Valentines Day

Valentines day has become such a hallmark holiday. It use to matter to me because it was so rare to feel the love from a significant other and I felt I needed it via presents, chocolates, love letters. This time around it’s a whole lot different. Every single day this man shows me he loves me. Even it isn’t by saying those three words. Slight touch of my back or grabbing my hand and giving it a slight squeeze. He sneaks into the bathroom when I’m showering to leave a glass of wine waiting for me. He listens when I tell him something I want to buy myself but probably never will then goes out and surprises me with it. He just is so caring, unconditional, strong, loving, understanding, and thoughtful. So we didn’t even bother celebrating Valentines because we both agreed it’s just another day. We should be showing our significant others we love them all year long.


Happy Writers block

I have nothing to blog about anymore. It use to be so easy to sit down and blow my feelings up on the keyboard. It’s different now because I am legit happy. It’s easier to write when you’re depressed, lonely, fearful, angry and so much more. That’s not to say I never feel these things because I do just not so extremely. In small aspects of my everyday life but nothing I can’t handle without blowing up with emotions.


Tipsy on a small bottle of wine while dancing across the kitchen floor at nearly 2 in the morning. Nothing better than having you teach me how to twirl into your arms. As if you don’t make my stomach twirl with butterflies on a daily basis. My cheeks, sore from how big my smile is this early morning. “You look wonderful tonight” you sing as you hold me close. One hand on my waist the other intertwined with my hand. The laughter followed by your sudden realization that I really do have two left feet. Time after time stepping on your feet.



Positivity always came pretty easy to me my whole life but for a while I lost the ability to pull out something positive from every situation. It all started coming down on me and I was finally all worn out. Not a positive thought in sight. Thank god that didn’t last long. Here I am back to myself again. Smiley as my boyfriends dad calls me. Always a smile on my face and a positive thought in my mind and heart. I use to cry almost once a day from the overwhelming feelings and thoughts inside of me. Now I cry because I’m so damn happy and I can’t believe this life is mine to live. Happiness looks good on you, girl.




Presence;  A person or thing that exists or is present in a place but not seen

You have been gone for so many years now and I have never felt a presence. I’m not entirely sure I believe that’s even possible. I do however have something that makes me believe you’re watching over me. I recently moved to Surrey. Along my drive to and from work I see a hawk hanging along the golden ears way. There’s only ever one along the stretch to work. I call him Robert. Some day’s I think I’m crazy but most I know it’s you watching over me. Half the time he’s only there on the days I really need him to be there. For example, I was going with my Nana to look at a few places for her to rent. We’ve both been highly stressed since we found out she needs to move at the end of January. Obviously her more than I. I kept wishing that someone from those two houses that day would agree to my Nana moving in and the worry would be over. As I was driving to meet up with her, there you were. Sitting on the light post letting me know that all is going to be just fine. Sure enough it was. The second place we looked at were ecstatic to take my Nana into their beautiful suite. I almost cried in excitement that they had said yes and my wonderful Nana could no longer worry about the biggest part of her next few months. The packing, the moving, the re arranging was nothing compared to the sleepless nights she had thinking she’d end up homeless. As if anyone would let that happen.

Thank you, Uncle Robert. For always being there. Then and even now when you’re no longer with us.
“You’ll always be with me, like a handprint on my heart”






homesweet home

Do you know what it’s like to feel excited to come home to someone? I hadn’t until you. I never had a place that felt 100% home until you. I don’t even have all of my things moved in yet and I already feel this way. There’s that quote about home being a feeling and a set of arms not a place. You’re home.

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”




an amount of teaching given at one time; a period of learning or teaching.

How is a person suppose to learn any lessons with their mom always there to fix their mistakes? How is a person suppose to grow up to be a functioning adult? I don’t fully blame you for them being unable to actually get through in life but I can see where you have hindered them. I also completely understand the motherly love instincts and not being able to let your children hit rock bottom. Have you ever thought that it’s possible that it’s necessary in this specific situation? Maybe looking for some actual professional help instead of you stressing yourself by becoming his security guard to stop him from doing drugs would help. What do you think? I know I don’t have all the answers but the way this is being handled is ridiculous. Why do people try so hard to not talk about their shit? How hard is it to express to someone, whether you know them or not, that you’re struggling with your mind? That you can’t cope on your own? That makes it sound so easy even though I know it is not. I am an independent person and hate asking for help but… you can’t thrive in this life if you can’t let go of the past. Isn’t that how addiction comes about anyways? Hiding from the shit in your head? Drink for happiness. Drugs to forget. Food for comfort. Nobody seems to realize how remarkable it is to express to someone who has taken copious amounts of schooling to work with the human mind. They’re there to help you with your mind. How to cope. What tools to use in what situation. I also am aware that I am more open minded then most people in this world. Especially when it comes to speaking to professional help. I just can’t watch my mother struggle with anxiety, depression, and stress because she’s watching my brother struggle with depression, drug problems, and loneliness. Nobody is taking control of the situation. All I get is constant stress, tears, and endless conversations about the same damn thing over and over again. Then I have thoughts like… what about me? I know my brothers are struggling and I am not but what about me? How am I doing? What’s new with me? Every time I even talk to my mother whether it’s talk or voice call it’s about one of my brothers. If not them it’s her problems. What about my problems? What about my fucking problems? I guess that’s why I have been blessed with an amazing boyfriend. To help me cope with the fact that my family is a handful.