I'll miss you Sox

Last week, I lost one of my cats, Sox. It was incredibly sudden and was a huge shock. Sox was only six years old and incredibly healthy and happy before this happened. Tuesday night, I got home from work, was sitting on my couch and going through my mail as she was running around being a spaz as per usual. When I got out of the shower twenty minutes later, Gatinha was meowing at her and nudging her trying to get her to wake up. I knew something terrible had happened. The fact that it happened so suddenly when she was in great health makes me think it was a brain aneurysm but there's no way to know 100% what happened. 

Losing a pet is never easy. People with pets may not quite understand how absolutely heartbreaking it is to lose one, but Sox was a major part of my family. She was always willing to entertain me and distract me when I needed it and never unwilling to cuddle. She's seen me at my best and at my worst and never loved me any less because of it. That's the wonderful thing about pets. 

It's going to be very strange for Gatinha and I to try and get used to not having Sox running around and keeping us company. We've spent a lot of time crying and curled up together. But we'll get through this. 

But remember, love your pets with everything you have because their lives are short and they are family. 

Casino Night 2014

Eric Cole was such a sweetheart

Kevin Connauton helped me win my first round of Black Jack

Daley isn't too bad in person

New StarsFam!!

Brendon Dillon is taller than i expected

My favorite Frenchie, Antoine Roussel!!

My ginger ninja, Cody Eakin

Tuesday was the Dallas Stars Foundation's annual Casino Night. Not only is it raising money for a great organization, it's also a lot of fun. You have the chance to meet the players, meet new people and get all dressed up for a fun night out. Having never gone before, I was really looking forward to it and have been eagerly anticipating it for several weeks (and I had a pair of kick ass Jimmy Choo's that I was excited to wear).

It was an amazing night, even though it started off pretty terrible (but that's for another post). I've never gambled so I was pretty sure I would lose everything, but Kevin Connauton did his best to make sure I won as many rounds of Black Jack as possible. What a sweetheart. I did meet someone that I've seen at several games and my #StarsFam just keeps growing. I also realized that my favorite angry Frenchman isn't nearly as tall as I thought he would be. The only downside was when some drunk asshat fell/ran into a sign and me which was pretty awful. I did spend the last half hour getting checked out by paramedics and the cops because they were worried about a concussion. That was pretty crappy and a bit painful. But my favorite ginger ninja kept me company for a little while which was incredibly amazing and very sweet.

All in all, it was absolutely amazing and I had an amazing night. I can't wait to be able to go again next year! 

Bell's Lets Talk Day

Today is Bell's Lets Talk Day - a day to support mental health programs in Canada. As someone that has struggled their entire life, this is an amazing campaign that really touches me. Struggling with mental disorders has consumed over twenty years of my life so far. This isn't something I'm proud of, but it is something I'm learning not to be so ashamed of.

I have always been ashamed of my body, developing a severe eating habit (or more correct, a habit of not eating) at a very young age. I struggled with it for so long that I forget that it isn't something that every person has to deal with. I have always struggled in social situations, trying to please everyone and constantly fearing that I would let them down. I have spent many hours trying to recover from panic attacks.

And I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want people to know how weak and broken I was. When I would work up the courage to tell someone that I thought there was something wrong, I was often told that I needed to "suck it up" and that it was just a mood. When I would receive this response, it made me less inclined to seek out help. It made me less willing to talk to anyone about it. This was just all in my head, I was broken.

It wasn't until a friend of mine actually sat down and talked to me one day a few years ago that I realized I wasn't alone. I spent so many years being ashamed that it was amazing to finally be able to open up and tell someone that I needed help. Having that person reach out was what helped me realize that I could ask for help. I wasn't alone.

Simply talking with someone is one of the best ways to start breaking down the barriers associated with mental illness.

And if you are struggling, remember what you're worth. Remember you are valuable. Remember that you are repairable. Remember that you're worth fighting for. Remember that you are not a punching bag, you are not a doormat. 

I love Sundays

Mornings are different on Sundays. The day develops differently. When I was an impressionable child, I thought Sundays felt different because God was watching. He was watching me in my church pew. If I was good during church and listened attentively in Sunday school – which I always was, because it came with a pretty dress – it would mean I was saved for another week.

I left behind that childish view and steadfast faith in any god, but Sundays are different. Sundays are special.
Sundays are for waking up bit by bit, sleeping in late, no rush. For some people, Sundays are for brunch, and isn’t brunch just as special as church? Maybe even more so because there are no mimosas at church. There’s something holy about filling up a table with people you love, for spending an hour or two in their company with something as simple as a meal. Talking about everything and nothing for hours.

Sundays are for making breakfast listening to the songs you claim you’ve never heard of. Sundays are for those guilty pleasure songs. Sunday is for curling up with coffee and a book in bed for hours. Sundays are for cats curling up between you and the person you love. Sundays are for slowly becoming part of the outside world, if at all. You move around quietly in the moments before open, not wanting to wake up dishes and racks.

Saturday is the day you get your work done. You do your laundry, get your groceries, run your errands. Saturdays don’t hold the restful appeal of Sunday. Saturday is all run run run run run run. So many events! So many places to be! We have to see every face on Saturday. Saturday is about movement. Saturday is about being productive. Saturday is about socializing and primping and going out! Saturdays are for fun times! Saturdays are for running everywhere and doing everything. Saturdays are for going OUT doing THINGS. There's always somewhere to be on Saturday. There's always plans for Saturday.

But not Sunday.

Sundays stand still. Sundays start slow. Sundays are for watching the day develop. Sundays are for exploring. Sundays are for aimless drives, for cups of coffee, for waking up next to the person you love and finding each other there in the rumpled bedsheets. Or you spend Sunday by yourself, relying on your own company. Sunday is quiet and accepting of that. There's no need to fill a Sunday with other people. Sundays are perfect for enjoying the company of no one. Sunday has a way of making you stop and appreciate.

Sundays are for no makeup, for glasses, for books, for naps, for spending the day watching the same movies channels play every weekend. Sunday is for those classic Disney movies you still love to watch. Sunday is for Sherlock, for friends, for time alone. Sunday is for kitties and cuddles. Sunday is the day you don't have to even think about how you look. Sunday loves you just as you are, even loves you when you’re slovenly.

Sundays are for church, if you go. Maybe you attend because you believe. Maybe you attend because you feel compelled to go. Faith is different for everyone, same as Sunday.

Sunday forgives you for your sins the night before. Sunday doesn’t judge, Sunday doesn’t care if you’re spilling your guts out in front of the toilet or hiding in bed all day or shooing someone out the door. Sunday doesn’t mind your three-days-old eyeliner or your laziness or your grouchy, insistent headache. Sunday won't judge you for the person that leaves in the morning, when neither of you even knows the other's last name.

Sundays make us appreciative of the fast pace of the week. The older you get, the shorter a day seems. Sundays are a slowdown, but a reminder that it’s starting again tomorrow. Sunday says, Enjoy this. Sunday only comes once a week.

Find your holiness where you can.

Moving on isn't always easy

People ask me how I'm doing and I always smile and say that I'm great. Because that's what I'm supposed to be. I'm supposed to feel free. I'm supposed to be loving life on my own. I'm supposed to enjoy this freedom that comes with not having to worry about you waking me up in the middle of the night drunk and angry. I'm supposed to be happy that I made the right decision and finally got the courage to leave.

I ended this several months ago. I walked away and promised to never look back. I told myself that never again would I feel that way. I knew that I would never again get myself into that sort of toxic relationship. This was my choice, my decision.

Your constant harassment even now is a good sign that I most definitely made the right choice. Knowing that you would try and destroy a car that I've only had for a few days further indicates that this was the right choice. When your parents have made no contact except to try and justify why you're breaking a protective order and not once ask to see how I'm doing I know that they were never really there for me. When you're still keeping tabs on my life and doing everything you can to destroy any sense of happiness, I know that leaving was the right choice.

So why are there times that I'm so terrified of being alone?

I wake up in the middle of the night alone and I can't help the instant moment of fear that you're going to be there. I can't seem to silence that voice, your voice, that is constantly telling me I can't do this alone. I can't ignore that nagging feeling that I will fail. When I think about the few good moments we had together, I know I miss that feeling of being wanted but not that feeling that you always let me know I wasn't good enough to be loved. I try to ignore those times you would tell me that I would never be able to do anything on my own. 

But who wants to listen to me talk about how terrified I am? I'm the one who left. I'm the one who walked away. I'm the one that said "Enough". I don't have any right to feel sad or alone or broken or terrified. I made this decision. I shouldn't feel anything but happiness. As the one that walked away, friends tell me I made the right decision, I was doing the right thing. But the past five and a half years did happen and I can't just forget that. The many reasons that I stayed and the control you had over me doesn't just evaporate overnight. 

People tell me I made the right decision, but no one told me how hard it would be to be alone. No one told me that the heartbreakers hurt, too.