I feel compelled to write something about the recent tragedy in the death of Robin Williams. Although the cause of death has not been determined, most accounts point to suicide.
My first reaction to the news was that of complete and utter sadness. Obviously I’d never met the man, but I had always enjoyed his comedy as well as acting. He’d always seemed on top of the world. But then again looks are deceiving, aren’t they?
It’s hard to believe with all the money and possible opportunities for therapeutic intervention that somebody as well known as Robin could still fall prey to the evils of severe depression. But yet we now know it’s sadly very believable.
Having gone through severe depression myself, I feel like I have a kind of compassion for his struggles, maybe more so than someone who has never experienced depression. I’ve spoken with people who have had a loved one commit suicide and they were mad that the person who died didn’t think of anyone but themselves. But what they don’t understand is that depression makes you go inside yourself. It takes you to a place where you CAN’T think of anyone or anything else. It’s not a choice.
IT’S NOT A CHOICE.
Who would choose to feel such sadness and pain that it becomes unbearable? My guess would be very few. Sometimes you get so deep inside yourself that you’ve reached the point of no return. And nobody knows it but you. You truly won’t know how deep someone has gone unless they ask for help. Honestly, depression has no sympathy for the cause. Depression will stop you from asking anyone for anything. It sets up walls and those walls are made up of all the hurt and frustration and sadness that you’ve felt in your life. They get thicker and thicker until they’re almost unbreakable. Those of us who were able to find a way to break down the barriers don’t consider ourselves out of the woods. We realize that at any given time, if we feed into our depression, the walls will come back up even faster than before. We are cognizant of the fact that it’s an everyday struggle, but we’ve seen the worst and we’ve seen it get better, and we strive for happiness, or our interpretation of what happiness can look like for us.
You never really know what goes on in somebody’s brain. Their life appears to be perfect, or our interpretation of what perfect might look like. Robin Williams appeared to have everything, but in the end he wasn’t able to find what he needed.
Something good always comes from something bad, and if his death brings more insight into severe depression, I’m guessing he would be pleased, if nothing else.
I heard Taylor Swift sing this song a few (6) years ago and was instantly drawn to the lyrics. At first I thought about my son and some of the troubles he was going through, but a friend just reminded me today about the perception of a smile. More to the point, a fake smile.
I posted a picture of myself and my husband over the weekend, and needless to say got a lot of “likes” on Facebook and Instagram. The perceived notion that we were happy was evident. I mean, we look happy in the picture, so we must be, right?
These days we can edit the shit out of our pictures, covering up our flaws and making an ordinary pictures look extraordinary. I honestly tried to edit that last sentence, removing shit, but guess what? There’s no other word I can put in there that means as much. Sorry.
I’ve been guilty of editing my pictures to appear to be entirely different than they started out. I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe they are very photogenic, so it takes me quite some time to play around with my pics, insuring that they have the right shadow, fade and coloring to do the impossible – make me look good.
My friend commented on the picture that I posted stating that she thought myself and my husband looked happy. That was not the case. We weren’t happy or unhappy. We just were. We are. We exist.
So how then is it possible to edit your life to appear happy? Can you fake smile your way through life, making people actually believe that you’re something you’re not? Apparently it IS possible. Who knew that I have a filter button on my life, and pressing that lil sucker in sends a message that is actually believable? I’m guessing that my husband has that same filter button, and it’s still working after all these years.
I remember an acquaintance of mine was at the same wedding as I, getting a drink at the bar when we struck up a conversation. I had been having an argument with my husband earlier, and I guess it spilled into my evening/conversation with her. She acted surprised as I spoke about splitting up, not being happy. Her reply, “Really? I thought you were like Barbie and Ken, perfect for each other”.
Barbie and Ken? Okay, she’s kind referring to our appearance a bit. Myself with a slight 80’s hairstyle, never really letting it go completely, and my husband with his rugged good looks and pleasant demeanor. But she was also speaking about our appearance of being perfectly in love, whenever she had seen us out.
My mother used to tell me, “don’t show your ass in public”, and all that really means is that you don’t air your dirty laundry for other people to see. Sorry mom, if you’re reading this, it’s mostly for perfect strangers to read, as I don’t make a habit of telling friends with about this blog.
So I don’t show my broken heart in public. I don’t let anyone see my pain. Friends get to hear me complain, sure.
It seems I’m tied together with a smile, but I’m coming undone.
I live my life through music, and when my day is a royal mess, inevitably I hear a song that pertains to that mess. Honestly, I think I’m living one incredibly long movie, and every now and then my personal music supervisor (God) throws in a nice little tune that seems to go along with my life.
Such was the case yesterday. I have this ability to forgive and hope for the best. Especially when it comes to my husband. I think this is my first post about my husband, but he’s a big reason I am the way I am. He knows just how to push my buttons, mostly the bad buttons. He knows how to pull at my heart-strings and put me in my place. He knows my strengths and weaknesses and uses that to his advantage on a daily basis. A long time ago, I made the mistake of filling him in on my weaknesses. I felt vulnerable and thought it would be a good thing if he really knew me, heart and soul. Years later, I’m finding this to be a huge impropriety. A mistake that I live with on a daily basis. I don’t blame him, mostly because I try to see the good in almost everyone, including him. For the most part that’s a good trait, but when it comes to my husband, it’s a death sentence. I tend to over exaggerate a little, but yesterday it was a death sentence.
My son is away on vacation and that leaves myself and my significantly fucked up “other” alone together. Being the forgiving person that I am, I decide we should spend the day with each other. First mistake. To start off, my husband isn’t a conversationalist. He prefers quiet to any kind of conversation. Ever. Being a mostly talkative woman, that’s a problem for me. I actually like to chat with people. I think I have a lot to bring to the conversation, and it’s fun engaging with another person. I don’t think I’m alone in that idea.
I rush to get ready because we’re going to a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball game. I’m excited as usual as it’s always a fun time. But not this time. We have very little conversation in the car on the way to the game, which is about a 45 minute drive. He doesn’t like to converse and drive. We find a parking spot and off we go. I’m still excited because I don’t ever start out with doom and gloom. I should, but I don’t. We eat at the famous Primantis and I want my husband to have a beer. He opts for an I.C. Light and I reluctantly give in. I want the good stuff, aka Stella Artois or something similar, so I stop and grab myself a Blue Moon for the walk to our seats. Good seats come with a good price….$140.00 Primanti’s sandwich, fries and Light beer, $28.00. Yee hawwww, this is gonna be fun.
Not.
After eating and missing the only 2 runs scored the entire game, we make our way to our seats. Sitting in the middle of the row is rather annoying, but we survive. The game is decent and I’m lucky enough not to be sitting next to anyone smelly. There’s a cute little girl sitting on her daddy’s lap behind me asking all kinds of silly questions with her tiny, petite voice. In front of me is a young couple, chatting and laughing together as if they really love each other’s company.
As I look around the section, I see people coming and going, laughing, taking and eating. It’s a fun atmosphere.
And then there’s me and Dave. Blah.
We don’t talk. I think he might have said more to the man sitting next to him than to me the whole entire game. And believe me, that wasn’t much either.
I ask him if he’d like to go on a “pee run” and grab another beer. Being in the middle of the row poses a problem for Dave and he’d rather wait 2.5 more innings to get up. What’s the significance of that number? I don’t know. We finally leave our seats and venture up to the concession area, relieve ourselves and Dave announces he’d like an ice cream. Really? Not a beer? Nope. I’m welcome to get one, but he’s not drinking one. I cave and get an ice cream, but I’m not happy. I would really prefer a cold citrus-flavored Blue Moon, but who wants to drink alone?
This is the story of my life. I give in and do whatever my husband would like. I’ve done it for years and years. I’m not happy and he gets whatever he wants. When I comment to him that I’m not happy, he never has the same reply back. Who would? If you get everything you want, generally you’re a happy person with a happy life. I’m guessing of course, I wouldn’t know.
And so on the way home from the game, once again quiet as all hell, I decide to channel surf for a good song. Yes, I know what you’re gonna say….”why do you still listen to the radio”? I just do, okay? I find a song I can sing to, cause I have to constantly be singing and seeing as there’s no conversation to be had, I might as well fill up that empty space with song. What’s the song? Annie Lennox, Walking on Broken Glass. There’s a couple of lines that resonate with me like nobody’s business: “I’m living in an empty room, with all the windows smashed”. Think of the depth of those couple of words, because it describes my life to a “T”. I feel like my life is empty, but not just empty, I’ve got some smashed windows as well. Picture me walking around an empty room barefoot, wind coming in through the jagged panes of glass while my feet are scarred from the broken glass.
I listen to this song about 5 times yesterday and decide that I need to write about it. Write about my dilemma, my empty life and what it feels like to walk on broken glass.
I work in an IT center and although I’m not as technologically savvy as they are, I can hold my own. A little bit of their desire to play games has rubbed off and although I’m not a game player per say, I have grown fond of a particular phone app called Covet. In Covet, you dress a model according to the requirements suggested, purchasing clothing and accessories and submitting a final product for other players to vote on and decide if you’ve won the current virtual clothing/accessory item for that particular event. I guess you could say I’m slightly addicted. I try to dress my model daily and compete in events when I find a spare couple of minutes.
My interest in the game comes from my love of all things fashion and beauty. I have a cosmetology background and have worked in salons in the past. I’m self taught in many of my interests, and I think I have a good eye for fashion and beauty.
Having said that, I’ve been struggling with a kind of minor issue: the style of my co-workers. Yes, I do judge others when I’m out and away from work, but not to the extent or degree that I do of the very people that I spend many of my waking hours with. I have trouble understanding how a woman obviously doesn’t “check her look” in the mirror before she leaves the house. I’m not talking about the occasional garment flubs, like a little too much muffin top or a wardrobe that evidently looked good on paper or on a mannequin but didn’t quite fit the person wearing it. No, I’m talking about those people, who for the most part hold a position higher than my own, yet seemingly appear to hold no interest at all in actually giving two shits about their appearance. I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by quite a few women who clearly have no clue how to use a round brush or choose clothing suitable for their body type. And I rarely see an attempt to try harder.
I’m sure you’re familiar with that person who only looks good the few hours after they come from the salon. Their hair has design and actually presents itself to look like that of a women who takes pride in her appearance. If you’re lucky enough to see that every once in a while, it’s a treat. Your co-worker might have gone shopping for some new duds and come to work with a beautiful and very thought out garment or ensemble choice that makes even the quietest person comment on the look. “You look very nice today”, a comment seldom said to these fashion blundering ladies, should act as a red flag to these girls. Especially because it’s rarely if ever heard. Take that compliment and RUN with it! Truly.
My question is this: How can you wake up and throw whatever clothing that’s clean onto your body and drive into work, surrounded by other individuals who clearly care about their display of fashion and not give a damn about your own representation? Are you “one of those” women that think that you should be judged on your brain power and sense of self more than how others perceive you? Can I just tell you that that’s total BULLSHIT? Whether you like it or not, you will be judged. It’s a fact of life, and the more you deny it the more it will bury itself in the visual minds of people who see you. We’ll be severely scarred for life! Ok, that’s a little extreme, but I have had nightmares of fashion gone wrong. Crazy, misguided females chasing me down an alley with their too tight stretch tops and baggy ass jeans. It wasn’t pretty.
Let’s not forget the girls on the beach. I may be throwing my own insecurities about my body into the mix, but I have to wonder who thinks it’s a good idea to wear a ill-fitting bikini on a body larger than a size 20. I’m pulling the size out of nowhere and there are probably many girls who do a good job of dressing their larger bodies in bikinis, but I’ve seen one too many girls showing off too much skin, and some who look like they aren’t wearing bottoms. I’m not gonna rule out a great fitting bikini that has more fabric than not. There is a way to look good at any size. I’m a firm believer in that. I’m not a physically fit, toned woman. I’ve got rolls and larger than they should be body parts, I’m not gonna lie. I try to compliment my good parts rather than flaunt the bad ones.
But I guess that’s just me. I’m considerate of other folks eyes, or at least I honestly try to be.
As I sit here typing, I’ve checked my “look” in the mirror before I left my house. A few times. Hair – check. Makeup – check. No protruding body parts taking center stage – check.
There are so many ways we can piss people off. Why does our lack of fashion sense need to be yet another one on an already long list?
I hear Target’s having a sale on mirrors….in case you might be in the market for buying one, finally.
We’re all familiar with dairy and food expiration dates. Take a big gulp of old milk from your refrigerator shelf and you’ll get an instant reminder that you should have checked the expiration date before you decided to partake in the not-so-delicious beverage. So many times food that should not be consumed gets overlooked. Sour cream a few days after the date should still be good, right? Maybe. But my blog today is not about food. It’s about life and relationships and THEIR expiration dates.
I believe we are born with an expiration date, we just don’t know what that date is. And would we want to know, really? Your life would be so much different if you actually knew when you’d expire. We might live each day to the fullest, enjoying each and every moment until our last breath. Or maybe not. Can you imagine finding out that you’re going to live until you’re 100? It might not be too bad until you find out that you have many health related issues and your financial circumstances aren’t the most ideal. Your departure from this world might not come soon enough, or on the other end of the spectrum, it may come too early. Either way we don’t have a choice. For the most part. Unless we take life termination into our own hands, we’re here until we depart.
On the other hand, our relationships most likely DO have expiration dates. Imagine if you will, connecting with an individual either on a friend or lover basis. We’ve all had good and bad partnerships. A friend who no longer is worth the aggravation of “being a friend” to. A lover who has gone in a different direction than you are going. We make the decision to either allow the sour milk to stay in the fridge or dump it down the drain and buy another quart.
Or do we?
Are we holding onto that toxic relationship for fear? Fear that we may never get another chance to quench our thirst, no matter how pungent the flavor? Fear that we’ve been living with rancid milk for so long and have become accustomed to the taste, however bad that taste may be? Fear that we need the nutrients from the curdled drink to survive? Or are we just lazy, not really wanting to throw the liquid away because we don’t feel like going out to buy more? Decisions about the kind of cream to purchase, low fat, no fat or high fat? Maybe a completely different KIND of milk all together.
I talk about our associations with other people referring to them as milk because I think we’re all guilty of consuming sour milk. Living a life with someone who is toxic, past their expiration date, and not believing that we are worth having a good glass of pasteurized, homogenized beverage. That friend who no longer “feels” like a friend. That partner who no longer provides our lives with nourishment. The nourishment we need to be happy, healthy and enjoy each and every day. They’ve gone beyond their expiration date.
So my request is this: Take inventory of your stock. Look around at the things you consume on a daily basis. Pay close attention to what those things bring to your life. Make the decision to keep it or toss it.
I wrote a post a little while back called Shoe Porn. That post got a lot of “likes’. I’m guessing there are many foot fetish people and just plain porn lovers out there, so they might have been disappointed after reading my entry. That’s ok, I got some traffic, and that’s always a good thing.
No, my issue is more about wearing the shoes I love. Just look at those babies. Beautiful, towering accessories for your feet. Shoes do more than just cover your piggies and guard you from the elements. Shoes decide your day.
How am I feeling? Do I need a “pick me up”? I know, I’ll put on my heels….
After 5 recent surgeries to my pigits (piggie digits) I am not able to put those lil suckers anywhere near my hooves. You’ve heard of your “dogs barking?” When I get anywhere near one of these beauties, I’ve actually overheard my dogs, aka pigits, growl. Yep, evil, low down depths of your sole (ha ha) growling. I try to fight them off, but they are relentless. They will fight to the death. It appears my days of taking a walk on the wild side are dwindling. I’ve tip toed around the issue long enough.
It’s a death really. I mourn the wonderful days when I towered about the “little people”, able to trot up stairs in my glorious stilts, gliding across any sub terrain with the greatest of ease. You know, heels actually do your legs a lot of good. Scaling a flight of steps builds those quads, and mine used to be pretty solid. Used to be 3 years ago.
Fast forward to today. My shoe NOT of choice. Easy Spirits, babeeeee. Yeah.
I can still run up the steps, still cruise through all kinds of rough road. But sadly, not with the grace and flair that I’m used to.
I flat foot it around this town putting one foot in front of the other like nobody’s business. I put a smile on my face while slowly dying a fate worse than death inside. I make it sound traumatic and short of bordering pathetic because it is for me.
Yes, I have to listen to the naysayers, the “don’t you feel better in flats” little annoying comments from friends and family. I put up with it, but inside I die a slow stiletto death.
I’m hopeful, like in most aspects of my life. I hold on to that small glimmer of hope that one day I will again be able to slip my mangled, gimp feet into a beautiful pair of platform pumps and feel the earth rise to meet me. Because probably for the first time in my heel walking life, the earth rising to meet me will mean a direct face planting, resembling nothing short of a clown’s circus act at a second rate carnival. It won’t be pretty, that’s for sure. But it’ll be due to the fact that I’m back on my skyscraper loving foot gear once again and I’ll be ready to take on the day with a renewed sense of accomplishment and skill.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about being a mom. I must admit that I didn’t take it as seriously as I do now. (Sorry Shawn) Early in my “motherhood”, I was trying to learn this new responsibility and everything that THAT included. I’m not going to go into the things that I could “no longer” do. That’s not what this blog post is about. I want to write about the actual act of being a mom.
Being the ripe ole age of 50, I’m lucky enough to get the opportunity to look back on my life as a mom and see where I went wrong and what I did right. Now that’s obviously my interpretation, and if you talk to my kids, they might have a different take on it, and that’s fine.
Interpretation does take on many faces. This face is mine…
I’m sorry, I think that picture is hilarious, as are some of my “mom” moments.
I think it’s difficult to actually “feel” like a mom until you’re able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. I get to see that in two of my three fruits. Ha ha. Couldn’t pass that one up either…
When your kids reach a certain age, and believe me, that age is different for each child, they start making you feel proud about the way they’ve turned out. It’s like a work project that started so many years ago, you barely remember when it first began, but you’re finally getting to see it come to fruition.
I don’t necessarily gauge my children’s adult worth on any certain life event or lack of event. I measure it on the kind of person they’ve turned out to be. How they’ve chosen to live their life and how they treat others and themselves.
I’m pretty damn proud. I get to sit back and watch the direction they’re taking their lives and see their hopes and dreams become reality. That makes me very proud. I like to say I live vicariously through my children. I didn’t have the gumption to do a lot of things that it turns out I’m pretty sorry for at this time in my life, but I’m so glad that my kids are taking chances and seeing a future filled with opportunity and hope. I get to hear about plans for the future and nothing makes me more proud of being a mom than that.
My little fruit is well on his way to being a good person, but he still has a long way to go. I don’t know how long it will take, but I’m confident that he will become just as awesome as the other two are.
My work is far from done, but I’m happy just being a mom.
This is the beautiful face of Michael Sam, NFL draft pick of the St. Louis Rams. I’ve been reading recently about the backlash surrounding his kiss after receiving the good news from the Rams. The “kiss” in question was to his boyfriend, Vito Cammisano.
Don Jones, a Miami defensive back tweeted, “Horrible” and “OMG” and was fined and suspended. Another retired NFL player tweeted that the “kiss” should NOT have been shown on ESPN, there were small children watching.
Obviously Don Jones is an idiot, even if he felt that way, it wasn’t cool to tweet and he knows that. He had to act all “bad-ass” to show his friends and probably fellow players that he wasn’t cool with it. Because it’s okay to “feel” any way you would like. You do not act on it. How many times have we hated our bosses? Disliked family members? There are reasons, I’m sure, why certain people rub us the wrong way or cause us undue pain and or suffering. This person, Michael Sam caused Don Jones none of that. I hate even saying his name, because to me he is no one. He is nothing. He’s a small minded, insignificant human being. He won’t make a difference in the world. He’ll be nothing more than he is now, an ridiculous conglomeration of skin and organs with the ability to tweet. Period. Nothing more. We will forget about him. I already have. Don who?
Having said that, I’m more concerned with the comment made by Derrek Ward, former NFL player. He couldn’t believe that ESPN showed the “kiss” with little kids watching the draft. Why? This whole bullshit of keeping our children in a bubble, not letting them see or be allowed to “experience” something that may or may not be comfortable for “older adults” is absurd. It’s one thing to keep your children from R rated movies or cell phones when they’re too young to trust with technology. It’s another to think that two men or two women kissing on TV or ANYWHERE for that matter will tarnish their childhood and scar them forever. Wrong. Like it or not, this is 2014. We no longer allow prejudice. How DARE you, as a black man, allow prejudice in this day and age. You must have experienced a certain degree of prejudice in your life. How can you now keep that closed minded way of thinking alive by making comments like you have?
Being gay is not a choice. Being black is not a choice. YOUR ARE BORN THAT WAY. Yes, this is my opinion, and since I live and breath in the United States of America, I can still have that opinion. I’m not hurting anyone saying that. I believe you are born liking men or women, or both. I believe you are born black, or asian, or whatever. Because YOU ARE. Can this not be enough to accept? We are born this way. I was born being attracted to men. Would it be okay for a lesbian to put me down because of it? Nope, it’s considered “normal” to be heterosexual. There are lots of heterosexuals that are anything BUT normal, I can tell you! And there are homosexuals that are abnormal. Who cares? Who the hell cares? If you aren’t hurting me or my children, live your life. Be a good person. Make a difference for the better of humanity. There’s enough bad people and sad events and horrible happenings in this life of ours, we need to think twice before voicing the profanity that is prejudice.
I know a little bit about a lot of things, but one thing I’m sure of: LADIES, MAKE SURE DO YOUR EYEBROWS. What do I mean? Well, here’s an example of someone (me) without an eyebrow…
Practically non-existent.
Now here I am WITH an eyebrow…
More believable. Practically pleasant looking.
So let’s take a full face look…
You’ll notice I have vary sparse, light eyebrows. Without filling them in, they cannot “frame” my face. Think about your face like a painting, with your eyebrows being the frame. Yes, the picture might be pretty, but the frame completes it.
Are you having trouble getting your point across to somebody? Maybe you lack the proper eyebrow…
Have you been excited yet perplexed by somebody…
It’s hard to tell with any certainty what I might be thinking without my brows.
Husband doesn’t “get” you? Annoying co-worker doesn’t take you seriously?
It might just be your eyebrows.
So the next time you need to make a point, make sure you got your eyebrows on girl. It might just be the difference between getting what you want quietly or getting a “raised eyebrow”.
Growing up with very little self esteem was difficult. I think low self worth keeps you from being who you want to be and really doing what you should be doing. Wearing a “kick me” sign walking down the halls of high school didn’t help either. It’s true. The girl on the left side of the picture above was teased and bullied in school. But this post is not about bullying. It’s about my worth. Mine and every woman’s worth.
Finding your worth might be a long, lonely road. Realizing that you make a difference in somebody’s life, maybe many lives. Recognizing that every day things that you do and take for granted make so many lives easier and happier. Sometimes waking up every day is difficult, filled with so much pain. Work by definition is the exertion or effort directed to produce or accomplish something. We as women produce and accomplish every single day. We provide love and a safe haven for our children. We have consideration and empathy for our fellow human beings. We care for our families, our significant others, even complete strangers. We continue to make a difference, yet I think many don’t realize it. A kind word or friendly smile can turn grey skies blue.
We as women have made a difference. Our work is never done. It’s our job, our adventure of sorts. I don’t think we take it that seriously, but we should. On this, the eve of Mother’s Day, lets reflect on all the times that a woman made our lives easier, more secure and made us feel more loved.
Happy Mother’s Day, to ALL WOMEN.
Please watch the video, This Woman’s Work by Hope Murphy. This girl has a beautiful voice. She gives me chills and was the inspiration for my post today.
steelgraeglamour 