what is the purpose of naming certain ingredients on said product "inactive". Wouldn't that mean they serve no purpose to the product? I don't get it.

i'm falling apart.

I don't know if I believe in God. I feel indifferent. I don't know if I care. I feel like I do. I do care. I am just confused.

Especially right now. Sure I have done bad things, but I feel like enough bad things have happened to me in return already to get me back for the bad things I have ever done (if that's how it works).

What the FUCK. what the fuck. Why are people so fucking selfish and heartless and hurtful and inconsiderate and awful. WHHHHYYY. why Why WHY!!!!!?????

I can't say I have felt this unhappy and unsettled in years. It's been so long.
I want to say that I can just have faith and be positive and pray and hope for the best, but right now all i want to do is fucking scream and punch walls, then fall asleep for a really long time.

I am trying to not wish horrible things upon others right now, but it's getting hard.

I am blessed, and I am grateful for what I do have. I have a home (for now), and food, and friends, and family and an education, and a car, and health. I am thankful.

but FUCKING come on....give me a God Damn break. i need a fucking break. I need ONE good thing. just one little positive thing. something. anything. please. Jesus Christ...i'm falling apart.

I have now entered a very transitional, new stage of my life and I am not sure how I feel about it.

I have my own place. I have a job that enables me to afford my own place, (still struggling to learn how to budget my money so I do not have to live pay check to pay check). I have enough money to survive on my own, but not enough money to do what I want to do. No, I will not be a nanny forever, that is not what I spent 5 years in college for, but what now? What do I do? I have no idea what to do with myself. I want to move into the next phase, the next step. I want to get married, I want to buy a shitty foreclosed house and spend all my free time fixing it up and making it mine. I want to have a salary. I want to have health insurance. I want to have a reliable car. I want to have kids one day. I want to have a dog. I want to be skinny again. I want to be healthy again. I want my hair to be long. I want a new laptop. I want to have food in my cabinets.

All of this seems to far away, which is fine, maybe I'm impatient. I just feel restless I suppose.

Perhaps I'll just get another tattoo.

Revolving Story

With every bit of bravery left in Scott’s sturdy body, he explained to Mrs. Galagher the dire need for her to escape the police station that night.

Scott lived in the adjacent building to Mrs. Galagher. He lived alone on the fourth floor. He wasn’t much to look at, yet there was a sense of mystery about him. Mrs. Galagher knew that your average 23-year-old man would not willingly spend this much time with a woman the age of his great-grandmother. Mrs. Galagher never once questioned this. She embraced the companionship. Ever since the death of Mr. Galagher ten years prior, her son, Michael, seemed very distant.

“Mrs. Galagher...Mrs. Galagher? Are you listening?”

“I’m sorry, Scotty dear, forgive me. Can you repeat that last part?”

Scott was growing impatient. “Mrs. Galagher, I cannot do this on my own. I need you to stay awake. It’s very important that I get you out of here without the other guards noticing. We don’t have time to wait until morning. It must be tonight!” The past three months Scott had volunteered at the police station as security for the third shift. He had access to most of the holding cells past 10:00.

“Okay, here’s the plan. At 10:45, the other guys usually meet up in the back room for a game of cards. This will leave us approximately 10 to 15 minutes to get you from the holding cell block to the lobby.”
Mrs. Galagher let out a muffled laugh as Scott continued.

“Mrs. Galagher, I don’t find this amusing at all, and you shouldn’t either. If we get caught…if YOU get caught…Jesus, if I got caught…it’s all over.”

“Scotty dear, I’m not laughing because I’m not taking this situation seriously. I’m laughing because it all just feels so magical.”

Scott sighed, and slid his back down the wall until he was seated on the floor. With elbows on his knees, he put his head in his hands.

“Mrs. Galagher, I think I’m closer to a heart attack than you are.” Chuckling without humor, he lifted his head. “You are something else, you really are….shit! Someone’s coming. Just sit tight, I’ll be back soon.”
Scott jumped up, panicked, and walked quickly down the hallway. As he got further from Mrs. Galagher’s cell, another pair of footsteps sounded. Step, step, step, step.

Scott was just about to turn the corner when another guard yelled, “Hey Scott!”

Sweat beaded on Scott’s forehead, his heart pounded, and his legs were weak.

He slowly turned. “Yes?” His voice was shaky.

“Hey, we’re gonna start a game, come on.” The other guard’s voice rang loud in the hall.
Scott mumbled back something about not feeling well and that he thought he just needed some fresh air. He turned the corner, listening while the other guard slowly retraced his steps.

He was safe. Mrs. Galagher was safe. Scott breathed deeply once more and kept walking.

It was 10:22 p.m., and Mrs. Galagher struggled to stay awake. She shook her head and attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes. But for just a moment, as she traced the underneath of her lower lids, she felt young again. Her hands now traveled down her neck and landed directly on top of her heart. She breathed in and out slowly, counting every beat. Her skinny fingers seemed to soak in every beat, sending energy throughout her body.

Under her breath, she began singing an old song. ”When I recall his parting words, must I accept his fate? Or take myself far from this place? I thought I heard a black bell toll, a little bird did sing. Man has no choice, when he wants everything. We’ll rise above the scarlet tide that trickles down through the mountain and separates the widow from the bride…”

Scott cleared his throat. He was standing on the other side of her door again. “I haven’t heard you sing that song in a very long while, Mrs. Galagher.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were standing there, Scotty.”

“Mrs. Galagher, it’s time. We must move quickly and quietly.”

Mrs. Galagher stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of her dress. She walked to the small sink and mirror in the corner and began to pin her hat back into place.

“How do I look, Scotty?”

“Mrs. Galagher, you’re escaping jail, not attending a cocktail party! Now come with me and follow close.”
Scott pulled his keys out and began unlocking the door while looking all around.

“Wait!” Mrs. Galagher whispered and put her hand on the door. “What will I tell Michael?”

“We don’t have time to figure that out right now! We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

They slithered through the dark halls toward the front lobby. Mrs. Galagher glided over the floor as if no one could touch her. Deep down she knew the repercussions if she had been caught, but this didn’t stop her. She was confident and smart.

Scott looked back to make sure Mrs. Galagher was still behind him. He smiled and said, “Are you ready?”

She looked him in the eyes. Her stare pierced him to his soul. “Scotty, I’ve been ready.”

He nervously chuckled and fumbled to find the key that would free her from the walls confining her the past several hours.

Scott stared at the small piece of metal. For one second, just one while staring down at the key, he saw a million miles of reasons he should not be doing this. But one reason why he should seemed to outweigh the others by tons. He was afraid, but they had made it thus far, and there was no turning back now. He was risking everything for Mrs. Galagher, but she was risking everything for him and he knew that.
He unlocked the door.

Mrs. Galagher stepped outside, breathed in, took out a cigarette, and lit it. She took two puffs, looked at Scott, and said with a sly smile, “Scotty, do me a favor and make my bed. I wouldn’t want to come off as a bad guest. They’ll never have me back.” She laughed as she started to walk toward the bus stop.

“Mrs. Galagher! Hey! What should I do now?”

She turned around and exhaled smoke.

“You’ve done your part, Scotty dear; let me take care of the rest.”

Keep on the sunny side.

With a broken down car again, broke as a joke wallet, dying computer, and actively looking for a new job somehow i'm still managing to remain positive. I am very proud of myself for this. If I have faith, and stay positive in the end I know everything will fall into place and work out. Right now, it's hard to see, and it seems impossible to get there, but the second I let negative thoughts flood my head, I let them drown me.

I just pray that the day I don't have to live pay check to pay check will come sooner than later. I don't know what it feels like to have more than $100 dollars in my bank account for more than 2 days. I'm just ready to start my life and feel like my degree means something.

In the meantime, here at work i'm just going to focus on baking something delicious today. :) Maybe some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies?

Beneath the white walls, there was orange.

I have such a vivid memory of the first time I heard this song. I was living on East 5th street. A very small house, the kitchen seemed like it was made for a midget (And I'M short). The hardwood floors stretching throughout the house were dingy and damp. All I could focus on were the cobwebs i'd soon get to sweep from the corners.

Soon after we began moving in, we both immediately opened a fresh can of paint and went to our rooms. I picked orange. A very dull, grayish orange. One that makes you think of Fall and dead leaves. I had the small room, my bed barely fit. I loved that though, it was cozy and warm.

The moment I put that cd in my computer, and heard that song my spirit felt a new beat. It was a slow beat, a low beat. I finished the song, and lit a bowl. I think I listened to this song on repeat for hours and hours. It was intoxicating to me. I loved crying while listening to this song, because sometimes I forgot how to cry, or that it was ok to cry, and this song allowed me that.

So many things happened between those walls in that house. Secrets were told, then broken. Memories were made, and forgotten. Paintings were painted and left behind. Friendships were cherished and left to die.

And underneath the now white walls, there was orange.

Breathe in, breathe out

"It's going to be Ok, It's going to be Ok, I'm going to be fine. Just breathe in, breathe out. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. Just breathe."

My eyes are closed now. I'm wishing I had the powers to transport myself as far away from that house as possible. I am almost chanting in my head now, a breathing pattern to calm me down. I'm sitting in some sort of fetal position with my back pressed against the wall. At the time it felt like my bedroom walls were the only thing protecting me from harm, but even the walls could not drown out the words of hatred and yelling being carried throughout the rest of the house. I feel like those hallways will always be haunted with these memories.

Sometimes singing songs in my head helped, but sometimes it made me cry even harder. With every slam, bang, scream or clash my body tightened with fear in an effortless rhythm. I just sat there waiting, waiting, waiting...ok here it comes and then my door would be thrown open and for the next ten minutes everything would be blamed on me. By this point, my mother has made a dramatic, and loud exit out of the house. All I could hear between the yelling and my heart pounding was the door slamming and the tires squealing out of the driveway. More tears. More yelling. If I was lucky that night, I probably didn't get chastised for crying.

This was a very exhausting routine that happened more often than not. How was I supposed to know this kind of shit was probably not normal? That "families" usually do not experience this insane bullshit on a daily basis. It was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting for a young girl.

Once my mother returned, more yelling, more fighting. My stepfather has left me feeling lifeless and alone and numb in my room now, to go fight with my mother some more. Then silence. Oh my God, it was so nice. I slowly turned my door knob trying not to make any sound. I barely had a foot out of my door when I stopped dead in my tracks. My mother was sitting at the top of the stairs, which were located just at the end of the hallway down from my room. She was alone, silently crying. I heard her cry for her mother ( who has been dead for years by this time). My heart literally sank into the depths of my stomache. I was filled with a very confusing emotion. I didn't know what to do. I was the child, she was the adult. She is supposed to comfort me, not the other way around. She is supposed to scoop me up in her arms and hold me close, telling me everything will be fine, but SHE was crying. I stayed there, listening to her silently cry and beg for her mother. My heart was breaking. I retreated back into my room and closed the door. I did not know how to handle this.

It didn't seem fair when my sister got to leave for college, and eventually my brother. I was even more alone than before. Not that I ever talked to them about any of this,or that they sheltered me from anything that apparently was going on, but their presence seemed to give me some kind of reassurance that everything would be ok.

A person can only handle so much negativity before they eventually crack and their insides spill out, revealing all that's been growing inside. The day I told my mother I was moving out, and I would be living with my father was a very freeing day. "You know you will have to go to court, and talk to a judge, you know that right?" This was my mother's attempt at scaring me into staying there. She then started blaming herself, saying she was a horrible mother. It wasn't that. I don't really know what it was. It just seemed like a living hell.

I was not Ok. I was a young girl slowly slipping into a very grown up mentality of unhappiness and depression. Looking back on those days I now understand that my thoughts of life, and unhappiness at that age were probably not normal. My behaviors and and my thinking that I needed to punish myself were probably not normal either. I don't think i'm just holding on to these bad feelings and unhappy memories from the past because I want to dwell on them, It is because I don't have very many good feelings or happy memories to hold on to or remember. I have not one, not one single memory to describe to you of my father and mother together. I never saw them kiss, I never saw them lovingly embrace one another and gaze into eachother's eyes. I did not grow up in a 'family'. I grew up in seperation and distance.

I'm sure this will all make sense one day.