Respect to a Schwan

Yesterday was one of those hard days that I hope to never forget. I admittedly had to self-reflect, and except the present moment of life I’m in.

Yesterday I mourned over the death of a man I never met. My biological father. His name was Frank Q. C. He was 73 years old, and was an undiagnosed schizophrenic.

I would love to place a picture of him to

 show our possible resemblance, unfortunately I don’t have any to present. I have a few pictures in my belongings of him 24 years ago, that I’m sure are tucked away in an unappreciative storage unit somewhere, and In that same storage unit I have a trucker hat that belonged to him; however I don’t see them resurfacing anytime soon.

The feelings that pertain to my biological father have always been nonexistent. I’ve spent an exceptional amount of my time craving love, compassion, and acceptance from the man that I call my father, that I forget that there was another man out there who is the true reason why I am here.

He was sick, yes.

I obviously do not thank him for making me the woman I am today.

He was very sick.

He use to board up the windows in fear from hallucinations, and would disappear for weeks without any knowledge of where he was. He would throw full plates of food at the wall, and insist my sister did ridiculous chores.

However he had an incredibly difficult mental disorder. This man had no idea he had schizophrenia, and Lord only knows how long he went before he was even diagnosed (if he ever was). I admire my mother for getting herself and 3 children out of such a dangerous home. However I cannot blame my biological father for being the man he he was.

My mother called me yesterday at 2:15, while I was getting ready for work. Immediately I thought she was calling to tell me something had happened to my grandfather, who was just released from the VA hospital that day.

I didn’t pick up out of fear. I knew someone had died.

“Annie call me…”

I call her back, my heart beating out of my chest.

A lot of the stuff she said was blurred out in my mind. I just kept wishing she would get to the point. I don’t remember much from the phone call except “….. Frank passed away.”

No emotions, besides relief it wasn’t my grandfather.

The realization didn’t hit until I text my two best friends. They both immediately called me to confirm my feelings are justified and they were here for me.

I go to work and tell no one. Even though I wanted everyone to know.

My mother planned on telling my brother at dinner in person. I waited and waited to hear from him. Nothing.

at 8:00 I text him and asked how dinner was. “Did mom talk to you?” I truly needed someone to talk to about this. He is the only son Frank ever had.

“Oh lol yeah. Whateves, I didn’t know the dude haha.” 

My heart was gone. Through my feet on the floor. How am I suppose to feel right now?

I came home and casually mentioned I wanted to talk to him about it. However all I got out was, “My dad is way cooler.” and “It’s about time, he was what.. 72 years old.” and then quickly announced he was going to bed.

I cried all night long. Mourning shouldn’t be done alone. All I wanted to do was fall asleep and stop thinking about how disrespectful my brother was to the memory of the man who held our mother’s hand while we were both born. Even though he suffered from schizophrenia, that does not give anyone the right to disrespect his memory.

He has one other daughter who lives a few hours away. She is how my mother found out about his death. I plan to reach out to her, and learn as much as I can about this man.

Because without him, I would be but a figment.

And I will always show him honor for that.

 

 

 

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Dear 2017 me,

The sole reason I’m writing today, is to give me the opportunity to look back and be proud of myself.

Today, September 12th 2016, I find myself unemployed (by my own choice) and searching for the job that is going to make my life a joy. I’ve been in this new city for 42 days, and in that time I have 

  1. Trained at the karate school once a week 
  2. Started a job, and quit said job withing 4 weeks
  3. Made absolutely zero friends 
  4. Gained a considerable amount of weight
  5. Read 8 chapters of a fictional book 
  6. And really done absolutely nothing that I am proud of (besides climb a few waterfalls and mountains) 

 I’m now without a job, and unhappy with where I am personally right now.

So what next. Am I going to get that job that I’ve been praying and begging for? Am I going to continue to train for my Adult black belt? Or am I going to find myself settling for a low paying job, like so many people I’ve met here.

Only time will tell. And I am giving myself the opportunity to look back and see me at another low point in my life. 
All I can do is pray, and wait for God to open a door for me. He knows exactly where I need to be in life, and the opportunity will arise.  

I just hope it’s soon…

Flash — ahh

What do the artists, song writers, bloggers, and those people who write long status updates – all have in common;     suffering.

Okay, maybe a little too extreme.

But its true. These exceptional writers base words and lyrics on their struggles. So, what happens when those suffering, treacherous souls become — happy?

Well for me, I found myself with nothing interesting to write about. My heart didn’t ache with sadness anymore, my eyes didn’t overflow with tears of abandonment or loathing. All I do is count down until the next time I get so see my incredible husband. I spend my nights clung to his side, with constant gross mushy tones of infatuation.PB0_2717

However this has been an exciting past few months for us and our tiny little gypsy family (me, my husband, and our plants).

In the beginning of June, Brad and I promised to love and cherish each other for the rest of our lives.

Our marriage was everything I ever dreamed of (If I ever planned my wedding before getting engaged like normal women do).

In July, Brad was offered and incredible opportunity in the very city we were married, Asheville, North Carolina. In a matter of two weeks we packed up everything we owned, signed a lease, and moved to Asheville!

On the way from Florida to North Carolina I got in a minor car accident, and had my 25th Birthday. Nothing like keeping us on our toes! But our house is beautiful, and is in a beautiful part of town. I’ve been out of the job for what feels like a lifetime, however it’s given me the time to unpack and make this place a little homey.

Within only a few days I got a call for the very job I had been hoping for, and climbed two waterfalls ( this is not a metaphor, I really did).

And this is where we settle (for now). In the same town I’ve written so much about already. But now with an entirely different perspective on life and love.

So many of these roads bring back glimpses of memories, most of which I cant fully remember, or have suppressed for the past 3.5 years. But nothing makes me happier to be here.

With our family only an hour away, and a beautiful roof over our heads, we are set — at least for a while!


 

The Sanctuary.

The thing about moving to the very place that use to be your sanctuary, is that it becomes painfully common.
We all have the place where we run to, the place where we hide. What if it has now become your everyday life, and there is nothing extraordinary about it anymore.

Twice I have done this.
Moved to the place where I use to constantly run to.
Asheville was my sanctuary from Franklin.
And Tampa was my sanctuary from North Carolina.
Both places had dwindled into my mediocre timeline.

Becoming my everyday – instead of my hideaway.

That Georgia Back Road.

I’ve been doing a lot of driving this week.

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It’s been a tradition of mine that the week of my birthday, I do a lot of solo traveling.

I’ve never consciously picked my birthday to do all this luscious traveling, it’s just worked out that way, and it’s usually right around 2,000 miles.

This year I traveled to four different states, made a lot of friends, and got to spend quality time with some of old ones. It was truly a wonderful birthday. A lot of thinking and reevaluating, which was much needed.

I was reading an old post I had written back in October (The peak of my excitement concerning moving to Asheveille), I had mentioned something that I found very interesting.
I wrote:

“Move away from Franklin. I had been preparing for seven years to get out of there, and not once did I ever picture it being with a man. It didn’t matter who I was dating, I always knew I would be moving, and I always pictured myself alone.”

I just wanted to put that there as a reminder, that I’ve always known that being alone was the more ideal way of life for me.

As I read on through my posts, it became more and more clear to me how much of an optimistic I am. My bestfriend and roommate told me something last night that was so ingenious that I’m stunned I never thought about it before.
After I had told her my long yet abridged story of my birthday week. She stopped me and asked, ” Now Annie, are you sure you really had a good time, or are you just trying to convince yourself you did? Because we both do this, we are such optimistic’s that we convince ourselves that we are happy and had this amazing time, even though I turned out lousy.”

Never heard truer words. I look back on my past relationships and it became even clearer.
Sometimes you have to take that bad as it is, and except that it was truly bad.
Life doesn’t need to be sugar coated anymore than it already is.

Twenty Two Years Not Dead.

Today is my twenty second Birthday.

My twenty second year corrupting this galaxy with my loud obnoxious lingo, and outrageous acts of weirdom. In these twenty two years I have found myself associated with some of the most extraordinary situations, and interesting people.
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If you know me, and listen to my story, you know that my life has been one lucky toss of the dice after another.
Constant blessings.
For most if my life I’ve considered myself to be one of the most blessed and lucky girls ever to walk this crazy weird planet. And to put it bluntly, this past two months have been the most exciting and entertaining of them all.
Everything has fallen into place so perfectly for so long, that I’ve found myself bracing for impact from some type of future oncoming Borge ship of bad news.
Am I seriously waiting for something bad to happen? That makes no sense.

Last week, one of my friends was diagnosed with cancer. I’ve spent a good portion of time with him in the past two days, and it’s really inspired me concerning the type of person I am, compared to most of our human race.
This man is 25 years old, and was told that he could die in 1, 5, 10 years- they truly don’t know. That’s usually how cancer works.

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But isn’t that how life is anyway?
Aren’t we just as unsure when our time is up when we are healthy, as we are if we’re diagnosed with a terminal illness?
Why is it that it takes a person telling us that we will be dying at some point in our life, that be begin to actually feel like we should be living our life?
Does that make any sense? No.

I can’t stand how some people approach life. As if movies and videogames will fill the void enough to pass the time, rather than going out and meeting and living and not just simply existing.
Some people disgust me. But we’ll get into that later.

Chicks on Boards.

We all have things we turn too when we’re going through hard times.20130621-142431.jpg
Alcohol, friends, sex, or if you’re me, you go skateboarding. Sadly while I was going through difficulties with my ex boyfriend, I managed to snap my last board.
The first thing I was set on getting as soon as I moved to Tampa was a new board, and why not a longboard since it is Tampa I was moving to.
Yesterday I purchased my first Sector 9 longboard. And I’ve spent every free moment I have on it. Finally I feel like I’m back to the person I was before Asheville.
Finally getting back to being myself again and doing what I love.

She was Land Locked.

Today marks my first month calling Tampa, home.
One month. It is definitely a good sign that I’ve made it this long.
I figured that if I was going to fail, I would have done it by now.
But here I am, living and thriving!
And dear heaven do I love it here.
I love the over sized lizards that greet you every time you walk out the door. The snakes and bugs that disappear as fast as they appear.
Taking cold showers every single day without question.
Sweating if not all day, at least once everyday.
The feel of air conditioner hitting your face the moment you enter any building or home.
These are the things I love. The things I’ve dreamed of having since I was a child.
Today I read that God likes to outdo himself. His dream for your life is so much bigger than your own.
He is going to take you places that you never thought possible, open up doors that you never imagined to be unlocked.
He’s going to bring talent out of you that you didn’t even know you had.
This is when I get excited about my future!

My destiny is not determined by the economy, how I was raised, or my education.
My destiny is determined by Almighty God. Look at where he has brought me!

Was it real.

DSC_8550People would constantly tell me, ” Wow, I had no idea you guys were struggling. You’re an incredible actress.”

They said these things because all they saw were loveless pictures, such as this one.

What they didnt know was that the majority of this day I spent holding back tears.

I remember the silent drive home, and crying myself to sleep that night. I was so unhappy and depressed. And he wasnt bothered by it.

Thats all I remember when I look at these pictures.

Were we even happy, baby? Was it all for show?

Home is where the bullshit is.

For a substantial number of years, I have been living out of my car, or a suitcase, or on a couch, or in someones spare bedroom. For the majority of my adult life, I have chose to live in these conditions. I have never minded it, no matter how sad it sounds.

I’ve just always been running away.tumblr_mnerwn17OQ1qk1jiqo1_500
Driving away.
Putting more distance between me and my emotional tie I had with a man.
Constantly on the running from a relationship I ended.
Why am I like this? Why do I love to run away? I can honestly say I don’t even understand my own reasoning.

I moved out of my parents house when I was 17 years old, and since then I haven’t managed to spent more than 11 months in one place. Even the last home I lived in, where I was suppose to let myself settle and make a life in, I had to force myself to hang things up and try and get comfortable, because I knew I wouldn’t be there long.

Home is where the heart is. Home is wherever I’m with you. This is a house, not a home.

Do you know how many times I’ve fed those lines? How many times I’ve NOT felt at home. It’s unbelievable that at 21 years old, I am still living out of a suitcase and boxes…

… and I’m not on tour.