Gale

If you want to hear my voice long after I'm gone, close your eyes, feel the breeze upon your face. Listen, for I am only a whisper in the wind.

An Open Letter To My Stepmom

This is long overdue.

I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye. I know I acted out a lot in my younger years...and older. I can't imagine how hard it must have been to be a step parent given those situations. I'm sorry for any time I may have made you feel unappreciated or when I was just plain cruel. I'm sorry it took me so long to get my crap together. But when I did, I couldn't have been more grateful. You've shown me kindness and forgiveness over the years and I value that very much. When I was 17 and had recently gotten out of HSC, you took me to the movies. I don't remember the movie, but the memory of how good I felt stays with me to this day. Although it doesn't happen too often, I truly enjoy when we chat, whether over email, playing with Patches, or in the kitchen getting a lesson on how to use the Keurig. Thank you for displaying patience with me. I love you and I'm glad to call you my stepmom. I was always too afraid to say anything because I felt like I would upset my mom, but she knows that you are important to me... And you should know too! Happy Mother's Day!
Love,
Gayle

Help when able

I've always been the type of person who will stop someone that I can see is clearly in pain and try to help. whether that is physical or emotional pain. I do not like seeing someone suffer. Tonight, I was standing outside of Luckys after work and a young man walked by clearly hurting. He was covered in blood and had a gash about three centimeters long on his forehead dripping in blood. I stopped him while he was walking and asked him if he was OK..before I saw what the real damage was. He said no and kept walking..clearly upset. I asked him what happened and to please stop. He was very hesitant but needed help. He knew he did. When he walked to me I saw all of the damage. I saw all of the blood that was pouring from his forehead.. there was so much of it. I had clean napkins to press his wound & was able to get his name. I alerted staff from the closed bar to attempt to get assistance. I learned about him and his family while asking questions to keep him calm while we waited for police and emt. I learned this innocent man was jumped by 4 people while he was having a drink with his twin sister. That disgusts me. That means there are four assholes that live in this town. Who would do that to someone unprovoked? All this guy cared about was that his sister was okay because he lost her in the fight as he tried to run to get away from those people. (He was able to get a hold of her with my phone and thankfully she is safe!)

It's not ok guys. If you see someone hurting and you have the ability to help, please do! Find out how you can help. This world full of shitty people but it is also full of good people. I implore you to be one of those good guys to help someone when they need it or cheer someone up when they're sad. Try to do the right thing when you see someone wronged..just because you may be strangers, doesn't mean you shouldn't help. It's a basic human right to be treated with respect. I hope that if you are ever in a tough situation, someone will do everything in their power to be there for you.

The twisted mind.

I was driving down the street when I had a random urge to take a short cut through a car lot. That's when I saw him. A handsome man with a strong jawline was sitting it a white car smoking a cigarette. He was attractive, yes, with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. Yet there was something so terrifying about him. I made eye contact with him as I drove past and knew I was danger. He fired up his engine and started to follow me, looking in my rear view mirror I tore through the car lot. That's when my tire blew out. Maybe I ran over a nail, perhaps there was a trap set up. I have no clue. I had no choice, I had to get as much room between me and this stranger as possible. I got out of my car and started on foot. I ran so fast, I flew. I had two options. Left was an open field that would leave me vulnerable or an auto garage to the right. I opted to try and find a hiding spot in the seemingly empty building. I heard the man's car screech to a stop and his footsteps fast approaching. Panicked I tried wedging myself behind a rolling toolbox. A second man came out of an office at the top of a set of stairs, grease caked the railings he held on too. This man was in dirty mechanics clothes with the name "Andy" stitched on the pocket and a cap that covered his unkempt hair. He had startling green eyes that grew wide in an instant. That was the moment he saw the man who had been chasing me. My own eyes flickered from Andy to the man filled with rage. He was holding a gun and had fire in his eyes. Andy tried running back to the office but this man was faster. He pulled him by his shirt back down the stairs, held him and gunpoint and searched the room with his gaze wildly. I all but stopped breathing in my hiding place, praying I would not be found. I wasn't so lucky. After almost a minute of terror, a pair of nearly black eyes met mine. He grabbed me by a fistful of hair and threw me on the ground. At that moment I was positive I was going to die. With the gun fixed on me I was told to kneel on the ground and put my head on the floor. So frightened, I sat there shocked until I felt the gun pressed firmly against my temple. With that I sat on my knees, pressed my forehead to the cement and attempted to make peace with my fate. Rather than being mad that I took that shortcut or couldn't get away, I spoke aloud what I was happy about. In a soft mutter, told the man with the gun I wasn't ready to die, there was so much I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to graduate college, travel the world, take care of my parents as they grew old. I told him of the tragedy I've experienced and why I'm grateful for it. I'm proud of who I've become and if I were to die today, it would all be for naught. I begged shamelessly for mercy. If I were to die, it wouldn't be a hero's death, but a cowards. Too focused on my mortal peril, I forgot what else was happening. It was a gunshot that woke me up. I screamed and cried as I did a mental check of my body. I was alive....did the bullet even hit me? No. I looked up to see Andy fold over himself as he fell to the floor. My head was slammed against the floor a second later. Hot blood was streaming from my cheek mixing with snot and tears. As much of a mess I looked like, I was infinitely more of a wreck inside. My heart was beating a thousand beats a minute, presumably to make up for the beats I'll miss out on once I'm dead and gone. My stomach was considering parting with my body and my brain was scanning through a million outcomes. What would my parents do when they found out I had been killed? Would it be extremely painful? Would I die quickly or bleed out slowly? Is there an afterlife? Despite my hysteria I could hear the man screaming at me to shut up and not to look up. The gun was pressed to my skin once more. This time on the back of my neck. He had drawn the gun back and cocked it. It was time. I shut my eyes tight and pictured my loved ones. Once more I heard the giant bang and echo of the gun. And again I did an inventory of my body to find no bullet wounds. Startled and confused I dared to raise my head. There he was, the gunman, crumpled up on the floor with a bullet through is skull. I'll never understand what happened. This disturbed man, took his own life yet spared mine. Was his plan to scare the living hell out of me? Did he intend on killing me, but was dissuaded by my heart wrenching pleas for mercy? Was he expecting someone else to have driven past him? Was he ill in the mind? Did he have a plan or even know what he was doing at all? I'll never know. I'm not sure I want to either. I escaped with my life.

I feel I don't need to, but equally should, say that this is fiction. I actually had an extremely vivid dream of this today. It's curious how the mind creates these webs of stories. 

Be Well

Gayle

Some thoughts on electromyography

I had my EMG two autumns ago after a devastating auto accident left me with permanent nerve damage. I was told it would be uncomfortable but my doctor said because of my tattoos and being able to take needles for lab work like a champ that it wouldn't be bad. My primary doctor was a lying dick. My administering doc was awesome though. She kept the conversation light and quick witted to keep my nerves at bay. (Pun intended) During my EMG I endured more pain than the actual accident itself. At least my body was in shock after the initial injury. My mom drove me to the neurologist for the test. I found that the shocking part of the test was extremely uncomfortable but not impossible to handle. When it came time for the needle portion though I was in excruciating pain. I stayed silent and tried to be compliant but tears were streaming down my face and my body involuntarily shook and lurched forward in pain. It got so bad that my mom had to leave the room. She had been so strong for me throughout everything but couldn't take seeing me in pain anymore. It was a very challenging thing for me to face but prepared me for the pain I endure daily. From the day of the accident, over two years ago, to present day I get sharp, shooting pains down my legs that stop me from walking, standing, etc. However, without the EMG, I wouldn't have gotten the answers and treatments. My particular diagnosis is 7+ years before I become as improved as possible with life long pain and spasms. I will say though, if someone reading this is nervous about an upcoming test, it's okay. It's okay to be nervous or scared. Bring someone along who can hold your hand and stop for ice cream before bringing you home. Try bringing headphones or a good luck charm. Most importantly, try to remember that the test itself is the one hurdle you have to jump before getting the answers to need to help you out.

Fuck that.

I'm pissed the fuck off! I've liked someone for 4+ months and told them today. I was invited out by them and at the end of the night told "I don't feel the same, we're homies" Then he proceeded to take my fucking friend who knew I liked him into his room. Fuck you both. Fucking asssholes. So apparently both these people are my friends. Fuck that. 

Nightmares

My nightmares have jolted me awake the last, hell, almost 2 years. They've been worse than ever this past week. In the last four days alone I've maybe gotten seven hours of sleep. The imagery and the undeniable pain that goes along with these nightmares are nearly indescribable. The best way I can try to explain it, is to share the image I see in a particular moment in my nightmares. A sharp serrated blade ripping up from my foot, twisting through my knee at its end. My muscles and nerves being torn from my flesh and bone. Not dissimilar to that of a fish being gutted. It takes every ounce of my being to steady my breathing after screaming myself awake. Followed by being unable to fall back asleep while the pictures are seared into my eyelids. All I can hope for is one peaceful nights sleep. Writing about it helps a little as I would hate to bottle all of that up. At least this gets it out of my head for awhile. 

Abideen

I'm making a fast friend here in the community room. There is a quite old man from Afghanistan, his primary language is Persian and his English is quite broken. That hasn't stopped him from trying to be personable and kind. He brought over blueberry scones for us to share as we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Halfway through the show a deaf gal came into the room and Abideen was able to sign in ASL to speak with her easily. I find this so amazing that a man who came to America knowing no English was able to learn Sign Language to help him learn to communicate. There is something so beautiful about two people from two backgrounds and cultures being able to get to know each other when it would be so easy for either of them to be secluded. 

Over the last half hour or so, roughly 5 people have come into the community room and Abideen as perked up and said hello to all of them by name and they all respond with genuine happiness. My hope is that even a fraction of my generation can be as kind and warm as him when we reach his age.

Today, Abideen has taught me a few new words in sign language and how to write my name in Persian. He has also taught me how kindness can impact different people and bring a smile to peoples faces. What a good day!

Not all dreams that stick with you are good.

I recently had a most disturbing dream. Last week I awoke and couldn't get these images out of my head. It's like I lived them. I can't imagine it ever happening in real life. Let me share it with you now.

It started with me driving down the road on my way to the grocery store to stockpile for a road trip, I started seeing people spin out of control and crash their cars. I was mortified as I witnessed a gold minivan run into a black two door at such speeds that the van barrel rolled over the car, landing in a fiery ball of steel and fiberglass. At first I assumed that a tire blew or someone was texting. Then I noticed a cloud-like swirl creeping towards me. As I realized something was very wrong, I began to feel dizzy. I noticed that fog was rolling towards the north. That had to be it! What the hell was it and how could I avoid it? My gut told me it was awful and to avoid it at all costs. I decided getting out of my vehicle was a bad idea so I drove the little RV I rented earlier in the day as far south as I could get. I knew I couldn't out run the wind to the North, my best chance was to get past wherever the originating point was. I had no clue where that was though. Did something happen at a nearby warehouse or did a oil tanker tip on the interstate? I didn't want to wait to find out. I figured I'd out run the smoke and get a clear head. There was a sense of urgency in everyone's road manners, or lack there of. All traffic laws went down the drain. There was a mass panic and only one goal on every drivers mind. Survive. For me, that meant tearing my camper van through yards, between houses and crashing through a chain linked fence to forge my own On-Ramp to the interstate. Driving down the map I could sense myself slowly fading. Not unlike hours of driving at night but willing yourself to keep going because you were 20 minutes from home. My determination diminished as I hit the gridlock where I would pray I would wake up from this living Hell. What I saw through my windshield was horrifying. There were  hundreds of people outside of their cars hoping they could make it past the bottleneck on foot. Men were ushering weeping women and carrying lifeless loved ones, mostly children. Each person pushing forward were trying different tactics to survive. Some held their shirts over their mouths, a couple conspiracy theorists had gas masks at the ready, others more fit determined if they ran that nothing could affect them. All of it was for not. Every last man, woman and child had been infected. I witnessed some of them in their last moments of bravery trying to save one another before eventually succumbing to deaths sweet kiss. It was at that moment when I accepted I wasn't going to move an inch. The RV's engine sputtered to a stop and I took my phone to call my parents one last time. I knew in my heart I wasn't going to escape this, if only I could say goodbye and hear their voices one last time. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, my heart hit the floor, the battery was dead. I didn't want to meet this miserable fate alone. As I broke down into what I can only describe as my last pleas for life. A loud noise stood out over my sobs from the back of the RV. Upon turning my head I saw two kids, a boy and a girl, playing at the table. They sneaked in from the door at the back of the automobile, it was still ajar letting in the gases full force. In a fury I kicked them out only to get into a scuffle with their mom. I told her off about being an inattentive mother and started crying as I wished to speak with my mom one last time before I met my end to this anonymous murderer. This woman instantly melted and took me in her arms to comfort me. Her husband slightly behind her handed me his phone with a reasonable charge. I was so grateful and allowed the whole family to come on board after the that kindness was shown to me by them. They could have easily been mean and rude back to me, but this family would not let death take away their humanity to others. Before I dialed, I asked if anyone knew our silent foe. My question was met with a grave answer. A massive bomb, so strong that the initial blast yielded zero survivors to warn of the event. Investigators went there almost immediately after the drop and were dead within minutes. It was believed to have contained both Sarin and Mustard gases. It had been diluted by the elements by the time it reached my home, but not enough to make it safe by any means. Upon hearing that news I attempted to call my dad, but kept messing up his phone number. I was incapable of thinking straight, my motor functions and memory were shutting down rapidly. After about 20 failed tries, I moved on to my moms number. It was the same thing, but alas! She answered! I felt at peace hearing my moms voice. She started to say something but I cut her off. I told her she needed to know about the bomb and protect herself before the gases reached her house hundreds of miles away. I told her I was stuck in gridlock and positive I was minutes from death. I felt it in my chest before I called. I told her I loved her and just wanted to hear her voice, maybe she could read to me? My mom asked me if I could see all the lights around me as people were stepping into them.  Not unlike one of our favorite shows to watch together about ghosts finding their afterlives. I was astonished! I could see it!! I watched as families of innocent lost souls crossed over. Not understanding how my mom knew what I was seeing, I asked her why she could see what I could? How could she?? My mom just audibly whispered in my ear to ask me to turn around. There she was!! She had been there the whole time. There was no way I could have been speaking to her on the phone. The phone was beeping a busy signal while laying on the floor. Her spirit was feet from me. She was dead...my mom was gone. I cried for her. She wrapped her arms around me tightly as if waiting to catch another giant sob. That's when it clicked, I had never seen or spoken with a ghost before, and I certainly shouldn't have been able to feel her warm embrace. Frantically, I looked around until my eyes laid upon a site I wont soon forget. My lifeless body leaning against the table as if I had just fallen asleep. I looked sadly peaceful in my death. It was wrong for me to be there gazing upon my last moment frozen on Earth. With that, my mom grabbed my hand the same way she did on my first day of kindergarten and smiled at me. She said, "Let's go, Sweetie." And with that we walked together into the light to find our next adventure, hand in hand.

bully snap

What is it that causes a person to snap? I knew a girl, Molly, who was consistently happy, loving and full of life. She didn't judge people and was there for her friends. Then out of the blue, she was distant, off putting, closed off and complained whenever other people complained. She went as far as to accuse people of being hypocrites without knowing the situation. Another of our friends, Kylie, recently got a new tattoo on her hip and some killer new heals. Now this girl is dead broke, more so than me lol. Molly jumped to conclusions and accused this poor girl of poor money management and told her to spend her money more wisely before she spent it on heals and tattoos. Little did she know, Kylies tattoo was bought with a gift certificate she got for her birthday and the heals were found at a rummage sale for 3 dollars.
I know Molly must have gone through something for her attitude to shift so suddenly and boldly, but I don't know what it was. All I know is that she is turning into a bully and I don't like what I see. I wish I could help her. If only she seemed to want it....

Tough Day: Surviving the Bullshit.

I felt like a lesser version of myself today. I have a past of anger, aggression and being easily hurt. I used my anger as a twisted coping method. Over the better part of my life, roughly 17 years, I took out my problems in very negative ways. I hurt myself physically, mentally and emotionally. At a week shy of seventeen I thought the solution was suicide. I locked myself in the bathroom and prepared to say goodbye to the harsh world I was living in. Recalling the head space I was in, just to write this, is bringing me to tears. I was ready to get rid of my childhood abuser, the multitude of bullies who wrote on my locker, cut my hair and said they wished I was dead already. I was tired of my divorced parents bickering and belittling each other to make the other look better. It would always start like, "I don't want to talk badly about your mom/dad but when they do this...." I was missing my brother who was off in the military. I was alone. That was the worst feeling in the world.

Before the attempted suicide, I would ball up all that hatred and project it on others. I would curse at my teachers, throw things, threaten peers who bullied me. I stood up for myself, I protected myself. In the worst way. I didn't understand how my attitude was perpetuating all of that ire. I just knew how great it felt to release it onto another person. I found a sick joy out of seeing other people hurt because for that fraction of a moment, it wasn't me. I wasn't the one in pain.

After the failed attempt (which I now prefer to think of as a 'Success at Life') I was institutionalized for depression, severe anger and lack of rationalizing what inappropriate behavior was. I spent months in a high security facility hours away from my home. 

During that time I was continuously monitored and corrected when incorrect behavior was used. Positive behavior was also reinforced with rewards. I had an amazing ex-military woman as my mentor. She helped me learn things about myself that I had no idea I possessed. By closely examining my life up until that point I was able to link where I was learning the bad in life and not seeing any good to balance it out. I was finding pieces to a puzzle that I didn't know were missing. 

While learning valuable life lessons. I started to see the good in people and life. I learned about true inner beauty. I learned about what it means to care about someone, not because you know or like them, but because it is my job as a human being.

I've spent the last 6 years of my life applying those lessons. It's difficult sometimes to see the good in others or to put differences aside. I have improved beyond measure in this area. A fleeting questionable look from across the room would put me into full blown 'Bitch, I'm going to set you straight' mood. Now, it takes a lot to push my buttons and when pushed, the reaction is a grain of said compared to all the Earths beaches one would've gotten when I was 15. 

I'm not proud of what I did in my past. That being said, I am proud of the amazing strides I have made, despite a couple traumatizing setbacks, over the past six years. I'm proud that I've been able to keep my cool for months at a time and when I do get upset, it's solved by a half hour cruising in my car. I'm proud that I can walk away from a situation. 

That's what I attempted to do today. I felt attacked by a person I deal with often. It's nothing new, I'm constantly belittled by this person. They make snide remarks to me, are not afraid to rip me a new one with their opinions, but refuse to hear me out. I believe I am capable to make a positive difference in what we do but I am undervalued and over ridiculed. Today I had enough and excused myself to have a breather. I openly expressed that I needed to exit the situation to calm down. 

My private space was disrespected severely and I became old me for a split second. It was mortifying. It was over as soon as it started. I realized what I had done the mili-second I said it. I am ashamed of myself for that nano second of time. However, I'm extremely happy that I realized that. That shows amazing growth. The fact that I can acknowledge that I was attacked and my response was totally uncalled for shows that I can be accountable for my mistakes. I was prepared for whatever punishment I would get, and thankfully, I can live with it. 

I guess the whole point of this story can be summed up by something my mom said today when I called her about what happened. She said*paraphrased*: "Life is all about learning. You make mistakes and you grow from them so you can help others." Then she said something I wasn't expecting. I expected her to be very disappointed in me. She showed me wrong. She said: "Gayle, you have been to Hell in your life, I'm proud of how you've dealt with everything and the person you've became. Others benefit from hard lessons you've learned that I'm just now learning. What you did today was unfavorable, but you did the right thing. You exited the situation, I'm surprised that the person who followed you only got an F-bomb." :)

It's all about how you learn and move on. For me, I acknowledge what emotions I was going through, the actions I took, and what I need to do in the future. Now that I've processed my feelings, I can sleep peacefully and prepare to walk back into the lions den tomorrow. 

As usual, I'm not going to re-read or edit this. These are my feelings and personal situations. I know some details are vague, and that's alright. I just needed to let some thoughts off my mind. Thank you. -Gayle

Changes

So a lot has happened in the last few days. I won't discuss the dirty details as such would take far to long. "Ain't nobody got time for that!" Tomorrow will be a long day so I better rest up...I do need to get some bullet points off my mind first.

* I've had allies turn sour, and unexpected acquaintances turn to strong supporters.
* I faced a scary doctor appointment to get the best-worst case scenario in regards to an aspect of my health.
* I will have to continue to monitor this diagnosis closely for some time.
* I've traveled a few hundred miles to pick up a car my brother passed down to me due to his moving to Asia.
* My "girls" made it on The Chive! (FLBP of course)
* I am very 'nervous' about my doctors appointment tomorrow to re-evaluate my nerve damage from the hit and run.
* Yes, I made a pun out of that last bullet point. It made me smirk.
* By the time I get to my appointment tomorrow, I will have been from the North side of my state to the South side in less than 24 hours.
* That isn't impressive if you drive straight through, but considering I live in the middle and will be doing it over the course of two afternoons, it's pretty cool.
* By the time I get back home, I'd have driven the N/S interstate twice! :)
* I'm a lucky girl. I have friends, family and a wonderful boyfriend who all care about me and I just adore.
* Even though life isn't perfect and times are extremely difficult for me right now, I'll always find a way to smile.

Night.

Compliments and Generosity

Do you see yourself as someone deserving of compliments? Do you light up and beam a smile when receiving a compliment or are you inclined to become nervous and reject it?

As a teenager, I was absolutely the kind to put my head down and think a person was surely wrong for saying a nice encouragement to me. I didn't feel worthy of feeling liked by another person. My self confidence was shot down in my youth by family members telling me I was a stupid bitch and classmates telling me they 'hated me because I was ugly'. So in my teen years it was no wonder why I'd be suspicious of being told my long hair was pretty or was good at math. I was convinced that this was a new tactic for the bullies to hurt me. I was sure they were lying to me and the moment I believed them, they would make fun of me for buying it. I wasn't about to let them win! When in reality, I was the one losing. I learned that paranoia over 15 years and boy did it grow into something fierce!

In my life today, I get the most satisfying joy when I compliment others. I love seeing the looks on peoples faces when I tell them I like their shirt, makeup, handwriting. Anything really. It's important to note that I never give out false compliments. I feel that it is vital to be truthful and intentional every single time. That gives me some wiggle room for some really weird compliments at times. I'll leave that to your imagination. *Upon thinking about that, it sounds like that could be dirty...it wasn't meant to be, but I'm leaving it in!* ;)

Superficial praises like the previously mentioned ones are usually well received but my favorite compliments to give to people are ones that reflect them as they are as a person. Complimenting someones intelligence, aptitude at their job, consideration, wisdom is what I do most. I want people to know when I'm grateful for what they bring to the table just for being themselves and their accomplishments.

I do such because I feel appreciative when another person says something of that nature to me. I want other people to have the chance to have that same feeling!! I have had several occasions where a honest compliment has completely turned around a bad day for me. You never know the mindset a person is in and what saying something nice could mean to them.

By what means did I make that leap? The contrast of the 15 year old me who loathed giving and getting compliments to the 23 year old me who loves being told nice things and can't help but to share positive opinions I hold of people. I can actually pinpoint the exact people who showed me the importance of kindness. They were two of my favorite teachers I've ever had the pleasure of being their in their classroom. Mrs. Ward-Maguire and Mrs. Bussa. These are two women who manifest what it means to be an outstanding teacher. I can say that honestly without fear of being called a Kiss-ass, seeing as its been 7 years since I've been their student and can't receive retroactive extra credit.

Mrs. WM & Mrs. B were the best at handing out encouragement. These women had the task of working with teenagers who were, for a lack of better words, shitheads. I can say that because I was one of them! A lot of us acted out because of problems at school, troubled home lives, substance abuse and other harms to ourselves. None of us really had the confidence in ourselves to think we were capable of being more than the kids who had to go down the hallway to be in a class of ten instead of thirty. It had the stigma as being the "troubled kids class."

Those stereotypes can kiss my ass. It was the best time and use I ever garnered from high school. I get emotional when I think about what those two did for me all through the power of positive word. From long talks and feeling free to ask questions I trusted these two.

Mrs. B was exemplary at complimenting me every day on something random about my appearance and meaning it. Be it my "artwork jeans" or smile. Mrs. B kick started my brain to believe that I was beautiful and assisted my confidence to walk through life with my head held high. She taught me that when people complimented me, they truly meant it and said it for the purpose of making me happy. I learned that it was okay to accept this and equate it with a nice feeling. That's so astounding to me to look back and see what a difference that has made in my life.

Mrs. WM had a proclivity for praising me for what I did, or in some cases didn't do. I would walk into class and beam when I would see a piece of paper on my desk. Upon further inspection finding it to be a lady bug note saying, "50 days!! Great job! I'm proud of you:)." It isn't a stretch to say Mrs. WM is one of the reasons why I blog and share my writing to this day. I have always had a propensity to write but I didn't think I was any good. Probably the most meaningful compliments to me where the ones she would tell me how she felt about my writing. A specific note on top of an essay I wrote said, "Excellent! You should consider writing for teens!" That encouraged me to share my writing with others and not be afraid to put my real feelings out there. To be brave enough not edit it to something I thought people would like. How freeing!

It's crazy to imagine how different my life may be had I not had the opportunity to know those ladies! Would I be the woman I am today? Or maybe a twisted adult version of that kid I once was. I don't even want to think about that!

I know countless people, things and life events have molded who I am today but this topic has been tugging on my heartstrings for quite a long time. Thanks to things such as my bad accident last year and all these crazy stories you hear about on the news, I feel it's massively important to share with people how they've made positive impacts in my life.

To Mrs WM & Mrs. B,
You both have impacted my life for the better. I carry your lessons and advice with me always and think of you often. You are amazing role models and I am grateful that you share your strengths with the world. So many people have been touched by your humanity and not just the students you've taught, but the people they've met and so on many times over. Kind of like a tree. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me grow my roots. :)

Gayle.

Reflection. Pain. Sadness. Hope. Courage.

Today was an extremely difficult day. I'm trying to wrap my head around the death of a friend. I've had friends pass in tragic and untimely ways before such as accidents and health problems, but that doesn't make it any easier to cope with the fresh devastation of a new loss. I feel like now is not the time to delve into the details of Craig's death. I don't think I'll ever understand why he took his life. Regardless of reason or speculation, he was my friend and I will miss him very much. Craig would cheer me up when I was down, have my back if someone wronged me and made sure I was alright after my accident last year. While we worked together, we bonded over bitching about a couple people who left all the work to us and our love of football. He was a huge Redskins fan. I'm talking a 'Giant-ass-tattoo-on-his-forearm" fan. I'm glad I got to see him often. After the job we had went out of business, he switched to a similar job and frequently would deliver food to the girls and myself at the salon. I'd get the biggest smile when he would walk in and he'd pull me into a bear hug. Every time. I will cherish that.

I'm grateful in this time for the girls at work. I went in today a mere 10 sleepless hours after receiving this news for my shift at work. I feel like it's starting to set in now that he's gone, but as I walked into work..well I don't know..I felt surreal. The kindness of the two people I opened up to when asked what was wrong was a Godsend. My boss kindly sent me home with a big hug and thoughtful smile. Upon getting home and failing to fall asleep, I decided I needed to hold something cuddly. I needed some good juju so I headed to the local Humane Society to hang out with some critters. I spent three hours there walking numerous dogs, playing with little kittens, found the ugliest cat there and took a picture of it, played with guinea pigs and my favorite animal of the day.. a white and black rat about the size of a 20oz bottle of soda. He was awesome. This little unnamed rat sat on my arm for a few seconds before making is way up to my shoulder and cuddled up against my neck where he promptly fell asleep. It was a very calming and adorable gesture. I've never much been a person who wanted a pet with the exception of the guinea pig I had for 7 years as a teenager, but I truly value whatever it is about animals that can heal ones soul. I surely haven't grieved Craig's death by any means yet, but I have certainly had the chance for some animals to show unconditional love in return for a scratch behind their ear and, well, that's a start.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you or a loved one is struggling with thoughts of suicide, please call a hotline. Sometimes talking to a stranger is the most freeing thing in the world. That's half the reason why I started blogging. I wanted to get out my feelings without fear of judgement.

National Suicide Hotlines USA 

United States of America

Toll-Free / 24 hours a day / 7 days a week
1-800-SUICIDE 1-800-784-2433
1-800-273-TALK 1-800-273-8255
Deaf Hotline 1-800-799-4TTY (4889)
Veteran Crisis Line 1-800-273-8255 & Press 1 or Send a text message to 838255
Many of these lines offer phone lines, texts and online mediums to be available to those in need. As well as multiple languages so everyone can have the same access to help. 
Also check out: http://twloha.com/  To Write Love On Her Arms encourages community, hope, dreams, overcoming fears and music as coping skills for people struggling with depression, drug & alcohol addiction, low self-esteem and suicidal thoughts. As well as for the loved ones of the people suffering. This site is for EVERY PERSON. I've had my own demons to fight and TWLOHA has been a beacon of hope for me. Every struggle I go through, I look down at the 'Love' tattoo I have on my arm as a reminder of what I've survived and the people who helped me get to where I am today. 
You are loved.

The Struggle of Hope

Hope. What a tricky little word. A friend of mine sent me a text today saying they were running low on hope. Thinking about my own life there are many occurrences where hope has elicited several different thoughts and feelings from me. Hope really is a "four letter word."

When I was a kid, hope was a rampant imagination - hell bent on escaping my tormented reality. Hope was my wish and my answer. I wished for someone to hear my screams. I wished for my teachers to ask me about my bruises. I wished for it all to stop. I sat on the playground hoping for a better future. Hoping to feel like a person rather than an object. I had hope that the bullies at school and at home would get bored. I hoped for it to stop. I had a sliver of hope, just enough to keep me going.
In my late teen years, my hope was diminished. I didn't want to live in a place where an innocent child could grow up to see the terrors I had seen. I had no hope for a way out, thankfully, someone else did. When I was running low on that four letter word, another person borrowed some to me. In fact several came together to do so.
I'll tell you what, I flourished! I did everything in my power to spread hope, love, kindness and humor to any person I met.
Then in an instant it was all gone.I hoped it was all a terrible lie.
I found myself a victim with no voice, no strength and no hope. Well, not the way you would expect. I hoped I would be shown the mercy of the blade pressed across my throat. I hoped I would not have to suffer. Now I just hope to forget.
Now as I'm in my early to mid twenties I have had amazing friendships, a car accident, misguided relationships, as well as truly great ones, deaths of loved ones and a chance for a fresh start. I hope to figure as much of life out as I'm meant to. I hope to learn from past mistakes, betrayals and celebrations.
I don't think people realized how much hope really hurts. It has been known to rip out my entire soul and throw it to the dogs. In order for hope to exist there needs to be something terrible for it to manifest that wishful feeling. In order to experience the fruit of the hope, you need to overcome tragedy.
This sick fact makes me question each person I meet. What makes them happy? Surely it's impossible to have a perfect life with no instances of pain or suffering. It makes me wonder if the happiest people have seen the worst terrors and therefore know the most satisfying feeling of making it out through the other side?
What can I learn from these people?
In turn, what can I do for others through this?
I understand that I broke a ton of writing rules by typing 'Hope' nearly 30 times, but I think it's necessary to get my feelings across.
 There is another entirely different feeling that I associate with hope that I originally 'hoped' to write about. I can't seem too, I think it would be more appropriate for me to discuss that another time.

If you take one thing from this today, please let it be this;
       Hope is incredibly strong, it can be the glue that holds someone together. If you have good intentions then please spread hope anywhere you can. However if you are unsure of your intent, I beg of you to think twice. For false hope can tear someone apart faster and harder than anything else in this world.

Solace in Abandonment

I would like to share with you a short poem I wrote on 09/17/2009. I was inspired after finding a pleasant field a few miles outside of the city in which I live. There were innumerable lightning bugs and frogs croaking in the dark. I loved that field at first sight. I still visit it on summer nights when I need inspiration. It's where I re-charge. It's where I find my strength when I am weak. It's the most special place I know to connect with nature. This poem of mine has remained one of my favorites over the years. I posted the original version to my Facebook three months after I first jotted it down on a napkin. What I'm sharing with you now is a revised version. Same meaning, same feeling, just a bit more streamlined. This version represents my writing style and how it has evolved over the last 4 years. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think. I love hearing feedback. With that I give you:

Solace in Abandonment
by Gayle Johnson 09/17/2009 (06/03/2013)

Gentle, living embers dim as they sink from the night sky, illuminating a field of wheat. Wind gusts gently through a young woman's hair. Her eyes shine like jewels, eager to witness what will follow. What will these fireflies aura display next? She cant help but to glory in the comforting warmth while poised directly in the middle of this seemingly magical farmland. She wishes not to retire back to the city, but to revel in this satisfying peace indefinitely. She is home.

First they get you high, then they say whats up to a higher power. what?

I love when I catch contradictions  What can I say? I get a kick out of it. The other day I received an email from Bandsintown letting me know about some upcoming events. In this email, there were two events over the summer with the band The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. You know, the band everyone knew for the song "Face Down" and pretty much nothing else since. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed their music and went to see them live in 2009 with Hollywood Undead. I enjoyed myself at the show and probably partied a little too hard. Let me tell you about what I feel is a massive contradiction.
At that 2009 outdoor show during RJA's set, the chubby guitarist was smoking a blunt worthy of Snoop Dogg. Bro was toking up and passing it around some of the people in the front row. I mean, that's not completely unheard of. I've seen this happen countless times at shows. People don't give a fuck. After the show, the guys were happy to allow anyone who was down to party to join them as long as they were a hot chick.  What I think is hilarious is what my email said the other day. Two RJA shows in my area in the next few months. The first was a couple nights ago at a local night club. Okay, cool. Nothing unusual there. What caught my attention was the second local date. They will be playing at Lifelight in September. For those of you who might not catch the irony right away, let me catch you up to speed. Lifelight is an annual Christian music festival. I repeat. A Christian music festival. Doesn't quite add up. I understand that people and bands change and evolve, but I have a difficult time seeing a band who behaved so radically in one way, playing a show at an event where the exact opposite is preached. I guess we'll just have to ride it out and see what happens.

Frustration

I've been feeling very conflicted lately. My dad is easily my favorite person in the world. I'm a Daddy's Girl to the T. I've never been able to keep things from him, even if I tried to keep something like a birthday present from him. That changed  few years ago. There is something that I've been wanting to talk with him about that no matter how hard I try....I can't. I've thought about just writing everything I'd like to say and have him read it but I can't even get my thoughts written down fluidly. I must have tried a couple hundred times. It makes me so mad that one thing can shake up everything so much. How do I over come this? I want to be able to talk about it and write clearly about it. I want to desperately. I need to get this off my chest and stop lying to my dad. Even though I'm not lying to him about anything, I'm not telling him about anything. That's lying by omission in my book. I don't know. I'm super frustrated. Grrrrrr.

RANT: Light Sleeper Roommate.

I like my roommate. We can talk about random things and goof around...but I have a huge pet peeve with her. She is the lightest sleeper in the goddamn world!! I can be two floors below her talking on the phone or like tonight, bringing in my fucking groceries 25 minutes after I got off work. I either get passive aggressive texts or her being aggressive in person telling/asking me to "keep it down", "stop doing what I'm doing" or my favorite "turn it down a notch." Is she for real?! I understand that she is sleeping so I actively walk around this old creaky house as lightly as possible & try to keep my tasks as quiet as possible. For example, tonight, I put my groceries away super quickly & left half of the stuff in the bags to deal with tomorrow. I limit all tv and Internet use to the living room two levels down. I go out of my way to please her which is evidently impossible. Now, on the flip side, she has woken me up no less than 8 times in the past 7 days. She is aware of my sleep schedule. Guess what I do when she wakes me up?! Absolutely nothing!! Wait, sorry, that's a lie... I roll the fuck over and go back to sleep!!! I haven't once mentioned it to her or my other two roommates because its not a big fucking deal. She needs to grow up and realize that the world doesn't revolve around her every need & that she needs to learn how to pick her battles. THAT or she needs to buy a bottle of fucking sleeping pills.

Good Night & Good Luck

I'm afraid to go back to sleep. I'm intimidated in a way nearly indescribable. I just was startled awake by a dream so realistic, I was sure it was corporeal. You know those dreams, the ones that terrorize your otherwise tranquil night, waking you into a scary state of uncertainty as to what is real or imagined. Visions capable of causing you to wake up in a cold sweat, attempting to catch your breath. I sit here under the dull light of my lamp while staring at my keyboard. I feel the need to both write down the anguish of this disturbing nightmare & to also cast it into a deep chasm of my mind to forget its creation ever transpired.

How is it our subconsciousness can create fantasy worlds capable of haunting us? Is it to keep our bodies & minds conditioned to handle trauma and ill-fortune? Is it a random event or do the dream dictionaries have a degree of merit? Why is it dreams can be so vivid one day, then you can go extended periods of time without remembering a single one? My dreams have gotten increasingly stronger and more present in the last few years after several traumatic events have taken place in my life. Is it safe to assume there is a link there? I would imagine so considering those events have been the content of many of my night tremors.

I am internally confused, intrigued and unsettled by the idea of tiny movies playing out in my mind every single night without my control. It's an odd and beautiful thing.

Goodnight,
Gayle