Religious Hypocrites

My choice to not attend church on any type of regular basis has been brought into judgment, more than once, and has been done so more often and with harsher tone than in previous times. Not that I owe anyone an explanation for anything I felt maybe I should explain. then I got to thinking,  I started to think it would make for a wonderful little topic to write on and so, here it goes.


I mean absolutely no offence to anyone by this post.  I have met some very wonderful human beings through religion. I am not passing this judgment on those of you who do worship, and have found others to share in your faith. I applaud all of you, from every walk of faith, for the burden you bear, from those who do not believe, and (more harshly) those who believe differently that you do.


thETR3B5K5Dear Everyone who tells me I am going to Hell because I do not go to church,


First of all, fuck you. Now that is out of the way please, allow to to elaborate and explain that sentiment.


I cannot recall ever ONE time reading in the bible (yes I HAVE read the bible …some of it), nor  it ever being preached in a sermon, or taught in Sunday school that it was MANDATORY to go to church in order to have an active belief, faith in, and relationship with God (I will use the term god to refer to the higher power when speaking about religion, that is how I address according to my personal beliefs, if you believe in a higher power by another name fill that in as in most cases it wont really matter).  Although I will give you that it was encouraged in every way. So, to those of you who have proclaimed that I have damned my soul for choosing to not attend religious service, I call bullshit.  For your information, as a matter of fact, I believe I have a fairly great relationship with God. I know him well, as he knows me, and we speak often.


Perhaps it may be a good time to explain what it is that I DO believe. I was raised Baptist, and I went to church religiously (pun intended) with my great grandmother until her death when I was 10 years old. My mother, who is very displeased with my lack of religious practice, holds by great grandmothers death as the reason I chose to stop attending church.


She is mildly right.


My great grandmother was very active in the church we attended, and she was the right kind of Christian, she was a legitimately loving, peaceful, kind soul of a woman. She was the most wondrous example of wholesomeness. She exuded acceptance, wholehearted, unanimous acceptance. She was a rare human being, and I was blessed to have been loved by her.


Unfortunately, with her passing I was quickly shown that just because you are a bible reading, church- going person, as my great-grandmother was, does not mean you are a good natured, kind person. With my great- grandmother’s passing I was shown what a hypocrite was, and how vastly widespread the trait actually is. I realize that this trait spans to all groups of people, like a cancer, there is not a single collection of individuals where hypocrites do not dwell, but in no other group do I feel hypocrites do more harm than any other is religion. To preach tolerance, but be so judgmental of others, to break every commandment listed and hung on a wall, but to pledge your devotion on Sunday morning, to cast hatred, pure hatred, on others for not fitting into your mold of acceptance, to pray for the neighbor, friend, or relative that you spoke ill about in the parking lot before you took your seat at the pew. I witnessed this, time, after time, after time, at church, after church, after church.


That doesn’t seem like the type of place I want to be.


So I took it upon myself to stop attending church, I have bounced around to this or that house of worship throughout this or that time in my life. I have never felt contentment with any set forth religion in totality.


I don’t really think any religion has it all right. And I don’t really think it matters what set of rules you follow to practice your faith. I think all that matters is that you have faith, legit faith. God knows whets in your heart, he is all seeing and all knowing, right?


I pray, often. I cry to God, and I thank him when I feel thankful. I realize where he has blessed me and I realize where my faith lacks.


when people find out about my religious views I get asked a lot of questions, The biggest one is:


Since you don’t go to church what do you think will happen when you die?


Well, I want to be a tree when i die, but I get that the question is in regards to my soul. I’m not a believer in reincarnation, so I believe when you die, you die, that’s it. (unless you’re a ghost). I believe there are rules to salvation, paradise,  the pearly gates to heaven. I believe everyone is born with a free ride to heaven when they die, no intervention by man necessary. I do not believe baptism is necessary, although a lovely gesture. I do not believe that if a newborn child is born, suddenly has complications and tragically dies minutes after first obtaining life, I cannot believe that child’s soul will spend eternity in hell, or limbo, or any other final destination other than heaven. That’s why I believe we are all born with a ticket to heaven, if you end up in hell, you earned your way there.


I believe in heaven and hell, I believe in god I just don’t believe in the way organized religion has bee set forth, and I don’t feel it is necessary for the preservation of my eternal soul. I believe heaven has just as many serial killers as priests and hell has a section full of preachers. what matters is what is in your heart. Repentance is there if your heart means it.


I don’t really think that it matters what religion you choose to have, and practice. I think what its really about is being a good person and admitting when you fuck up, asking for another change and trying to get it right.  If you think someone else is fucking their life up and its not hurting you or affecting you at all, pray for them. Its not up to you to point out what they are doing wrong, its not your soul they are going to be screwing up and condemning, if you MUST say something, say something encouraging. people know the religious views on controversial life choices, trust me on this, we don’t need another reminder. Perhaps what people who live a controversial life need is a friend, some acceptance of them for themselves, even if you disagree with their choices, it doesn’t excuse you making a bad choice to be judgmental.


That’s just what I believe















Tired, unfocused views of family life.

I feel unfocused. I am lacking direction.


I cannot get peace.


I cannot get the time to let loose and write. There is always something, or someone, needing my attention or active participation.


I am easily distracted, and easier to annoy lately.


You know the feeling you get  when you miss a stair at night,  and almost eat shit in the dark? Imagine the feeling staying inside you constantly.  I feel like I am about to loose my footing, trip over air, or drop a priceless work of art every time I hold something.  My entire body is tight and tense, no deep breathing is unwinding the knots inside me. Hot bubble baths aren’t doing  fucking thing.  I cannot tell you what I did yesterday, but I know I did a lot.


I’m Tired.


My mom was put into the hospital a couple weeks ago, and things since that ambulance pulled away have been anything but calm. First, and foremost, I have a constant worry in my gut over my mom, and her wellbeing. Information is hard for me to come b, and been made harder by those around me, my relatives. I do not call them family because I do not consider them such.


People cannot help who they are born related to, you don’t really get to pick your DNA. People can, I believe, pick their family. Family is who is there for you, really. Family are the people who will tell you how shit is, even when it is the last thing you wanted to hear. Family will defend you in your absence, and stand up for you when you cant. Family loves, without condition. Relatives show up when there is gossip to be spread, relatives will sugar coat advice to placate you into silence. Relatives are fair-weather at best. Relatives “love” when you fit into their specifications. Relative are some of the worst people to encounter, because they disguise themselves as family. Family doesn’t betray, relatives do. Family Sticks together, relatives are self-serving. Family is honest, relatives lie.


I don’t have a big family, I have many relatives. I don’t have many friends, I have a lot of acquaintances, and a shit ton of associates.


Trust is too valuable of a gift to hand out to the undeserving, and time to to precious to waste on the ungrateful. my advice to you, dear reader, is to be more selective with both. Kindness is free and rare, it uplifts those who need it and angers those who aim to drag you down. Kindness breeds happiness, and happiness is the best revenge.


So, go out and get you some revenge.

Its never to early for Halloween

The past few days have been considerably cooler, than they should be for mid-August. The skies have been grey and rain  has soaked the ground. Just two days ago we flew a kite in the front yard. I have been in a hoodie for three days straight.

It feels like fall. This sincerely brings me a bit of joy.


Now that back to school is clearing out of the stores, the ghosts, witches and pumpkin EVERYTHING is going to be starting. I am not embarrassed to admit that I feel true excitement the first time I walk into a store and see the orange and black displays.  I will soon be spending insane amounts of time (and bits o’ cash here and there) going up and down the aisles.

It is no secret to anyone that knows me that Halloween is, by FAR, my very favorite holiday. Even as a child, I waited for Halloween with an anticipation that matched Christmas morning. There is such a magical possibility surrounding the entire day.

I have been planning for this Halloween since last Halloween.  I have managed to instill in my children my fierce excitement for this day. They have had their Halloween costumes picked out since May.  I do most of the costuming and ALL of the makeup myself, I am by no means an expert, but it brings me joy.

Last year my oldest had to be a character from a storybook to participate in a school event, but she REALLY wanted to be a witch.  We settled on her being The Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz. I took it a step further, and elected to have her two younger siblings join in on the theme and go as The Good Witch of the East and the Scarecrow, again, from The Wizard of Oz. I am in love with my glue gun, and adore DIY projects, so I decided to make the costumes myself.

It was a bit more work than I expected. I started with everyday clothes and went to town cutting up strips of material for the two witches, and laying out the husks for the scarecrow.


I am not much of a sewer, so I opted to hot glue the embellishments to the base clothing.  This proved to be the wisest choice for me. There was absolutely no measuring of squirmy and impatient kids, because I was just adding to clothes I already knew fit them. (with the exception of the wicked witch, I gave the dress underneath a waistline, but I just added a strip of elastic to cinch the dress at the waist, this gave me a baseline to start laying the layers for the skirt)

The end result. I was pretty happy with the way their costumes turned out.


This year, we are making it a total family affair. We are going as a collection of characters from Alice in Wonderland.

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I will be, once again, making the costumes all by my lonesome, as is our tradition I begin fabrication in September.

I am so excited I can hardly contain myself!!

I am emotional, and anxious.

Like, really?

I don’t know how to describe what I am thinking and feeling right now. It doesn’t ring like the feeling of depression, but I am definitely feeling sad. It doesn’t feel like anger, but I feel hostile.  I could shed tears at any moment, they are crowding at the back of my eyelids. But, I am not for certain if it is sadness, or anger, or why I could cry. What emotion fills the tears I now hold back remains a mystery to me.  My hands tremble, more slightly than they have been known to in the past, but it feels stronger to me. My mind races, but I cannot remember what thoughts I have. I am physically exhausted, but I feel restless.

I have to keep writing, it is keeping me just distracted enough to seem just fine. Perhaps I should try and lighten the subject matter, to entice a less melancholy feel to my words.

But these are MY words, and in this moment I feel them intensely.

Heh, I ALWAYS feel EVERYTHING intensely, and I fucking feel it FOREVER.

That has never proven to benefit my worrisome nature, not in the least little bit, not ever.  Yeah, I know you’re thinking “what about love” or fill in love for any other positive life-worth-living sensation. Nope, my intensive emotional response to literally everything that happens to me in my life has fucked me over numerous times, on a daily basis. Take, for example, the love I have for my children. When I say that I love my children more than anything else that exists in the entire score of the universe, I mean that literally.

Facebook-20150704-010427 . But, translate that love into anxiety, and literally panic , over common motherly fears and concerns. Have to wake up an hour before your children in the morning so that you can calm yourself down immediately when you wake up because the first thing you think of is that  you are leaving two of your children someplace else all day, and it takes you 20 minutes to get to them , if you speed. Than then quickly go over your plans you have made out for each imaginable tragedy possible (tornado, earthquake, school shooting, terrorist attack, family death, skinned knee,  zombie apocalypse etc.)

Yeah, I think of it all.

And, god forbid, I oversleep then those nervous and anxious feelings are so hard to wind down, when they come rushing at me, even before my first cup of coffee. It’s hard not be snappy, and more short with the morning routine.

And on mornings like that surviving the guilt combined with the usual anxiety is literally, tiring.

I suppose it would be hard for someone to understand, if it has never been felt first hand, what it is like, to live from day to day constantly filled with worry. To have a nervousness that never, fully, subsides. Imagine feeling like the new kid in school, that joined in the middle of the year, transferred from a homeschool, in Antarctica, from the future.  (meaning imagine feeling like the most out of place human being to have ever been created all the time, no matter who you are with) ALL THE TIME.

Try to put yourself in the place of a person who craves a closeness with others, friendship, and a genuine mutual desire of interest and care between themselves and others, but never manages to accept it without suspicion and doubt. Could you even begin to comprehend what a torture that must feel like? To be a person who wants, so badly to accept whole heartedly, the apparent genuine love being shown to them, but cannot escape the persistent worry and doubt. To find yourself trapped in a cycle of remembering and reacting, without premeditation, and to know that if you cannot stop you will be the cause of what you fear most.

You winding up completely alone, having driven everyone away from you.

But how? How can you completely control it? I suppose, maybe one day, I will be able to share that with you. Unfortunately, right now, I can only tell you that, some days, the worst days, it feels like having a piece of hell trapped inside of you.

I try, and I often succeed, to make my most bad days more calm than they once were. My days are filled with my children, maintaining a sense of stability is not optional. Simple as that. They have seen me in moments I wish they hadn’t, and I’m not proud of that. I have made it a priority to keep that from happening, and I have worked hard at making that reality.  It is just the truth of the matter that they are growing up with a mother that just so happens to have been diagnosed with a personality disorder (Borderline Personality Disorder, Generalized Panic Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, and (literal) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder)

I cannot say that it does not affect my parenting, obviously that would be total bullshit. I will say, however that I have worked hard at making it a more positive thing in their lives. I will admit that I have sheltered them from the uglier side of living with this. I have outright lied to my kids numerous times when mommy couldn’t hold back tears (luckily, I am a notoriously clumsy person and stubbed toes and banged heads are actually a common thing). As I have said, they have seen me at moments I am not proud of. I have taken witnessed emotional moments, and explained that its ok to cry sometimes, and that sometimes people get angry, and that its ok to feel anything that you feel,  and its ok to think something different, or like things no one else does, or just….be different. My children are very empathetic humans, that’s no lie. I do believe that is because I have allowed them to feel, any way they want and in any circumstance they want. And I am trying to teach them it’s not always what you feel but how you express it that is important.

I’m trying to learn that too.

A Day in my life…

10:06 AM I am smoking a cigarette, maybe a running list of my idle time will help for blogging. My son is crying. Anytime all three of them are together it is only a matter of time before there is a fight. One on one they are stellar kids, they shine, two together is usually ok, but add that third child and all hell breaks loose.

11:57 AM Just finished cleaning upstairs. Got some pizza started for kids lunch. Smoking a cigarette, again. I’m about to google how to get their room cooler, with only a box fan. It is sweltering in there.

12:31 PM Lunch is in full swing. My dad seems grumpy, but then again he always seems that way to me lately. The kids are being less than as troublesome as they normally are. About time for my fifth (and I think me last) cup o’ coffee, and another cigarette.

12:52 PM Lunch is over, my kids eat like they are in prison and are afraid someone is going to shank them for their last nugget.

2:23 PM Just a drag- ass day. Its too fucking hot to do anything outside, hell, its too hot to do anything inside without breaking a massive sweat. I feel bad for the kids, being cooped up inside sucks balllsack for them, I am sure, but I cannot send them out and let them get heat stroke.

3:32 PM Hubby just got back from getting stuff for dinner. I’m making chicken taquitos for dinner, which is pretty much mine and the picky ass’s favorite dinner.

5:07 PM Me thinks it is time to relax, but no…the pile of laundry and my filthy food covered monsters say otherwise. I have a project for my hubby, he is going to make the minions a air conditioner out of a cooler, a little fan and a block of ice. My google expedition earlier was successful.

5:13 PM I ‘m thinking I’m going to attempt to write. But all three minions are in the room with me, and the natives are restless. Perhaps it would not be the best to get invested in something, knowing full well beforehand that I am going to be distracted, and most likely grow frustrated. I have so many ideas, but all of them are simply that…ideas without structure, some are only single sentences or merely titles to posts with a sentiment behind them.

5:17 PM I’m watching (and listening) to my minions. The three of them getting along for a rare moment. I have been thinking about what I share of them online. I feel like I have already fucked up because I shared so much already, (Facebook and even Myspace with my oldest… yes, I AM old enough to remember Myspace).

5:25 PM I cant write. Not because anyone isn’t allowing me to, I just have guilt for taking away time I should be doing something else. Laundry, coloring with the oldest, cuddles with the boy, bubbles with the princess, dishes, just something. Writing is what I do when I have time to steal. But now, now I have dishes.

9:44 PM All my minions are still awake. All I want to do is have a smoke. I could easily break into tears right now. I am fighting it. No particular reason, just my mood feels low. Its so fucking hellishly hot right now. Maybe that’s why I am in such a pissy mood.

I Needed Prompting…

I have been staring at a blinking cursor for a while now. On and off between tending to this or that, and flipping between pages on the computer. Once again, I have typed words, words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs.

And deleted them all.  More than once.

I find it is better for me to allow the writing to take over, I allow myself to go and just write at times, without thinking or caring about what comes out. I allow my stream of thought to come out…it can become a bit trance like ,I would think…if I wasn’t interrupted every 10 minutes. I realize,now, that carving out time, regularly (daily) for me to zone out and write is going to be pretty much essential.  I am enjoying the experience I am gaining from writing, and I am eager to improve upon what I have started.  I am going to try and broaden my horizons a bit, perhaps I will venture into watching the news more regularly again (I will explain further why I do not, but short reasons is the nightly news generally sends me into literal panic attacks)

I have plans and hopes in the works, things I want to write about…its all there, on the tip of my mind.

but as for this moment, nothing I can conjure up in my thoughts feels write when I type it out. So, I went looking for some general writing prompts, and found quite a few…..but this was the one I chose:

What are things that have happened to you, that have had a tremendous impact on your life.

Well, lets jump right into it shall we?  this would basically be asking me why I am who I am. I find this to be a difficult question to answer directly, when asked “who are you” or “tell me about yourself” but the way this is worded got me to thinking.

what are the things that have happened to me that have led me to be the woman that sits here, right now.

a flood of things ran through my mind.

1. When my great-Grandmother died.

May 1993. I was 10 years old. I lived three blocks down from my school and I was walking home. I could see that my dad’s truck was parked in the driveway. I knew. I dismissed my friends and walked alone to my house. my dad met me at the door. I knew. he looked at me and told me, he confirmed, my grandma had passed. I stared up at him and asked if I could go ride my bile, he said I could. I went to my friends house. told her what happened. she sat with me until sundown. we didn’t talk. I didn’t cry, but she was there. I didn’t go to the funeral. it was my choice not to go. the day she died was the first time I felt what it was like to loose a part of your heart. it was my first real touch of what true pain felt like.

2. When I left the country.

I met a guy. And it was story book status all the way. he was dashing, charming,, good looking, and for some reason he chose me. The entre escapade was wrapped up in a furry and a rush.  He was leaving, moving out of the country actually, just a few short months after we met, right at the height of our adventure together. Upon his departure, he proclaimed to me if I came to where he was, I had nothing to worry about. So, I found a way to go to where he was. Things did not go as I expected. I soon came to realize the promises made before departure where halfhearted at best, and the invitation to  accompany him so very far away was thrown out with frivolous intention.(because really, who DOES that)  I found myself in a very typical 20-something girl situation of longing for the man who isn’t ready to settle down with her, and stubbornly trying to change his mind. Only, this stubborn girl went thousands of miles to convince someone of my devotion and desire. Backfire of the year to say the least. I learnt through it that, well the heart fucking lies. this changed me into a much more cynical person than I was before it all happened. I took my storybook chance, my damned leap of faith. I got scorned. I learnt that Disney is evil; filling all the little girls minds with a notion that you will find this wondrous man, who will fight until his last breath just for the honor of winning your heart and spending his remaining days with you. BULLSHIT!

3. When I became a mother.

This is the single defining moment of my entire existence. The day I gave birth to my oldest daughter was then and forever will be the day , I feel, my life had meaning. When she took her first breath I had a reason. I had a reason to wake up every morning, I had a reason to improve myself in any way I could, I had a reason to try when I didn’t want to try. There is no words in existence that could express the profound way I was forever altered in my soul, when I became a mother.

4. The day I got married

This was a day that I had lost hope of ever happening. My husband had been married once before. and his outlook on the institution of marriage was changed by that experience.  Then, a few months shy of 6 years together, She asked me to marry him. It was symbolic more than anything. I already knew I was going to be an old, wrinkled lady sitting in my rocking chair next to a wrinkled, old him. But when he married me everyone else knew it too. We have had a steady opposition to our relationship since its conception. and it was a way to finally officially telling all of them to just give up. It was a day that meant so much, because it wasn’t just a piece of paper, but it was in fact that piece of paper…we were finally legally a family, the division we had lived with for years was now gone. We could now totally get shit monogramed. It was a way to express that we had someone to have our back no matter what. it was a way to confirm we were in it for the long fucking haul. it was the final nail in the coffin to confirm our forever.

5. The day I was diagnosed with a mental disorder.

This is something that I never attempt to hide about myself, but it is not something I broadcast right off the bat. However, it was a very defining day in my life.  I have been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, OCD,  generalized anxiety disorder, and social anxiety disorder. (and a nice addition of depression as well) having a diagnosis was beneficial. It has helped me in quite a few ways, I now have something to work from, I have proven methods of symptom management, and I have the ability to learn about what exactly this wonderful roller coaster of mental and personality disarray is all about.  The day I received a diagnosis was a life changing way because it was the day I became in control of my life again.

these moments are 5 of the most altering days of my life. and days in which I was formed into the woman I am now. these moments are in no way ranked in importance or significance.

I think I need to work on my post concluding skills, by the time I reach this point of the post I am out of qwerky remarks or any words of enlightenment.  Hell, I’m just happy I got this much out of my overworked brain at this point, not to bad I might just try this writing prompt shit again.

Why I write.

Well, well, well, this is it, my moment to make all my bitching and complaining worth something. It is time for me to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak.   I just spent three months of saving to buy a laptop, for the sole purposes of making a blog.   I have plans and ambitions this time. I have a plan. I HAVE A PLAN THIS TIME. And I have put a lot of forethought into this writing adventure.   I have always dreamt of being a writer. Secretly at times, because, for reasons I do not understand, it isn’t the coolest profession to choose. Writing the most amazing thing I could ever imagine getting to do. Being a writer is getting to be everything, and anyone. Writing is allowing yourself the ability, and time to weigh your statements. Writing is putting a slice of yourself into immortality.   For me personally, writing is the only way I have ever been able to get things out in the way they are intended. When I speak, I tend to become invisible. My words, when spoken calmly and eloquently at times, are never listened to of given merit. Unless I go bat shit crazy I am often dismissed, and when I do flip out then all anyone pays attention to is the outburst, not the reasoning behind it. Of course no one ever wants to discuss it after emotions have died down, everyone just wants   to forget it happened.   image So, I write.   I will write a letter to a person sitting in the same room as me. If I have things that need to be said I feel I have the right to be listened to. And when you write, you can think it out, and change it. You can make it feel the way you want it to feel. When you write you can take the time to convey the tiniest feeling or the grandest idea.   When you write, you are not interrupted. When someone reads the words you have laid out, it can not be changed, it can not be disputed. The statements made can not be twisted or relayed differently than words spoken.   When you write it becomes real. It becomes a physical representation of a part of you, even in fiction (you leave a part of your imagination)   Writing is like taking a part of your soul, and making it tangible.   I suppose it could be asked, why I have chosen to write and share. Why I have made a blog at all.   I am of the belief that, everyone is unique, and there is not another person exactly like you. I am also of the belief that there is no such thing as a solitary experience. If I have felt it, thought it, or done it; odds are someone else has as well. If by sharing something I can bring someone, even only one, knowledge, laughter, hope, or comfort; I am successful.


Believe it or not, I’m smack dab in the middle of watching “LOST”


Yes, you read that right.

I’ll give it a moment to let that sink in………….    ……. And yes I realize that I am hella years late.

And I’m pretty obsessed. The numbers, the flashbacks, the motherfucking polar bears (WHAT?)

I would also like to take a moment and explain two things;

1. The WAY I am watching this. I don’t do Netflix. (ill wait for the backlash any minute) My husband and I rarely spend any time with one another, between family, and well, just three kids is enough. We made a decision to make movie time really matter, the closest movie theatre is literally 2 hours away (small town suck). We rent DVDs at the local movie rental store.  So, anytime I ever say I watched a *new* good movie, its the new DVD.
2. Somehow, both my husband and I missed the entire “LOST” – thing.  I vaguely remember knowing people who were obsessed with this show and wouldn’t miss it (I hate and loathe a part of myself to admit this includes my parents) I was busy; being wild, leaving the country, then having a kid, growing up,  moving across the country and shit like that.

Which, brings me to a request: if you are reading this please don’t spoil anything. I know it is easy to find every answer to every riddle so far in this intricate storyline, but I have resisted the temptation, and believe me its there. And, no, I Don’t  even know how it ends.

Right now I am midway through season 3. we went through the first two seasons in about a week and a half. Season 3 copy at the video store has been lost (you see what I did there?) for over a month. Lucky there is the coolest guy that works there, and he knew I was waiting, and he brought his personal copy in for me to borrow. (small town perk)

Have no fear about posts devoted to the mysteries of the show, I promise no posts entirely devoted to the season cliffhanger, or any of that bullshit.  although I might mention it if something ubber relevant comes out of it.

I think it should also be worth mentioning why this show is special. My husband and I have dramatically different tastes on virtually all forms of entertainment. Our sense of humor if different, we have a very widespread assortment of music that flows through the house (which is actually nice), we find most things interesting differently from one another.

But we both like LOST.

taking things one emotion at a time

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Hey, Nice to meet all of you, my name is Heather. I have BPD. I am here to share my everyday struggles with you, be a support for you, and I am here to chat with you if you want to chat...:)


taking things one emotion at a time

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