My Paul Mitchell Sisters And The End Of An Era. A Tribute To Us.

As I've reached the end of a defining period of my life, I feel compelled to journal it. As school has come to a close, I realize the vast changes that have taken place for me personally and professionally. I always knew I wanted to attend Paul Mitchell. Not long after Jason and I moved to Dallas, we lived in an apartment in Dallas proper. I was working minuscule jobs at the time, waiting tables, bartending, etc. I worked on Beltline Road in Addison and everyday I would drive passed Paul Mitchell. I would see the girls and the occasional boy outside, dressed in all black. They looked chic, artistic, fab. As I would pass by wearing an apron and a tie, I would mentally think how much I'd rather be in their stylish shoes. If we were in competition, they were winning. I'm not really sure why, but I filed it away as a goal to be accomplished at a later date. Somewhere in there I think I genuinely thought it would never happen. I toured the school once around that time. I loved it and it became a mild obsession. I would tour it several times before enrolling. Not long after, I had Lily and Reid and I made the decision to stay at home and give them every ounce of myself until the time was right. I decided the time would be right when Reid began school. I wrote a long-winded blog back last October about what I had to go through to get my GED. That, in and of itself, was a major roadblock. I did it and I waited with baited breath as I applied for financial aid and began the enrollment process. It was finally happening! It was going to be more than a stepping stone to a career for me. It was me venturing back out into society. What stay-at-home-mothers fear admitting to people is that you lose a piece of yourself in the process. You willingly forfeit that for the benefits but you become somewhat socially awkward and desperate for the sound of adult conversation. Ratty yoga pants become a uniform, a disheveled bun and bare face are the norm. I wondered if I'd lost my ability to interact with people. Who was I outside of this house? If I'm not just the kid's mom and Jason' wife, who was I? Did I even know? Was I still likable? Am I that woman that only talks about her kids because I have nothing else to draw from? God, please don't let me be her! I hate that woman! There was nothing to do but dive in and see what happened… This was my reemergence. The next phase.

Orientation day came. We all filed in like cattle dressed for a funeral. Everyone looked nervous and excited. We were being guided into a large conference room and music was blasting. The enrollment team was awaiting us. They were larger than life, perky, and dancing. They said, "You'll be dancing too by the end of the day!" I thought, "I bet I won't." At first I thought I wasn't going to be a good fit because I wasn't perky enough. I got nervous for a minute…  We were inundated with Paul Mitchell culture and buzz words. The majority were people entering cosmetology. The estheticians were a small group. Even smaller when you specify you're a night esty. As fate would have it, two of my future classmates were located at my same table. The day was long and I really just wanted to get to the nitty-gritty. One thing was certain, it was all about black patterned tights and black boots. I needed to reenter the fashion world, go out and buy both…..like, yesterday.

Day one, we get our kits. It's referred to as "kit-mas". There's something that makes it real once you're fondling something tangible. Things you'll actually use. Products that read "professional use only" gives you a feeling of power even though you don't know what to do with them yet. Our core teacher was a woman named Chris. Chris was welcoming and had made us cupcakes. She was warm and had a very friendly energy. I immediately felt safe under her tutelage. You could say, "Chris, I have a question" and she would always pause, acknowledge, and say "Yes?" Unless of course this was something you'd been told a few hundred times over or something she felt you needed to figure out for yourself so you wouldn't have to ask again. You never didn't receive an answer because she wasn't interested; it was all part of her process. She was nurturing but didn't take any crap; all the qualities I like in a woman. She let us dive in immediately. She coached us and guided us as we took our first baby steps into our futures. I think we were better for having been her students. 

Our core room was a small room located towards the back of the school. I would be confined in this space with these women for a long time to come. I didn't know these women or anything about them. You can look around the room and try to get a feel for who they all are but it doesn't work. Getting to know these women would take time and we had plenty. When we began doing facials we were all so timid to get all up in each other's business. In reality, it's the quickest way to break the ice. You quickly learn that you better get really comfortable getting in each other's personal space because that's your new job. A guest speaker once said that people in our industry go where other people don't dare to go. We lay our hands on you, we enter a zone others typically cannot in everyday situations. Sometimes you don't realize you may be working on someone that is rarely touched and your touch is therapeutic. That's a pretty intense thought. We ladies began preparing for this by working on each other. We began learning about one another's skin but as time passed, we began learning what lay beneath. 

Let's meet the ladies….

My tablemate was the first person I really got to know. Miss Brittney Lamb. Brittney was quiet. Friendly, but quiet at first. We exchanged hellos everyday and mindless "gettin' to know ya" chitchat. Table mates would automatically team up when assigned partner facials. I've worked on Brittney more than anyone. I know her teeny-tiny face like the back of my hand. Our mindless chitchat grew into more in-depth conversations. Brittney always carried a large, elaborate pink and grey lunchbox. As my classmates and myself were stuffing ourselves sick with Jimmy Johns and vending machine garbage, Brittney would excuse herself and eat in the breakroom. I finally asked what that was all about and she explained she was a fitness competitor and in training. It was then I went home and immediately crept on her Facebook. My jaw hit the floor. She will get mad at me for this if she reads this because she's very low-key about it BUT her body is sickening!!! She's stunning in person but she's humble so she covers all that up real good. I had no idea how fit and fabulous she was. I went through pic after pic just in awe. Over a thousand followers!?!?! GEEZ! I was enamored of her. She downplays how hard she works and doesn't like people bringing it up because, from her experience, it invites haters. That's a damn shame. I once took a picture of her ripped arms and after I posted it, she said, "Just wait. Someone will say something hateful." Not on my watch, they won't. I don't eat carefully portioned out containers of brown rice and chicken and work my tail off and anyone who would hate on her doesn't either. It's work and dedication and she does it. Instead of that dedication and hard work being something she can walk with her head held high about, she downplays it because of people who like to break other people down. That's their shit. Don't like it? Then eat a salad and go the gym just like her. If I were her, I'd go to the store naked. I don't have her willpower and my big ass is mine and I'm cool with that. It's got nothing to do with her. I grew to love Brittney very much. Me and my good friend, the swimsuit model. We talked each other off ledges many nights. We nursed each other through many trials and we became fast texting buddies. She was there for me in a very dark period and made sure I was functioning. Brittney doesn't talk smack about people. She's always the first to tell me I may have misconstrued a situation or might be being irrational. More often than not, she's right. She's a genuinely good person. A beautiful, smart, funny, goofy, good person. If anybody can't see that 'cause she's fine, it's their very large loss. I'm so glad she's my friend and I'll watch her toned fanny compete and go straight to the top with pride. That's my friend and isn't she awesome?

Haleigh--

Haleigh and I got to know each other more once we got into creative. Haleigh and I enjoy bitchy humor and as time went on I could hear Haleigh's thoughts even when she wasn't speaking. When something annoying was happening in a crowded room, I had to make a conscious effort not to look at her because I'd bust out laughing. She's feisty but she'll also be the most generous person you'll ever meet if you treat her right. She thinks nothing of giving you something she thinks you'll appreciate; it's second nature to her. Her kindness is pure because she doesn't really even notice it. She's had nothing to gain from the nice things she's done for me. She sent me to L.A. at a very low time and that's not something you see everyday. It's still something that chokes me up and why Haleigh Hood can do no wrong in my eyes. Anyone who would do that has a heart of gold, plain and simple. She's feisty and funny but also gets things done. What's funny is she never looks panicked or like she's scrambling. She always looks cool, calm, and collected but never mistake that for inefficiency. Though it may look like she's just texting, she will have done a facial, spent $200 on Etsy, finished her stamps, done her senior project, booked a flight, and rented a house in Reno -- all the while with her boyfriend on Skype. As this goes on you'll say, "Whattaya doin', Haleigh?" "Oh ya know, hanging out, doin' stuff, bein' a princess." Don't let this princess fool you, she has the world by the balls and she'll go anywhere she damn well pleases with the greatest of ease. I admire that about her. If I ever have a question, I ask Haleigh because she knows everything. She'll solve all your problems in 5 minutes or less and then go get her hair done. That's a skill that cannot be taught, ladies and gentlemen.

Amila--

Amila is my little Bosnian sweet pea. She's our baby; the youngest of the group. Amila is effervescent with an infectious giggle complete with perfect brows and a pixie cut. She's the real, live Tinkerbell in a cuter outfit. I tend to shun affection. I'm not good with the hugs but every now and then someone gets in. Amila's hugs and pets are special. She's very affectionate but I don't mind with her. I love her hugs and she makes me feel loved. I came to feel very motherly towards her. I feel an obligation to protect her, to make sure she dates nice boys, and is home at a decent hour. I think I grounded her once or twice. I still don't think she's supposed to be out of her room. She's sassy and class wouldn't have even been even remotely the same without her. She kept things fun and you noticed her absence when she wasn't there. Everyone loves her and she makes friends everywhere she goes. She keeps things light and she sends me funny GIFS and memes just to make me laugh. She tends to favor animals in funny clothes or dancing. She makes me feel young and really old at the same time. Like I said, I can't look at Haleigh during crowded room scenarios but I don't have to look at Amila because she'll text me "I hate her" while sitting right next to me. I love her and I will miss her funny little quips dearly. 

Crystal--

Crystal will not be the loudest person in the room because she will not fight to be heard. I think it's a dignity thing. She will not get into a situation that doesn't concern her because she's focused on a achieving a goal and I respect the hell out of that. She will sit back, cool as a cucumber and get done what she has to get done. She works all day, goes to school all night, and has a son with autism she does it all for. She's shed light on what that struggle is like and she pointed out things that have never occurred to me. I appreciate the education on things like this. We could all use a little sensitivity training to understand what other people go through that we take for granted. Her son is non-verbal and she once told me how hard it is to hear other children speak or to hear mothers tell their children to be quiet because she would love to hear her son talk. My heart broke for her but you would never know her struggle even in being in close quarters with her everyday. She still does what she has to do to get done what she needs to get done. She fights a tough battle but she makes it look good. She doesn't get caught up in drama and she's forever changed the way I hear, "GUURL" in my mind. No matter what, her hair, makeup, and clothes are gonna be on point. She's a makeup, product, and Starbucks fiend. I wish I could be more like her in her ability to side-step the b.s. She's strong and I don't think much gets in her way. Kudos to her. Her son is making great strides and I hope so much that she gets to hear those words. Mother to mother, she deserves that. She's fierce, she's Mexican, and she'll make it all happen with a Starbucks in her hand and a MAC red lip. Believe that.

Raelyn--

Raelyn is like no one I've ever met before and I mean that in the best way possible. She's a free spirit. Her talents are many but she's not really bound to anything. She'll go where the wind takes her and she's not one to be tied down. When we all go to Florida, Raelyn may wander off and end up in another city and end up staying there for all we might expect. She can go anywhere and make it because she's built that way. She doesn't fear things, she doesn't hold back, and she's not looking for anyone's approval. I envy that the most. She marches to the beat of her own drum and enjoys her life. She's invited me to cool events and let me be a part of some awesome career opportunities. She knows her shit in the industry and I wish I had a fraction of her makeup skills. I could tell Raelyn anything and she'd never judge me or think any less of me. I immediately knew we would be friends when she knew drag culture, liked certain movies, and documentaries. We clicked and I always like hearing her insights. She's been willing to give me tips and I respect the hell out of her for her creative and artistic abilities. She's fun and spunky. I'd like to hang out with her more but I don't think I can keep up. It's like I've told her, I'll work with her or FOR her anytime. You can't sum her up or put her in a box and I think that's about the biggest compliment I could give her. We should all be so lucky.

Amy--

You will never hear someone say the phrase, "I can't stand Amy". Everyone likes Amy. She has a kind word for everyone and is the first to make a thoughtful gesture. She arranges special events and makes sure everyone is on the same page. She's a mother of two, works multiple jobs, and still came to class every night. Though, I saw how hard it was on her from time to time, it wasn't a burden she threw on the table every night. She would take client after client even though I know she had to be exhausted. I was often exhausted just watching her. Amy is already a success in all facets of her life. She's a wonderful mother but she's professional, driven, impeccably dressed, with a blowout for the gods. I would be happy with what she's already accomplished but she wants more and that's amazing. She makes it look easy and I've often wondered where her energizer battery is hidden to be able to get all this done. I've met her daughters and they are wonderful girls so somehow she manages it all and does it well. I take my hat off to her and I have nothing but respect for a woman doing her thing and handling her business. I want to be her when I get my shit together.

Adrienne--

Adrienne has an unmistakable laugh that is so distinctive you would know it's her no matter where you heard it. Another planet? Don't care, that's Adrienne. It's such an awesome laugh that it makes you laugh. It's genuine, it's from the gut, it's loud and beautiful. Adrienne is studious. She takes notes, she knows what, when, where, why, and how much. You don't have to ask, she already emailed you the info. Adrienne: "Didn't you read my email?" I only started checking my email after I felt bad for missing one she'd sent once. If Adrienne doesn't know, the details haven't been released yet. Adrienne used to be on Kidd Kraddick In The Morning. I remember thinking that was the coolest thing ever. She has that radio voice. It's clear, demands to be heard, and respected. She's clever, funny, and just plain likable. I was so pleased to discover her mutual bizarre obsession for all things Amanda Bynes. We once missed someone's run at school because we were in the creative room watching Amanda Bynes go on a rant at LAX on TMZ. I think she's fun and I think she's got a great life ahead of her. She'll excel and be the first to finish anything she touches. We tested out several weird makeup looks on each other and she never complained. "Adrienne, I'm gonna do this, okay?" "It's cool. Whatever. I don't care". She was so easy-going and her bone structure is perfect for being a model but she won't sit still to get it done for shit. Her makeup skills have reached an amazing level. It was a thrill to literally be able to watch her talents grow. I think she's a freaking riot.

Alex--

I had to pass Alex every time I wanted to go to the vending machine for a soda. Alex is very anti-soda. I playfully called her the soda gestapo. She would see me fishing for change in my bag and I would try to sneak passed her. "Getting a soda?", she'd ask. I'd immediately justify my reasons. Her looks of judgements were painful at first but I think she eventually gave up on me. Eventually it became, "Drink your damn soda, I don't care." I said nothing to her when she ate pop tarts. Alex is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Her skin is like porcelain but she always tells us of imaginary skin flaws no one else sees but her. Alex doesn't talk a whole lot but when she does, it's hilarious. You never what she'll say but she'll say exactly what she's thinking. She's a perfectionist and very detail oriented. She also has the cutest assortment of boots you've ever seen. I've gotten to have Alex do a few of my facials and she gave me a few details about her private life during them. I was glad to get to be privy to that. She's not the type that's going to immediately tell you her life story. To get details, you have to be in her circle for a minute. She doesn't mix her personal life with school and that will take her even farther. She's drama free, she's professional, and she'll be hired immediately. She's shared some of her weird fruits and foods that I'm not really sure what they are with me and I've enjoyed our smart-assed back n' forth.

Kayla.

Kayla was my teacher but Kayla was a major part of my experience. When we moved into creative and started getting to know Kayla I wanted to be extra charming because I thought she was fierce and I wanted her to like me. I was trying to be funny and said something a few days in. Whatever it is I said is irrelevant. Kayla turned around and gave me this weird look. I thought, "Oh shit, she hates me." I eventually came to realize Kayla makes faces and not to read too much into it. I quickly developed a deep admiration for Kayla. I wrote her a sappy letter after graduation and apologized if I'd ever blurred the teacher/student lines. She's friendly and warm so it's easily done. She never taught through intimidation or made any of us feel inferior. She was always supportive, laughed with us, and cut us a little slack -- but not too much -- when we were on hard times. I learned so much from her and I will miss her as much as I'll miss anybody. Truth is, I'm hoping we can hang out now that I'm graduated so maybe I won't have to miss her at all. She was an influence that came along at an important time in my life. I needed her support and guidance and her approval meant a lot to me. She taught me makeup, brows, and pointed out that I needed to trust in my abilities and learn to take a compliment. I once did a makeup job and I asked Kayla's opinion. She said it was great. I wasn't happy until I'd all but begged her to pick it apart. I don't know why I do that. She's a big reason I came to school every day so a large portion of my success is due to her. She knew when to hold my hand and when to let go. She never hovered over me or doubted my ability to make a judgement call in the treatment room. I grew to adore and respect her very much. I hold her in very high regard and she was a great influence on me. Nothing would have been the same without her. She was huge piece of the puzzle. I'm not a huggy person and neither is she but I found myself hugging Kayla a lot towards the end. I love her and I just wanted her to know it. Life's short so here's a hug 'cause I love you and shit.

All these women have had such a profound effect on me. I've seen traits and qualities that exist within them that I'd like to adopt for myself. We went on a journey together and we finished it together. We've all seen each other through good times and bad times but I've loved looking at them the past few weeks and seeing the look of self-accomplishment on their faces. I've learned there are things I consider a struggle that might be a walk in the park for of them and vice versa. Where you excel someone might struggle. I learned to never get caught up in professional jealousy. If someone is better at you in something, be humble enough to ask for their advice rather than hate on them for it. I've grown to love these ladies in a deeper way than I ever thought I would. I know their stories, their struggles and I was present for some of those struggles but I was also there for their triumph. I see something in all of them that I can learn from and work on within myself. The past 8 1/2 months have been a whirlwind and I don't recognize the girl on day one unwrapping her kit at "kit-mas". I've been through life-changing events since then and I've come out the other side a completely different person. All my products marked "professional use only" still give me pride because I know what to do with them. I'm a real live esthetician and so are they. I watched their journey and watched us all grow as a group. You're my heroes, ladies. Thank you for the lessons, the laughs, the love. I couldn't picture it with anyone else. I will take a piece of each one of you with me into my future. I hope I can tell you all about it over drinks for years to come. Here's to us.

 

Two Months

Today is 2 months. Two months of a new normal that isn't normal at all. Two months of tearful outbursts, two months of feeling lost in a nightmare no one will wake me up from, two months of realizing one of the most important people in my life is gone. Before all this, I'd always said there were a handful of people I'd be lost without and would probably need to be issued a straight jacket if something ever happen to them; my kids, Jason, my mom, and Ryan. This is my circle. These are my people. No one offered me that straight jacket and a stay in a mental health facility has sounded like a nice break. But alas, life beckons, and I must answer. I kept waiting for someone to say, "She's lost it" and come get me. 

You don't realize the things that will hurt the most. It's the first time something happens that you can't wait to tell them and you pick up the phone to call or text. Then it dawns on you, AGAIN, they're gone. The weird part is you lose them all over again every single day. I log onto Facebook and someone will have made a lovely gesture and posted his picture but BOOM, there it is, first thing in the morning. My coffee with a side of gut wrenching pain. I know it sounds mean, but sometimes I don't want to see his face. Sometimes seeing his face makes me have to hold back an animalistic sobbing whale from rising up from my insides. If my feelings could make a sound I feel like it would something like a wounded animal in the wild. No real words to speak of; just the sound of pain and desperation because no words are fitting. I have no words for what I feel. It's a pain that's mind, body, and soul. It's all consuming. I remember his hands, every mark on his body, every scar, his thick beard, his tattoos, his keloids…. I take on physical symptoms I fear he felt. I wonder if he was in pain. I wonder if he was scared. I wonder if he knew I was coming. I can only allow those thoughts to creep in once in a while because it's just too much. I fear I will die, too. Maybe it's because I don't think life goes on without him. Human life is so fragile. I thought he was superhuman. I guess I'm not, either.

I don't like breaking down in front of people. I didn't want that to happen but it has. At my final pow wow at school, everyone commended me on finishing school amid all this. I couldn't stop the tears. People tell you how strong you are. I don't think I'm strong. I certainly wasn't as tears rolled out uncontrollably and I sobbed like a baby while sitting on a stage in a room full of grown women. At the end, you're given the mic to say something pivotal. To offer words of wisdom to the future grads. I had poignant things to say planned. I was going to move them. I was going to push every woman in that room to love one another, to grab the world by the balls, to be unstoppable. All I really did was sob into the mic and inaudibly babble that I'd lost my brother so be nice to each other. Whoops…. I was still coherent enough to look down into the crowd as I wept and saw two girls tapping away on their iPads as my soul was raw and exposed, drenched in a spotlight. It crossed my mind to call them out but the truth is, I've fought more battles in the past two months than I care to admit. I've had public brawls and had several not-so-shining moments. I've been like that drunk, white trash woman at the county fair that came for two reasons; to drink beer and fight and she just ran out of beer. I'm tired of fighting so I let them tap. My mother is a gentle soul and doesn't care for public spats. This makes it all the more odd that the two of the mouthiest people on earth are her children. She's gentle; meaning she will handle things slowly and methodically and hit you from behind after you think things have died down. You have to respect that kind of approach. I tend to swing first and ask questions later; it's not my best feature. Problem is, you always see me coming. I don't have to attend every argument I'm invited to. I'm trying to decline as many invitations as I can these days. It's not cute and I'd like to be a lady so I'm doing my best to gag that county fair woman. A few brawls that have occurred, I will not apologize for and that's just the way it is. In extreme circumstances, I did what I had to do. In areas that matter, my opponent and I will take it to the woodshed and one of us isn't going to come back alive. That's just me and Ryan would've been the first to tell you that. Had be been able, he would've cautioned them from jump: "I wouldn't if I were you." I had already decided that if the situation got out of control, I'd have to have my own t-shirt fundraiser. I was going to do a very Courtney Love photo cradled in text reading "Free KILLER's Sister". It was for attorney's fees, etc.

My anger phase is beginning to dissipate and I'm experience a weird drive. A drive from within to fight and conquer and deep lack of concern for many things. I feel like a piece of him has crawled inside me and he's decided to finish out the ride by taking me up a notch. Maybe I've made that all up in my head…. Whatever works, right? All my doubts and fears have faded away. I don't scrutinize or doubt myself anymore. I jump into things with both barrels and I've had a lot of experiences in the passed two months I might have otherwise missed. Why miss things? I'm going to do things and do them the way I want to do them. I don't care who's watching or what they're thinking. I've been friended by a lot of people who only came to be a looky-loo…. To watch the train wreck in slow motion. I've heard the rumors of people back home asking if he was a "transvestite". I laugh really hard at that; he would, too. Ordinarily, I'd delete these people. Nah….  Come on in. Have a look around. It's all pretty fabulous, lol. If you can't see that, chances are I don't like you anyway. Mom and I discussed how our book would help the LGBT community and do well in areas like the one we grew up in where there are kids going through Ryan's same struggle and feel judged and alone. It will also maybe crack the door and let a little light in for the local yocals. Even if it doesn't, they'll still read it 'cause they're nosy and it will contribute money into his foundation. Either way, it's a win-win.

I'll go days and not feel his presence and then one day I can feel his energy. Ryan was like a father figure to me. He was aggressive with me but because he saw me as his responsibility, as an extension of himself. Ryan was loving with me but stern, as well. He wasn't afraid to shake the shit out of me, either. When he's with me, it feels like he's trying to push me. I have bad dreams and one night I dreamt he was standing behind glass and I was clawing and screaming trying to get to him. He was trying to say something to me but I couldn't hear him. I woke up sobbing and screaming his name. My heart was pounding and I sat up and caught my breath. I rolled over, decided I couldn't face the day, and went back to sleep. I woke up moments later, shoving at something because I felt like I was being booted out of bed. I got up and I faced the damned day and I got a lot accomplished. You see, I couldn't quit school. He would've killed me for that. He would never want me to let this put me into a holding period. Using this as an excuse to quite life would've just made things worse.

We had an awesome guest speaker at school. She was an expert in Chinese astrology. I looked up all my loved one's energies as she spoke. Ryan was a dragon. The only animal in the zodiac that is a mythical creature. Villagers would live at the base of mountains because they believed dragons lived behind them. If the village was ever attacked, the dragons would descend over the mountains and protect them. Dragons protect fiercly even if they know you're wrong. She said, "God help those who mess with a dragon's person". He was my dragon; my beautiful, protective, mythical dragon. My dragon would never leave me, he protects me in a different way now.

At night I lay down and try to sleep. I allot an hour of sleeplessness for heavy thoughts. I think of him every night and, yes, I cry every single night. Sometimes it's one tear, sometimes it's convulsions. Last night, was no different. My thoughts drifted to my brother. I feel asleep around 2:00 but my dream was very different than the disturbing dreams I've had prior. I dreamt I was auditioning for some sort of stage appearance. I didn't get it and I left pissed. I walked out thinking they wouldn't know talent if it hit 'em in the face. I left and walked into the parking lot and saw a vintage '57 chevy. I thought, "I like that one. I'll take that." I got into the car and blasted off down a beautiful scenic road that was new yet so familiar. The air was fresh and crisp and I could smell that old car smell; musty and engine-like. Out of nowhere I lit up a cigarette. I haven't smoked in almost a year but I was sure enjoying that camel. I hit the gas, the engine revved, and the horsepower pleased me ever so much. The wind was in my hair and I felt free. I blasted with nowhere in particular in mind, just enjoying the ride. Maybe this was him subliminally letting me see into things. Maybe he was too much for this life. Maybe he metaphorically walked off stage and blasted off in a vehicle of his choosing.

Two months and I've pictured him in a thousand different ways: reincarnated as a fox, forever on a stage doing what he loved, a white light surrounding us, being very James Dean in that car forever on a joyride. Two months and I've lost him everyday since. It hurts less to think of him in a beautiful state and forever with me. I will never see him again. I will never talk to him again. I have to figure out how to make decisions without his guidance. But like I said, my dragon didn't leave me. I question less because I feel like I'm being steered internally. I'm free because I've been given the knowledge that your life is yours alone. No one can live it for you and no one is judge and jury. No one is going to crawl into your coffin with you so remember that the next time you debate how others will feel about YOUR choices. How will you feel when you've altered who you are for someone who won't be following you? You have one life. Live it true.

 

I have to find him in other ways now. I have to listen, I have to be open, I have to be willing to be outside the box. I will not close my mind or care who finds my choices out of their realm of understanding. Yes two months, I've lost him everyday but I find him everywhere. I find myself everyday.

WWRD

Today at 2:24 PM

I will be really glad to see 2014 go. It's been a year that has brought about the most change in my life. It's had it's positive aspects and it's been absolutely brutal. I've suffered major loss while trying to achieve many things. The harsh parts are pretty obvious but I've decided not to lose my brother without finding a lesson in it for myself. I have to take this and make it push me harder instead of letting it push me down to the depths of anguish so deep I'll never recover. I have always been a look before you leap kind of girl. I've made snap decisions in the past but over minor things like hair dye and rearranging furniture. The big things are thought out to the point of exhaustion and I've made sure to suck every last ounce of joy out of it. I've held myself back for fear of making myself look like a fool for raising my hand to offer up my "talents". In my mind I assume it'll be met with, "Who does this broad think she is?". When we first started taking clients at school, it was obvious most of the girls were interested more in the makeup than facials. Facials are a necessary part of the curriculum so you tow the line. It's pretty rare that a client comes in for makeup but it's always an exciting buzz behind the scenes. Some are already well-established artists and don't need the hands-on experience because they're already solid in their skills. I'm not necessarily one of these people. I would stand back, start to step up to the plate, and then find myself backing away. There are several jobs I let slip through my fingers because I was afraid. Afraid of what? Failure; of being watched and scrutinized. All makeup clients are taken in the forefront of the salon where clients and other students are free to walk by and observe. Every time I'm working on someone (even in the back) and I can feel someone watching me over my shoulder, my pulse speeds up and my hands begin to shake. Not something you want happening during a liquid eyeliner application. No, no, no.

I worked on someone the night before Ryan passed. She was a friendly woman who gave me carte blanche to give her glamour. She was wearing black and going to a dimly lit place for a small cocktail affair. She was comfortable with a dark eye and had worn heavy makeup in the past. Asking is crucial because my version of slightly heavy may be considered Vegas showgirl to her. There was a little girl running around while her mom got her hair done. She made several trips by to observe my situation. I had freshly dyed pink hair and was elbow deep in a charcoal smoky eye.  The lady had a very deep-set eye and I was struggling to blend the line. I remember repeating in my head, "You did not come all the way from Flippin, Arkansas to flake out and mess up this eye. Get it together!" Then my classic go-to, "WWRD?" (what would Ryan do?). I continued to watch this little girl dance around in my peripherals but she certainly wasn't my focus. 

 

Knowing when to quite and stop retouching is another thing I need to work on. I'll pick until I've made it worse, not better. I'm usually one lifted lash away from a bathroom meltdown. If I see a flaw, it's all I'll see; not the good contour work, not the not the good blending. I'll just see those few flaws that make me feel like she will later wear a sign that reads, "Misty was my makeup artist, come closer and see where she failed". 

I finally wrapped up and the lady seemed to like her makeup. She tipped me very well and went on her way. I stayed behind to clean up my mess and the little girl was on her way out with her mom. Kids, who don't know not to point or talk about people in a low tone said, "Mom, I like her hair. I want to do makeup!" I smiled to myself knowing she thought I was cool. I know this because I was once like her. There was a girl back home that was in her early 20s when I was little. Her name was Kim Wilkins. She was everything I ever wanted to be; she was beautiful, blonde, tan, athletic, drove a mustang, and dated what, I thought, was the most handsome guy in town. I wanted to be her when I grew up. She was my first real girl crush. I would watch her in awe when she would play sports but I wonder now, did my idol ever have doubts? Did she ever question her abilities or go home and rip herself apart after I'd just sat in bleachers thinking she was the coolest thing since sliced bread? I would've never imagined her doing that because I thought she was the bees knees. If that little girl could've heard the thoughts in my head, tearing myself to shreds while doing that makeup, would she have still thought I was cool or just pathetic? I'm glad she couldn't hear my thoughts and I'm ashamed of myself for having them and I'm not going to do it anymore.

Lately I've become somewhat of a "yes woman". I don't avoid things anymore due to feeling unqualified, afraid, or out of place. It starts with "Misty you want to……?" and it's met with a "YES". Life is too short and I will not miss experiences or opportunities because of self-doubt. I could be gone tomorrow and there are things I will have missed out on over limits I've created in my own mind. These limits aren't real. I've imprisoned myself and shame on me. I'm going to dive in and live my life to the fullest. I will go hard professionally and I will slow down and savor those precious moments with my family just a little bit more. I will find the balance. I will be confident but hold on to my humble. I do not need reassurance to conquer and I refuse to be my own worst enemy. WWRD? Funny, when I've heard his voice a few times during my sleep, one of them sounded an awful lot like him telling me to get my ass out of bed and pull myself together after I'd spent a few days in bed. I know it sounds silly but sometimes when I'm working on something, I look down at my arm and think, "Guide my arm foxy". I feel like I metaphorically took off my chains. What's the worst that can happen? I've experienced the worst that can happen and you aren't given the option to throw in the towel. When people say, "I don't know how you are doing it." There isn't a choice. No one came and said would you like to take the next 5 years off? Life goes on and those around you aren't going to stop and wait for you. While I'm in bed, someone else took my gig. I have to regroup and rebuild and I have to make him proud. If that requires taking who he was and applying it to myself to feel like I'm continuing his legacy then that's what I'll do. Mom and I have several things in the works that we will be presented as they reach a certain point. Mom has changed but as odd as it sounds, in a good way. I'm proud of her. Neither one of us will ever be the same people we were. In a weird way, we've only improved. Our struggle reads in everything we do now; it is present in our faces, eyes, and decisions. Sometimes being slapped with a gut-wrenching loss evolves into the most freeing experience of your life. We're going on vacation soon because we need one and we aren't worried about money, work, or opinions. We'll make Ryan proud and I will never hold back ever again.

What He Meant To Me

Today at 10:13 AM

Jason says that I have to purge. He says I have to write it all down and get it out of me. He said that I've written my blog about the loss of my brother but now I have to write what Ryan meant to me. Jason says I've been tough to deal with lately and for that, I'm sorry. I get lost inside myself and my fuse, which was short already, has been cut in half. I'll be the first to admit that I'm irrational and I pity anyone who's had to deal with me, namely Jason. In trying to talk me down out of the rafters, he said something that really hit home. He said, "Misty, he was my brother, too. I lost him, too." In that moment, I felt like an asshole. He was absolutely right and I'm sorry. Watching my son lose his cool when we walked into the funeral home, made me realize I had hogged the agony for myself. Jason said he's been surprised that I haven't written much. I've had no strength. It's all I can do to get through my daily routine, let alone be funny or witty. He said, "Write or you have to go to counseling". So here's a lighter one… What Ryan meant to me, what he taught me, and the funny stories that have no purpose -- they're just damn funny.

Ryan and I have always been close. I was enamored of Ryan from birth. He was my big brother and I thought he hung the moon. Mom said he would carry me around and never hold my head so it would just be flopping around. He never did learn how to hold a baby's head. He held my kids like aliens, each and everyone of them. I digress… I followed him everywhere he went. I know he got sick of me, 'cause well, he told me he did. I slept with him until he all put physically picked me up and put into my pink frilly bed down that hall. I don't think I ever forgave him for booting me out. We would lay in bed at night to the sound of our big box fan and tell each other stories to make each other laugh. I laughed so hard once I puked all over Ryan's helium Snoopy balloon he'd gotten for his birthday. We got in big trouble that night. We would play the game where you draw a picture on each other's back and try to guess what was being drawn or written. I'd wear him down and he'd let me go back in and sleep with him every now and then. I'd wait till it was late and his resistance was down because we'd stayed up watching "Twin Peaks" or "Unsolved Mysteries" to ask. I think sometimes he was secretly creeped out, too.

I don't think it's any big secret we were poor and mom had to work tons of jobs just to keep us afloat. Ryan took care of me; he fed me, he made sure I did my chores, he cleaned up my puke, monitored my outfits, taught me right from wrong, and shielded me from mean boys. You can't begin to count the number of glasses of sweet tea and chimichanga heat-'em-up meals he put in front of me. I once had a friend remark after being around Ryan and I together, for the first time, that they'd never seen anyone be able to make me "mind" except Ryan. Ryan was like a father figure to me and yes, he could put me in check like no one else on this earth. His opinion mattered and disappointing him crushed me. Don't get me wrong, we were kids at one time and tore the house down while mom was away. We broke things, we raised hell, and had a blast. Here's a list of funny stories that are prime examples of Ryan and I as kids.

Let's start with the favorite: The hair in the vacuum cleaner story…

Ryan was the golden child. He was more responsible and least likely to garner mom a bad phone call from the school. Me? Not so much. I was rambunctious, loud, wild, lawless, and least likely to have completed our many chores before mom got home. Ryan called me the "O.G. Bad Girl". Mom drove a little blue escort and the bottom of her car would drag the top of the deeply-dipped driveway on her way into the carport. When you heard that sound, time was up. If your chores weren't completed, well, it was your ass. I'd hear that sound and scramble. Ryan would sit cooly and calmly with a smirk on his face knowing he'd already done his.  Asking for his assistance at this point would simply be met with a, "Tough noogies, kid." One day in particular I was avoiding chores, as per usual. I was splayed out on the floor with my t.v. tray, engrossed in a riveting episode of "Fraggle Rock". Ryan was vacuuming and dared to ask me to get up off the floor so he could vacuum where I was laying. I said no and without warning, Ryan rolled the vacuum over my hair and sucked it up, clean to the scalp. I think this was a rare instance he immediately felt bad. I had to wait like that till mom got home and I had to be cut loose. Ryan didn't get in trouble much. Mostly, me. This time, I think mom asked him what would posses him to do such a thing. If I remember correctly he called me a turd and I think mom probably quietly agreed. I was no walk in the park, I admit it. I know this story made the rounds among his friends because they've mentioned it to me laughing in my adult years and saying, "Now, tell me your version of the vacuum story". Clearly, he didn't feel badly enough for the story to lose it's humor. It's a classic.

The time I blacked his eye with a lemon…

Most of our fights centered around chores. Ryan was doing laundry and yelling at me that I hadn't done my fair share of the work. Mom was making real lemonade and had lemons all over the counter near her cutting board. Ryan was standing in front of the washer and he'd been having a go at me for a pretty good while. He was just yelling at me and yelling at me and I finally snapped, grabbed one of those lemons, turned around, and chucked it clear across the kitchen and through to the laundry room. That lemon couldn't have clocked him square in the eye again if I was a trained, lemon-chucking professional. It was a money shot. He had a shirt in his hands which he immediately dropped and grabbed his eye. My mom runs to Ryan and asked what would posses me to do such a thing. If memory serves, Ryan told her I was turd and she probably quietly agreed. I was around later when a friend of his asked him where he got the shiner. He side-eyed me and said, "Oh ya know… My sister beaned me with a lemon". I think I was told I was a turd but it was still a nice shot.

The time Ryan's pyro phase got out of control and he blamed me and got away with it…

Like all little boys, Ryan developed an unhealthy obsession with fire. He frequently lit small pieces of paper and let them burn down in dad's ashtray by his recliner and he would watch in awe as it would burn down to ashy remnants. A particular occasion Ryan had burned a bunch of matches and various other things and left them at the opening to the basement below the house. Mom found them and went to Ryan first. He looked her dead in the face and blamed me. I took my licks like a champ and went to my monkey swing to sniffle and think bad thoughts about mom AND Ryan. Ryan came out of the house and approached me slowly. He had the nerve to pat my head and say, "I'm sorry, sis. I just didn't want to get in trouble." I said, "Oh like YOU would EVER get in trouble!" Then I told him he was a turd and went back to swinging.

Mom, Ryan, and I were like our own little gang. At the end of the day, we had each other. It was rare but we are family and disagreements arise. When one was mad at the other, sides would get taken. Mom and Ryan once made me so mad about something but I was really young and couldn't spell yet. I remember I felt like they were ganging up on me and the madder I got, the funnier they thought it was. I was fuming. I went to my little pink, frilly room with the white whicker furniture and slammed the door. I filled Easter baskets with all the things that mattered -- my Miss Piggy and my Cabbage Patch Kids. Who needs clothes when you're a rebel? I'll be like Annie -- dirty and street smart. I wrote a note about my plans to leave and stuck it on the outside of my door. That'll show 'em! I could hear mom and Ryan standing outside my door laughing at what I'd written. I was LIVID!!!! Apparently, what I thought I had written wasn't so beautifully conveyed. It went something like… "I hate me mudder. I hate me brudder. Lick navy." I'm not sure what I was trying to get across but it didn't compute. They laughed and laughed.

………………………..Turds.

The last physical brawl…

Ryan and I grew into what I would consider classy adults but deep down we were both scrappy. We were no stranger to physical fights with each other. Ryan didn't take it easy on me because I was a girl when things got heated. He would come at me like a boy and it was sink or swim. I could always hold my own with Ryan right up until his freshman year in college. I was dating a boy Ryan couldn't stand. I was going through a bad boy stage and Ryan highly disapproved. He was home from college for the weekend and a fight broke out about the boyfriend. Ryan came at me and we started wrestling around in the living room. Mom, being no stranger to this, just moved things around us and stepped up to the upper level away from the sunken living room and let us duke it out. I remember her standing there, arms folded, dish towel in hand, disgusted look on face. There was just no other way for her to handle it. I wouldn't have recommended getting in the middle of it. We were heathens. I ripped Ryan's shirt clean off his body. Not over his head, through his body. I ripped it clean in half across his back. We landed on the coffee table, breaking it. As Ryan began getting the better of me, I remember thinking, "God, he's really grown into a man!" I had the strong desire to raise the white flag and scream, "TIME OUT!" I think mom finally broke it up and sent us to separate ends of the house to cool off. I later came to Ryan crying, told him I was sorry, we hugged, and knew no fight between us was ever the last word. 

When Ryan started college, we went through a weird period of trying to adjust to him leaving our little town and believe me, he left skid marks getting out of there. Our area growing up wasn't accepting and extremely judgmental. I didn't blame him a bit for wanting out. I wished he had taken me with him. He swears he remembers his coming out story to me. I don't remember it that well because it wasn't an issue. He claims I was digging in my closet, (yes in the closet), for something and he said, "Hey Mist, I'm going to the store and by the way -- I'm gay." He said I leaned out of the closet and said, "Get me a coke and DUH". Despite being different from what's considered normal in our small little town, Ryan was already somewhat of a legend. His talent was too much to ignore even by the most conservative standards. He took the local school plays and turned them into award-winning dramas. He wasn't always understood where we grew up but he was still fascinating to everyone because he was an effing star. His talents and good looks made everyone keenly aware he was someone, going somewhere whether you understood him or not. As he aged and spread his wings, the world began to notice even more what a special gift he was. It was proven to me that I wasn't just a little sister with a biased perspective of how awesome her big brother was. The world saw it, too, and I had to share my rock star with the world. A part of me always resented it just a little bit. He wasn't mine, alone. I had to share him. Though, being Ryan's little sister wasn't always easy. In fact, my name was, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", for most of my adolescence. My whole life I struggled to be as funny, quick-witted, talented, and as smart as Ryan. But alas, there can only be one Ryan and believe me, the world knew it. I would whine to him about my legacy of not being him, but he would joke that I was the Janet to his Michael. I would joke back that I was more like the Ashlee to his Jessica. 

Ryan was a fierce protector of me and it never wavered even as we aged. There was an incident on an outing in Dallas where a guy touched me inappropriately and Ryan went ape. There was a masculine side there and it wasn't shy to make an appearance. You couldn't touch me when my brother was there. I felt safe with him. He would never let anyone hurt me. We fought each other's battles many times. When Ryan was treated like crap from jocks in school, I would wonder how hard it would be to kick a teenage boy's ass while i was in grade school. I thought I could take 'em and tried a few times. Mom said when I got my first shots as a kid that I took it like a champ but Ryan cried. Ryan and I shared a connection that we hurt more for the other's pain. He hurt, I hurt and vice versa.

Ryan continued to grow, as did our relationship. We developed a beautiful friendship but he always parented me. I would not be who I am without Ryan; not even a little bit. Our bond was unbreakable and we relied on each other through everything. We NEVER told one another how to live the other's life. We listened, we supported, and lived by the philosophy that if you're happy, I'm happy. My job was to pick him up when he fell and applaud his triumphs. I was so proud of him in everything he did. I sat in awe, like everyone else at every performance. I would sit with him on FaceTime while he beat his face, showed me new outfits, and went over routines. I had to watch via video when I couldn't be there but I was there in spirit for everything. I would stay up to help him find audio snippets for his acts. He'd never use anything I suggested but whateves. I once thought an excerpt from "Soap Dish" I'd collected had pleased him but no cigar. Ryan could never do anything or be anyone I wasn't proud of. He could never disappoint me and I would never not love every part of him. He is a part of me and I was lucky to be his little sister.

Ryan gave me life skills that have served me to the fullest in my 34 years. He taught me to always walk with my head held high. He taught me to never suffer a fool. He taught me to get ahead by being smarter, quicker, and to make them too intimidated to even think about firing the first shot. Be fearless. Be independent. Be fierce and never apologize for being just a little bit too much. Be tough and never let 'em see you sweat. Suck it up and power through. He taught me to never compromise my beliefs or who I am to pacify others. Always fight for what I believe in and stand up for those I love. Life your life as you see fit -- opinions will vary. Let 'em talk and make them eat their hearts out. 

I can never do this blog justice on what Ryan meant to me. He meant everything. He was everything wrapped into one complicated, beautiful, talented, artistic soul. His pretty, flirty eyes, wicked grin, enviable and limitless talents were something the world has lost. He was good at everything he did and that was a lot. He was a son, a brother, a friend, an uncle, a comedian, an actor, a performer, a vocalist, a musician -- he was everything. The world will miss out on who he was and who he was going to be. I didn't lose him, alone. Everyone who knew him will suffer for a long time. This loss is beyond words to everyone. The world lost its sparkle. Its darker, its less funny, it has less spirit. I still hear his voice and his laughter. I still feel his energy. I hope wherever he is, he is at peace and performing on a big stage somewhere making them eat it. I will cling to the memories and laugh at our inside jokes. I will never doubt if he knew how much I loved him. He absolutely knew. Ryan's plate was never empty if mine was full. What was mine was his and he knew that. Our last words were "I love you" and I'm so grateful for that. I love you a bushel and peck and hug around the neck, Rynoceros.  Always and forever. Until we meet again I will carry your memory. I will never let it go. So to the question, "You're Ryan's little sister, aren't you?", I proudly say YES. Yes I am.

Our New Hell

 

In the days since my brother's tragic passing, there have been things we've had to deal with that people wouldn't believe. It's as though the grief for the loss of your loved one is temporarily put on hold while you deal with trivial red tape consisting of family drama, funeral/burial details, and the hoards of people that seep out of the woodwork. Most of these people are there for comfort and support but not all. Before I was the person experiencing this type of horrific loss that all people dread, I always assumed that those in my current position were met with nothing but respect and kindness from people who are doing their best to comprehend and empathize. It never occurred to me ask them for detailed accounts of the horrific stories they probably had to tell years down the road; after it was appropriate to ask. I guess it never occurred to me to ask because it wasn't me. Therein, lies our problem. You see, I've been guilty of this way of thinking, myself. I've always heard it said that those around a person struggling with a loss give their grief an unspoken time limit. The world will mourn with you for a few weeks and then people begin to drop off one by one and no longer wish to be mired down with your unrelenting tale of woo. You're a bummer, a downer, and nobody wants to get down and roll around with you in it for as long as you intend to. I can't really say that I blame them. I do my best to suck it up, put on a normal face, and get back to my daily duties as always. I ache inside, tears stream out that I wipe away, and hope no one saw. I'm angry and I'd like an apology from the world I know will never come. I'm disgusted at those who haven't been there for me and those who've only served to make the devastation worse. 

It was Friday September 5th at 3:30 in the morning. My phone was plugged in on my nightstand and I got 2 back-to-back calls from Ryan's cell phone. The first call I was asleep and thought I was dreaming. When it rang again, it became clear it was late and there was probably a problem. I had no idea how hard my world was about to come crashing down. It was a friend of Ryan's who was at the hospital. I listened as his voice cracked and I could tell something was really wrong as he explained he was with Ryan at the hospital. Because he was not family they wouldn't tell him anything. Ryan had been brought in by ambulance vomiting up blood. I had to call the hospital and explain that I was his sister and all his family lived in different states and they were going to have to break policy and tell me what was going on over the phone. The male nurse was blunt and explained Ryan was in critical care on a ventilator and it didn't look good. He had upper GI bleeding and he was bleeding out faster than they could put it in. His blood pressure had crashed so they couldn't get him stable enough to go in to perform surgery. I will hear these words for the rest of my life, "I'm going to be honest with you, ma'am. It's not good and he could pass." I remember my arms and legs turning to ice. I couldn't feel my body. I had to call my mother but my fingers wouldn't work. How do I do this? How do I tell her what I just heard that not even I, myself, can comprehend? 

 

Mom and I began scrambling to make arrangements to get to L.A. Our cousin Wayne, who also lives in L.A., went to be with Ryan until we got there. Wayne kept us updated from the hospital and I could tell by Wayne's voice it wasn't good. He was being strong but I knew what he was trying to tell me. I knew I would never see Ryan alive again. I'm glad for shock. Our body sends us into shock to be able to deny everything going on around us for a reason. If it weren't for shock, I never would have been able to get on that plane. I desperately needed to get a sooner flight and my plan was to make a plea to the woman at the counter. Jason tried to explain for me that we had special circumstances and really needed an earlier flight. They weren't helpful and I was in no state to fight. I walked away and they called me back on the intercom. I approached her again and she said, "Now, explain what's going on again…." I didn't think, I just said, "My brother is dying and I need to get there now". As the words left my mouth, I felt my soul leave my body. She gave me that look of pity, I've gotten very accustomed to. All it means to me now is "I'm glad I'm not you." She bumped up my flight. Getting on that plane, I knew the news awaiting me once I touched down.

The flight to L.A. is a blur. There were loud women next to me laughing the whole time. They didn't notice me but I'll remember them forever. I wondered how many people have I passed that may have been feeling what I was feeling that I had no idea about. Did I casually walk by laughing and talking without a care in the world? Maybe I'm part of someone else's annoying blurred memories on the worst day of their life. My thoughts rambled and I kept thinking about Ryan laying there and wondering if he was still breathing. Wondering if my brother was gone and I was in the air so no one would tell me. Wondering if my life was already ruined and people were waiting to hit me with it once I was on the ground. I landed and started the journey straight to the hospital. I knew mom was already there. She hadn't called and I knew what her silence meant. I was about 10 minutes away when the call came in. It was over. He was gone. I remember a sound like an animal came out of me. It came out of my gut and I thought I was going to be sick. Then shock kicked back in.

I arrived at the hospital and Wayne met me out front. I was issued my bracelet and we went up to the CICU. We got off the elevator and took a right and there were double doors. I stopped in my tracks and had no intentions of going any further. Wayne went to get mom for me and I paced in the hallway until she got there. I saw my mom and fell into her arms like I was a child. My mother is strong but she was in shock and I knew she wasn't fully present either. She asked if I wanted to see him and I said no. I chose not to remember him that way. I know what he looks like. I didn't want that image burned into my memory forever. Mom had to go back into the room and I slid down the wall and laid in the floor of the hospital corridor letting everything fall out. People passed and looked at me and looked away quickly so as to not feel guilty for observing the worse moment of my life. Immediately there were people in my face and they just sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher -- "WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH". It felt like a person in particular was overstepping their bounds and talking to me about my brother as though I didn't know him. It was far too soon to be such an outlandish presence. All I could think was "Who the hell are you?" Nothing was real and my fog was dense. I wanted to be left there on that floor. You think about sick things. I didn't want to see him but I wanted to go grab him and leave with him screaming that they've made a mistake. If I don't accept it, it isn't true. I felt that if he heard my voice, he'd wake up. If he just heard how much I couldn't live without him, he'd rally. Something would change. He'd never do this to me. He'd never leave me to fight this world without him. I wanted to crawl into that bed and die with him.

I stood as low talking went on and went in whatever direction I was ushered. I clung to my mom as we left the hospital. There was nothing more to be done here. We went directly to Wayne's house where mom and I sat on the couch staring into space like zombies. There was no life in us, it had just been stolen. Everything we've ever known had been altered. Ryan had just been ripped from us without fair warning. We went to bed and slept maybe 2 hours. We would wake up intermittently to talk, cry, and argue. The next few days are a haze. We had to go to Ryan's apartment the next day to go through his things. His room smelled like him. I touched things as though I was touching him. His shirts, his shoes, his sunglasses still not he nightstand. On the nightstand was imodium. I thought, "Really, Ryan?" I knew things weren't there but nothing was registering. Mom, in usual form, cleaned his kitchen -- that's her way and how she coped. She hadn't processed anything yet. She wiped the counter and his hair was in her hands. I know she probably wanted to shove it in her pocket. You want to keep everything. Every little shred of them that's left. His guitars had his fingerprints on them, (still do). We picked out what he was to be buried in. I made that call. His burgundy Gucci shirt, slacks, and his favorite pair of ugly boots. We packed what we could carry and what could be shipped and went on to the hopsital. We had to get our little wrist bands put on as we did the night before. I don't really remember doing it that first night. We had to discuss transporting him to Arkansas and the details are just revolting. It's like talking about luggage or freight. They refer to him as "the body" without the slightest bit of guilt. Mom signed papers and handled it, I don't know how. I stared into the hall and wondered if he ever knew he'd been there. I hope he didn't know a damn thing.

We made all the arrangements we could locally and went home to wait and sit in our newfound hell. It would take a week and half to get Ryan home. The funeral commenced and faces upon faces would pass, say kind words, and hug us. I was outside my body. I was somewhere else at whatever party even Ryan himself would rather be attending. I sat as Ryan's videos played and as both sides of my family awkwardly tried to be in the same room for the first time in an eternity. I sat between my parents for the first time since I was a baby. They never spoke a word to one another. I watched my dad look like a wounded little boy with shaky hands. I watched my husband, son, and cousins carry Ryan to his final resting place. I held my son as he sobbed and got his first taste of life's ultimate cruelty. I kissed Ryan's casket and told him I loved him. I had to walk off my family's farm and had leave him there. There is no eloquent ending to this. Me walking away was by no means the end of my hell. The hard part had just begun and every day it gets harder, not better. My mom and I feel as though we should be quarantined by ourselves to wallow around in our misery without judgment or advice. We died, too. I would like to reserve the right to bow out for a while. To not participate in things for a while. If there's such a place where I could do that, I'd love to hear about it. We tread water as the world asks, "Are you over it yet?" The answer is no. Not even close. Everyone else begins to avoid you because as my mom says, they think "Here she comes again with her sad face". Our sadness is to the bone and shows no signs of easing.

Anxiety Purge

I don’t know why I choose to be so open about all aspects of my life but I think everyone has something to say and experiences to share.  There have been times when someone was brave enough to put their issues out there and I was grateful for their bravery because it was something I may have struggled with also and was happy to have another perspective.  It always helps to know you’re not alone in any situation.  So if this helps anyone who might suffer from anxiety, it’s worth it.  I think getting it out will be beneficial for me, too. 

This morning I found myself anxious, as I often do.  This is the point I grab my Comet, rubber gloves, and scrub stuff.  As I found myself engaged in my typical activities to ward off my anxiety, I felt like maybe writing some of it down would be more cathartic.  I have struggled with anxiety and panic attacks since I was young.  I did odd things as a kid that I realize now were signs of a classic case of OCD.  My first experience with it is the most embarrassing and hardest to tell but it is what it is.  The first example I can remember of my weirdness was when I became obsessed with God and going to hell.  I remember the first time I was told about hell.  It scared me so much I ran around the room sobbing and hyperventilating.   It, quite literally, put the fear of God in me.  I became obsessed with prayer and going to hell.  I began praying constantly.  It became a full-blown obsession.  I prayed so often, I learned to do it nonchalantly so no one would pick up on my strange and frequent little quirk.  That is, right up until I decided my prayers would better make it to heaven if I could scoop up my words in the air and push them upward to the sky.  I felt they would lift right up to God and I wouldn’t go to hell.  I guess I decided I needed to add one more thing to be just a little bit more weird.  This little motion couldn’t be done so subtly.  I was caught a few times and asked what the hell I was doing.  It was very hard to explain it away.  There were even pictures taken where I was caught mid-ritual.  It was difficult, but I eventually became embarrassed enough that I forced myself to stop doing it.  Although, I remained convinced God would know I was too embarrassed to do my ritual to send my prayers up to him. I just had to hope he would understand and let me off the hook at some point.

I had a series of little hand gestures and throat clearing things I had developed, as well, but nothing major.  They weren’t completely out of control until I started school at Conway.  Don’t get me wrong, I came to love going to school there.  I made great friends and it was an experience I’d never had before and desperately needed.  It’s just that the initial change threw me into overdrive and that’s when everything really began to manifest.  I didn’t know any of these people so everything I did was a first impression and all they would know of me.  Oh, the pressure!  Every little thing made my heart race…  Finding a classroom…  Which bus do I take?...  Who will I sit with at lunch?... 

My first year at Conway is the first panic attack I ever experienced.  I had no idea what was happening but I thought I was having a physical attack of some sort.  It began with heat rushing up from my neck and engulfing my face.  It has always started that way and has never changed.  What I remember most was my hands went numb.  I couldn’t hold my pencil.  It just kept rolling out of my hand and off my desk.  I made my way to the teacher’s desk to tell her I was having a problem.  I didn’t really know what to say other than exactly what was happening.  I told her my hands were numb.  She looked very confused and I really wish she had given me a little discretion during our exchange but she spoke loudly and all of the kids in the class were in on my weird medical phenomenon.  I think I remained some sort of anomaly to her the remainder of the year.  I think she knew something was up with me, but she wasn’t sure what.  Maybe if we BOTH knew what was going on, things would have happened a little bit more quietly that day.  Her making me a public spectacle only made the rest of my body go numb.  She sent me to the nurse and I wobbled to my desk because I couldn’t tell if my legs were solid underneath me.  I was having a very “here but not here” sensation.  I was completely discombobulated.  As I put my belongings back in my backpack and made my way through the desks, one of the guys in the class said, “Her hands aren’t numb.  She probably just got her period.”  Lucky for him, I had no fight in me.  But I will say it now:  Fuck You, Nick Porter.  You googly –eyed asshole.

I made my way to the nurse and all they could really ascertain was that I was pale and slightly incoherent.  They gave me a slip and called my mom to come get me.  As I waited for my mom to get there, I kept looking down and realizing that I had dropped my little blue slip because I couldn’t feel my hands.  I finally gave up and left it lying on the floor.  I went home and began feeling fine again and after a few hours, it was like it never happened.

After that episode, though, panic attacks became a regular thing and it caused me to develop constant anxiety about having a panic attack.  It was then my rituals became a solid part of my routine to keep bad things from happening.  It’s a vicious cycle.  I would do my best to stay calm and take deep breaths and hope it would pass.  I didn’t understand what it was so I know teachers didn’t understand what it was.  I was in English once and an attack came over me and I guess I was white as a sheet and had a death grip on my desk so intense that the teacher noticed me and stopped class to ask if I was okay.  That’s the worst possible thing she could have done.  In those moments, all I wanted was to disappear and be left alone.  Please, do anything but notice me or call me out.  I realize she thought she was doing the proper thing and checking on my well-being but I felt like she had just fed me to the wolves.  I began going home a lot during mid-day, (her class period).  I was already consumed with the fear of having a panic attack but then the added fear of having one in HER class.  It would give her an opportunity to dim the lights, put the spotlight on me so everyone could point and laugh at the mental girl who freezes and shakes like an inbred Chihuahua. 

I didn’t know how to explain to anyone what was happening to me.  I didn’t know it was a real thing and I wasn’t the only person with this problem.  How do you tell someone that out of nowhere you become completely consumed and frozen with fear?  They will ask, “Fear of what?”  ….My answer?  “…..Everything.”  I was young, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t going to make sense to a lot of people so I worked through it the best I could.  The amazing thing is; I eventually overcame it.  My social life picked up and I became more interested in that and basically grew tired of the amount of time and energy I was devoting to the anxiety.   I either grew out of it or just managed to somehow close the lid on it.  It faded away, truly.

I have always been nervous and prone to overthinking but I wasn’t experiencing states of debilitating and irrational panic anymore.  If I stay busy, I’m right as rain.  I’m a social butterfly and I feed off of other people’s energy.  I need it to survive.  I hate to admit that since I made the decision to stay home, my old issues have resurfaced.  The solitude has really wreaked havoc.  If I’m left alone with my own thoughts for too long, I will work very hard to drive myself crazy.  I worry.  I worry all the time and if I can’t think of something to worry about, I’ll make something up.  If I get onto a worry I can reason into a legitimate concern, I can throw myself into a pacing frenzy. 

I had my first panic attack of my adult life just a few years ago.  Only this time, I knew exactly what it was.  Jason is a champ and puts up with my shit to the best of his abilities.  He admits he doesn’t understand it and I can see his frustration at times.  He knows when I’m in a bad state and will grab me and remind me to breathe.  In those times, forgetting to breathe is common. 

I have episodes of paranoia where I feel like everything I do is under a microscope and is being critiqued.  Someone, somewhere, goes home and checks off a list of why I suck because I haven’t done everything perfectly.  “OOooh, Misty’s house isn’t clean enough *check*  Reid’s eczema is flaring up *check*”  My mom tells me this is a form of narcissism.  Perhaps it is.  Great…  Just one more thing.  I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop; for someone to lower the boom and ruin my world.  These are not things I’m proud of, you understand.  Believe me, I wish I didn’t have anxiety.  It can really make an otherwise sane person look really ridiculous and who wants to look ridiculous?  I’m very self-aware so I do my best to maintain.  I am a manic cleaner because it’s how I stay busy and keep my mind quiet.  It’s as though I believe I can scrub away my worry.  I have scrubbed till my hands have bled before.  That’s where I found myself at 8 A.M. when I decided to write this down.  I have no doubts that once I begin school in Feb., I will improve 100%.  I’ve been happy to have this time to be home with my kids but I think the seclusion has had a few negative effects on me.  These issues only started happening again after a few years of staying home.  Sometimes only having yourself to talk to makes you realize you’re not your biggest fan, lol.  When I have people to talk to, I do quite well and no longer recognize the girl who paces and worries about worrying.  There are things I want to make sure I state here:  I don’t want to be one of those people who paints a picture of everything being perfect.  I don’t want to imply I’m unhappy.  I also don’t want to come off like the little housewife who lives a nice life but manages to find something to whine about and is looking for pity.  It’s just something I suffer with and right now it’s at a peak.  I’ll get a grip on it again but I think it will require me to have outside stimulation to make that happen.  Stay-at-home moms don’t often talk about some of the harsh realities that come with the territory.  It has its amazing points but it’s not all rainbows, bubblegum, and Pinterest.  It can be lonely.  It can socially stunt you.  Sometimes when you focus solely on one thing, you let it become bigger than yourself.  I mentioned feeling critiqued, but I’m the one doing the critiquing.  It’s my check list and I’m my harshest critic. 

I hope there’s one person out there who can relate to this blog and not think I’m the weirdest person you’ve ever encountered.  Some people may be shocked and have no idea this is an issue for me.  Maybe I’ll be shocked to discover this is an issue for some of you.  I feel better now.  My urge to purge worked out and helped me address some of my ridiculousness and in reading some of this back, it helps me see that I am logical and see the issues so I’m not completely lost.  I think I’ll finish cleaning now but at a leisurely pace.  Maybe open the shades and let a little light in.  I think I already metaphorically let a little light in.

Christmas Nostalgia

I have made it this year all the way to Thanksgiving without having a Christmas tree up yet.  I vowed I would make it!  Although, I assure you, it goes up on Friday.  I know it’s ridiculous to attempt to fast forward through one holiday to get to the better one, but I think those of us who rush to hang our lights and stockings do so because of the way it makes us feel.  It’s the cozy comfort of twinkling lights, shimmering ribbons, fuzzy blankets, and crackling fires.  It’s the one time of year people are a little bit nicer, (for the most part).  I remember hearing on the radio a few years back that during the height of foreclosures, some banks were halting all seizures from Dec. 23^rd to the 25^th and thinking, “Well, isn’t that special?”  See, even banks can have heart that will automatically self-destruct in 3 days during this time of year! 

There’s just something special about it.  I don’t know if Christmas will ever feel like it did when I was a kid, but I still get the warm and fuzzies because of my kiddos and watching them have the same delight I once had.  I would get so excited on Christmas Eve, I drove my brother crazy.  He was always cool and never got too giddy about anything.  I, however, would lie there sleepless, flailing my feet under the covers and wondering what was in each box I had shaken and debated unwrapping and tapping back together for weeks.  My family wasn’t exactly “The Cleavers” but there were special Christmas traditions.  One Christmas Eve, I asked my mom if we could all dress up for dinner.  She humored me and I felt like we were a real live TV family.  In the 80’s, my mom looked and dressed like the mom from “Growing Pains”, so for that night, I had decided we were “The Seavers”. 

We always had a real tree.  I would go with my dad on the four-wheeler to ride around the woods until we found the perfect tree.  He wasn’t always willing to give me his time, but when he did, I took full advantage.  Even he softened on Christmas.  I would always pick the most massive tree I could find – a Griswold tree.  To his credit, he never told me it was too big.  He’d mostly just say, “Is that big enough for ya, Bub?”  Then he’d hack the top off because I had chosen one 13 ft. tall and shave off the branches beneath to expose the trunk.  I loved decorating it and the smell was the best part. We would play Christmas music, string lights, and hang ornaments.  We wore out that Brenda Lee Christmas album.  Yes, ALBUM.  Ryan and I had our favorite Christmas specials we would watch on TV.  I have tried to collect some of these old favorites on DVD for my kids to enjoy.  I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I was when my children didn’t give a flying fart about the ultimate classic, “Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas”.  I almost got belligerent in my interrogation as to why they weren’t completely enthralled.  “What?  Not enough bright colors for you?  What’s the problem?  You’re too good for Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas??” 

I would spend weeks before Christmas in a fog of excitement not much different than Ralphie Parker’s.  White Christmases were common and I can remember the view out of every window -- that special rush of waking up to find everything blanketed in snow and knowing we’re getting closer.  Hopefully a school cancellation was to follow.  Ryan and I had some of our most fun and were at our most creative on snow days.  Our snowmen were elaborate and fashionable.  We even used pompoms to give them hair.  We would make recorded tapes and the best on record was our news station, W-VEG.  We created all kinds of characters.  We had the sports caster, Bubbles – the advice columnist, etc.  We played music in between and if I’m not mistaken, Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” made it in there somewhere.  What I wouldn’t give to sit down and listen to that tape but it’s lost somewhere and that kills me.  I remember exactly what it looked like.  I remember it as being the funniest thing in the world.

Other funny memories around this time come up because obviously, it would be cold at this time of year and we didn’t have central heat and air.  For a long time we only had base board heaters until my parent’s put in a wood burning stove.  It sat on a brick pedestal that went up onto the wall.  Ryan was chasing me through the house once and broke his toe on that brick pedestal.  That stove was highly effective.  I stood in front of its door once to warm my backside and I must’ve stood a tad too close because it embossed the seal on the cast iron door to the butt of my pink bathrobe.  It would heat up the house so well that I can remember having to take breaks from watching “Dolly Parton’s Smoky Mountain Christmas” to go stand in the snow and cool off.

Eventually Christmas morning would come and we were up before dawn.  Mom was a step ahead of us because she was already in full makeup.  There were going to be photos taken and you weren’t catching her bare-faced, I can tell you that right now.  My mother is a lady – she smells nice, hair done, face on.  I would rip open my presents as fast as I could.  I had an ongoing love affair with Cabbage Patch dolls for many years.  I would rip open my new one and smell her.  They always smelled like vanilla.  I had several Cabbage Patch dolls over the years.  Some came after they had upgraded to synthetic hair instead of yarn.  The kind you could lengthen or shorten.  But I never loved any of them the way I loved my very 1^st, Cheryl Dawn.  She had yarn hair but she was still my favorite.  My Granny Faye restored her for me and I still have her.  She lives in my cedar chest.

I had 2 massive families.  We would visit both sets of grandparents, opening more presents, and eating till we’d bust.  There were cousins, aunts and uncles by the boat-load – food everywhere.  The Ott side of my family was a bit more subdued than the Rorie side.  There was laughter in both houses, but far more yelling and general loudness at the Rorie’s.  It’s just the way they are.  Every year my Papaw Henry would taste the turkey and say and I quote, “This turkey’s dry ain’t it?”  Then everyone would laugh because he said it every year.  My cousin Michael eventually began beating him to the punch which was even funnier.  Everyone would again laugh but it was a certain kind of laugh – a Rorie laugh I can’t describe, I can only duplicate in person.  Granny would follow up with, “I wish you’d shut up!”  He would never respond, really.  He’d just take his dry turkey and go back to his chair.  It’s one of those “it’s funny because it’s true” kind of things.  Yes they were characters, loud characters, who were rough around the edges, but they were my family and I remember feeling like it was special. 

Times change and traditions fade.  As my cousins and I have aged into adulthood, married, moved away, and some grandparents have passed, the traditions have adapted but I’m glad I have those memories.  It has made Christmas always hold such a special place in my heart.  I hope the traditions I’m setting now will be something my children will always look back on with that good old warm and fuzzy feeling.  I don’t think a year goes by when I put up my tree that I don’t feel the same way I used to feel when I did it as a kid.  I’m still that same girl inside.  She’s just a bit older and maybe a hair more cynical.  But now I let my kids put the ornaments on.  I do my best to bite my tongue and not say a word if they put too many of the same kind of ornament in one spot.  My mom never knit-picked me for it so why be more worried about a picture-perfect tree than to marvel at something my children enjoyed doing?  I play music like my mom used to and hope it makes it as special for them as it did for me.

Like I said, it’s a special time.  I guess that’s why I feel nostalgic now and why this blog fell out.  My Christmases now are spent at my house with Jason and the kiddos.  Mom and JC come down and occasionally Ryan makes an appearance.  *Fingers crossed for this year*  I’m grateful for what is now and I’m grateful for what was.  Yes, I’m a bit more cynical these days but I still love lights that twinkle, ribbons that shimmer, and a fire that crackles.  I still want what I always wanted around this time of year; for everyone to just be grateful for one another, families to be families, to create memories that will last a lifetime, to slow down a little, and be a little kinder.  Tis the season…