I'm going home. Starting over again, again.

Please find me there.

When I was younger, I entered a contest. Every year. It was a country music singing contest. I entered for several years and always made the final round, only to take 2nd place and not move on to state competition. Two years ago at 35, I entered the competition for Nashville Star (American Idol but country music...it's where Miranda Lambert came from). I made it to Nashville. And no further.

I listened to everyone who told me I should be famous. I made CDs of my original music, took professional photographs and made a M*Sp*ce music page. I was happenin' and stuff. I was a worship leader at my church and had so many compliments it was difficult to keep my feet on the ground. But I did. Why? Because I never made it past 2nd place. Even here in a local competition a few years ago I got 2nd. Again.

I played in a band (or 2), wrote lots of music and played my guitar until my fingers bled, to quote Bryan Adams. If you're curious, here you can find my music, albeit very rudimentary and amateur. *NOTE: the server is a home computer so it might take more than one shot to get to the files. I promise you'll be rewarded with complete mediocrity.

My point is that the desire to make music as that thing I do has always burned hot inside of me. So much so that watching CMT or award shows was painful because I was so certain I should be and COULD be doing that if only the stars aligned properly. But they never did. That aching? It still remains. Uselessly and irritatingly eating at my heart like some ridiculous child's dream never to come true. I tried to make it into a passion for worship music and throw myself into that, thinking not only would it satisfy this longing but also possibly make me into the kind of person who could save her marriage.

Only it didn't.

Once those things imploded, I was held to a higher standard and told I brought a bad spirit into the church by my behavior. I went from being a woman in trouble to a woman lost forever. Goodbye church support. Goodbye people who loved me for the worship I brought. It was really just a bad spirit, after all, now that they knew what I was really doing behind closed doors. I got heavy and old, useless to marketing reps and no longer of value to the Christian community for the purpose of worship music. I was heartbroken to not only lose my marriage but my entire belief system.

It's been months since I really picked up a guitar or put any heart into singing. There used to be no separating me and music, and I don't know what happened. Did I give up? Did I ever really think I'd be famous? No, not really. But I always believed that it might amount to something important in my life, and that the fire was placed there for a reason.

I just don't know if I believe that anymore.

I suppose I should mention I quit drinking last week. I believe it was Thursday the 3rd. I know we're supposed to keep track and say "dood I'm on like day whatever" for sobriety purposes, but I don't feel like that. I just don't drink right now. With my body, I probably shouldn't. Not only did I quit drinking but also have been weaning off the pain meds so that when I finally get to the *heavens open and birds sing* PAIN CLINIC I've been referred to, I know exactly what my body and the Fibromyalgia feels like with no drugs or alcohol.

It's been surprisingly easy not to drink. That is, until something happens and I feel like a drunk trying to dry out. Sunday was one of those days. Things happened, information got to me that, while it really shouldn't have, rocked me to the core. This after an amazing weekend with L and a noted increase in intimacy and commitment for both of us. But Sunday morning, I wanted a drink. So I cried. For 2 hours. Because people should be who you know them to be. People can't be so different than who you've known for so long. It just can't be. Instead of drinking, I used my "emotional health" skills and just looked around me, identifying how I felt. This place I'm in? It really IS all kinds of awesome. Some examples:

*I'm headed to school (pre reqs for nursing) in the Fall
*I'm sober!
*Did I mention I'm sober?
*I know what I want to do with my life and I' ALL over it!

There are good things in the land of 30something and I am rockin' the changes.

Mostly.

See, I got the bright idea to change my relationship status on Facebook. I know, I know. I live with someone. We are in a relationship. It made sense. I know it was the right time to do it, too. I just didn't foresee the way it would speed up the end of my life before all this.

The soon to be ex Mr. has been out and about, seeing several gals and trying to figure himself out. I applaud him for being so outgoing and want him to be so. very. happy. The way I felt about a date he had this last weekend just made me...let go a little more and turn toward a new life I'm building on my own.

It seems the Mr. was inspired as well, and quickly made an appointment to draw up papers. We both knew this was the probable outcome, I suppose I thought it would be several months or a year before we actually followed through. But the Mr. is a very take care of business kind of guy and really needed some closure. I don't blame him for a second. But it hurt like hell.

I went with him, sat through a brief and simple session with the legal gal and left her office with my heart in my shoes and a thousand panicked questions.

Should we be doing this so soon?

What will the kids think?

Should I tell L?

Ohmygod. Please stop. Please just stop this. I don't want this. This is NOT the way it was supposed to be!

I want a drink...

I spent the bulk of the day with the Mr. talking about plans, visitation, financial things and trying to make all of this as easy as possible. Then we started to talk about how it felt. What went wrong. How we got to this horrible, gut-wrenching place. Neither of us could keep the tears from forming, but both kept them barely at bay. We agreed this is how it should be. Hell, if the world turned upside down and we ended up back together, we could always get married again, right? Right?

As the day wore on and we covered more painful subjects, the searing agony in my body due to lack of pain management combined with my emotional state to slowly but surely wear me down. By the time the Mr. left, I was sobbing. The majority of my family is either not supportive or feels I have lost my way, leaving only a few options for people to turn to when the world has closed in on me. Since I often will close up, it's probably best that way.

I cried until L got home, and then I cried more. And he held me and listened to me spill my doubts and fears, things that I know were painful for him to hear, but he held me and promised I would be ok. We would be ok. And he was going nowhere. As he drifted to sleep I felt him waking every few minutes to rub my shoulder and helplessly try to dry my eyes again. The light in the window faded to dark and I was alone except for his steady breath.

I closed my eyes and once again I was in Gold Hill at Sammy's Gato Gordo. The man onstage was very clean cut and conservative looking. When he opened his mouth and began to sing I raised an eyebrow and took another look. We sang, played shuffleboard and pool, he juggled billiard balls and laughed. We fell in love. We married in the perfect little church in a beautiful ceremony on the first day of spring. We had a family. We lived and we loved and we hurt, and now it's over. In August we would have been together 14 years. I was 23 when we met. The memories bring searing hot tears down my cheeks and an ache in my chest deeper than anything I think I've ever felt. I know the reasons. I know they are valid. I know they aren't going to change and this is for the best. But he was everything to me. And somehow I think letting go isn't going to be as simple as signing a piece of paper.

And I still really want a drink.

As I lay on his chest, I can feel his breath rising and falling in rhythmic motion. His heart pounds heavily inside the cage of bones, now beginning to protrude no matter his position. I feel his chest muscles spasm involuntarily as his body fights off sleep, and I rest my hand on his as if it might send the message to his subconscious that sleep is good. It's okay to let go and rest.

I survey him like he is new to me, though he is not. Each mark, each scar to be examined and cataloged. He is a strong man. He is a good man. And he loves me fiercely.

Still, as I scan across his skin I can't help but think of those who have done so before I came along. It's a resonating battle inside of me, and I find myself entrenched once again, firing shots toward a faceless enemy. I duck and I pop up again and fire until I begin to see their faces. The women I know he's had relationships with. And I feel as if I am overtaken by them. I feel as if my weapons are malfunctioning and my armor is full of holes. As the enemy converges I catch my breath and the tear before it falls on his chest. And he stirs.

Why do I do this? Because I'm afraid. On some level I am afraid that I won't compare to the women before me. And as usual, I follow this train of thought until it weaves through my landscape of the land of insecurity. I've built a home there on the unfriendly rock formations amongst the thorns and beasts where I am destined to return again and again. It is the land of the "Not Good Enough".

In the last few months I've been gathering supplies in an effort to build a new home in a more forgiving land. During this self construction project I'm beginning to see some new truths, and they are making the job of condemning that old house and tearing it down just a little easier.

I don't have to fight that battle. I'm no longer entrenched. I have some affirmations to strengthen me and they serve also as realizations. An epiphany, of sorts.

No matter how angry I am at their behavior, I can still love someone who hates me. I acknowledge my part in their feelings toward me, and I feel a deep sense of regret. I see their pain and I long for the days when my embrace was welcomed. When we shared those pains with one another. I can ache deeply that it simply isn't possible now, and hold on to knowledge that my love for them remains, hoping beyond hope that what they now face can be just a little less devastating.

I am a balanced and loving mother who makes mistakes like every other mother has. I can hear my children and listen to their feelings. I can understand their pain, and stand strong as the adult when how they feel cannot affect the situation. I can hold them and still hold them responsible for their behavior. And I can tell them every day how much I love them. I know without doubt that I am a Good Mother. Above all, I can promise them and myself that under no circumstances will I ever give up on them.

I can give grace to someone who is hell bent on destroying me. Even in the midst of harassing phone calls, txts, threats of violence (however unlikely) and venomous slander, I can see the lost child inside. I can take into consideration someone who was abandoned and hurt, knowing they are really just looking for attention. ANY attention. I can know that they may be doing and saying vicious things, but only to keep busy enough to not feel the loneliness. And while I give grace, I don't excuse the actions. I stand tall and defend myself and those I love.

I receive judgment without returning it. I know that those (both in my family and outside of it) who are convinced I am every kind of hopeless sinner in need of the Lord have their own demons to battle, and I can be at peace knowing in my innermost being that my relationship with God is personal and not only not their business but not for them to judge. I can understand that they don't realize what they're really doing is leaving me completely alone in the time of my greatest need. And I can forgive them for it, keeping enough distance to protect myself at the same time.

Then, I can turn back to my sleeping warrior and be content with where we are right now. Without holding on to the past. Without forcing a future. I can be blissfully in the moment, and drift into a sound and peaceful sleep.

There's a word I can't get out of my head. It's been popping up for over a month now. Things fall out of place and BAM! There it is. It's a four letter word, that's for sure. It's a word I wish my children had never learned. Hell, I wish *I* had never learned it.

The word? FAIR.

We've all heard our children say it. We've probably said it a million times. We know we shouldn't. And yet it's such a foundational word, especially for this up and coming generation. Fair.

It's not fair. That just isn't fair. What's fair about that? Absolutely nothing, that's what.

I love my therapy and the skills group I attend weekly, if only because I've learned just how damaging of a four letter word FAIR really is. If I can eliminate it from my vocabulary, I'll be an entirely happier and far more content person. But right this second, I'm up to my eyeballs in "it's not FAIR!!"

See, there are people in this world who care about others. There are people who, even in situations where they are fully within their rights to be angry and hostile, simply refuse to do so. There are people who think about others before they speak/act. And there are people who insist on being fair to others, even when they can never expect the same in kind. And then...there are people who don't.

Words should never be weapons. Manipulating people because you know you can is horrible. Manipulating people who have no way of knowing you would do that is a special kind of asstastic. I don't understand people like that. I don't think I ever will.

Then again, it's not necessary for me to understand them. Because even if I rid one from my life, others will spring up. I suppose what I'm realizing is this: it doesn't HAVE to be fair. Even if it's the worst possible version of awful, there's not a damn thing I can do about someone else's motivation and resulting behavior. They are what they are and if they cross my path I realize, I know I have only one single acceptable choice.

I can choose to be the "fair" one.

And now, for something completely different.

My good friend Alaena posted a very FUN kind of meme and since I've been all about the fun lately (/sarcasm) I thought I would partake to lighten the mood in this damn place! And maybe open the drapes, get some fresh air going through here!

Alaena said:

The idea is to go to your 8th photo folder, and find the 8th photo in it. Post it to your blog and tell the story behind it.

So here we go!



This photo was taken at a worship night the band I was in, Emet, put on at a local church. We called it "Emet Unplugged". The photo was a very artsy interpretation of the platform area. The night was a combination of popular worship and original worship music and was absolutely amazing. I sang my heart out and the mood? Was totally in the zone. God was there in every sense He can be and I often pull from that night when I want to remember what it felt like to truly let everything go and just worship.

These days there's so much "hypocrite" this and "you're not a Christian" that...it's good to remember that nobody can say those things and make them true. I still love my God. He still loves me. That might be all I know right now, but it's something.

And I've really learned to treasure my somethings lately.

It's 12:02 a.m. and he leaves today. My son. My only son. My firstborn child is now a Marine. Just typing that sentence sends me into tears.

I was 18 when I had him. 36 when he graduated from high school last year. I have watched him grow and learn and become his own version of a man based on what he has seen modeled for him, for which I am both thankful and saddened. My son will be a strong family man. He will hold a work ethic higher than those of his peers and will reach for success beyond all other things. He didn't choose to join the Marines because he had no other options. He did so because it's been his dream for many years. It was the only branch 'tough enough' for him. The only challenge he wasn't certain he could meet, and therefore he had to set his sights on conquering.

As I imagine his tiny face laughing at me as he was cutting his first teeth...as I remember the videos of his 2nd birthday party...as I can picture each stage of his development and treasure it like a precious gift, his middle sister sleeps with his necklace tightly in her hand. His youngest sister looks for his teasing yet loving comments on her choices, but finds only silence. His Dad was looking forward to a last visit before boot camp, but friends and family a few hours south were given the gift of his last few hours of freedom. I'm incredibly jealous.

I don't blame him for running that way when the Mr. and I separated. I don't blame him for being angry enough to not speak a single word to me since it happened. I knew everything when I was 18, too.

And then I became a mother. And went back to knowing nothing. And questioning everything.

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

Come home soon. Come home healthy. Just come home. Please.