promptly disappeared once we arrived to collect the pieces of himself he'd dropped on the way in. Given that it was a holiday, the neurologist was in Aruba or Bermuda or some equally far and beautiful location. Addi was moved to PICU and hooked to every wire and machine the hospital had on that floor, while we waited to be shipped to the nearest hospital with an available neurologist. Just as we settled in, she had her final seizure for the night... the first I had to witness.

Fear is often such a small word, completely unable to capture the desperation and immobilization of a moment. Addison is such a strong willed and spirited child, to watch confusion and panic consume her face and leave her limp and exhausted tore my world apart. Even now, writing this, I sit here crying... still unable to cope with the horror.

Addison has had a total of 4 "incidents". Each time, there is a series of 4 seizures. Each time, it takes 6 nurses to restrain her for an IV. Each time, I am awed by the emotional strength of this little person. We've been through several tests, lost count over sleepless nights, tested several daycares, and comforted far too many terrified cries. We're a year free now, but with each illness, I brace myself and prepare for the worst. I wonder, often, if that fear is something I will ever let go of.

Recently, I met a new friend whose son has similar, but more severe seizures. He's also been in a remission of sorts. Yesterday, there was momentary panic throughout his home as a situation all too familiar popped up.  Things like this take your legs away, leave you breathless and covered in emotional vulnerability. Listening to his worries, I was reminded of my own with Addison and now want nothing more than to hold that quirky, lively little Monkey of mine.

Hang in there NotSteve. Hugs to you and your family.

Re: What the hell is wrong with you?

Sigh. I wonder if I will ever reach the point in life where I can just sit and wait... without casting that first stone. Without my preemptive self-defenses. Without so many hesitations... and just enjoy the journey and the discoveries.

I'm like that overgrown child, anxiously sitting in front of the Christmas tree, days before presents are due to be opened, assessing the situation, shaking and trying to unravel the mystery of what's inside. In fact once, I took an exacto knife to a friends gift because I needed to see what I'd gotten in order to decided what to give them. It sounds far more damaging that it really is... it was a delicate situation and I sought help under that tree.

Now that I'm an "adult", I find myself doing the same thing with men. Within 5 minutes of conversation, I determine their respective place in my social world... present or not. 5 minutes? Most men haven't stopped staring at your chest by then, let alone really begin to unravel themselves.

Great... now I have guilt.

I have a stalker? Sweet.

Hey, hot blonde girl. I can see you.

You must have questions, or else you wouldn't be here. I don't like playing with middlemen... too many things get lost in translation. Want to know? Ask me.

I don't bite... hard.

The Things I've Never Seen Or Heard...

I am convinced now... he really is writing this for me.

I honestly couldn't care less if you like the same bands or you've read the same books. Tell me one original thing, tell me one true, real thing that brings me to my fucking knees that I've never heard before and I'm yours.