Ohhhh, it roared last night.

Some part of me felt like the sky was caving in, the acorns were cracking against my windows, and the trees were bending and swaying because my world was ending. One story was ending. It was like the gods were trying to tell me that this was chaos, that something new was coming, and that I needed to pay attention.

I sat outside in it for quite awhile. Breathing out all the fear I’ve been accumulating. It didn’t rain until much later, after I’d moved the house around, decorated a bunch. I made this place feel like a real home. The Young Sir woke up and was absolutely amazed.

“Wow…you did a lot!”

I did.


Somehow, I woke up. Being to blame for something helped me wake up. I realized I didn’t work my hardest in my last relationship. One foot out the door. I did him a disservice and the confusion was terrible. It hurt. And I know it hurt him a lot more, my selfishness. I acted as if his pain and hurt, his scary nights in hotel rooms and his trying and trying to no avail was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. And Wuff is as strong as I am. So, his walking out the door for what is 100% surely the last time made me reflect. I reflected on the growing selfishness I’ve been wallowing in. The fear. The flailing. The confusion. And this has been years and years and years of it, building up.

I cried a bit. I laughed. I tore down things and put stuff up in their place. And I got over myself.

Looking for love like my Daddy gave my Mommy is stupid. They are two individual people. My dad is dead.

Looking for love in general, as a way to feel accepted, is selfish. Because it’s not what I really want. I just want something to tell me what I really want, to give me a purpose before I’m crushed to death like my father.

Looking for a house in the woods, to get away from everyone, for the exit in every situation, it’s hopeless. I want to stop jumping from wanting on thing to wanting the next.

So I took things down and put things up and sat in a storm. I watched the sky bleed. I made my kids go to bed at a reasonable time, and I will from now on.

I cleaned the kitchen before I sat down, and I will from now on.

I made tomorrows loose schedule before I took a shower, and I will from now on.

And I reflected. I thought about things instead of blaming everyone else for my problems. I thought about every fight I had with Wuff and how I could’ve reacted better. Not made problems out of thin air. I thought about why I’m so calm now, now that he’s away, even as I ache terribly from missing him.

I wondered why I suddenly blame myself for things that were his fault, too. I wondered why I do that. And I realize that we were bad for each other in our current states no matter how you swing it. Just fear/anger/tiredness towards the world outside and mounting tension inside. He needed so much space. I needed so much closeness.


I’ve written more in the span of time since he walked out that door than I have in years. Because that was my fault. This time was my fault and it really woke me up.

I don’t want to be selfish. I want to enjoy things. I want to teach my children how to think, how to enjoy, how to be fearless in this world that very well might eat them up no matter what they do. I want to love my life, and not just because I’m loved in it.


This is a nice feeling. It’s a true feeling. It got me up and cooking. Sweeping. Mopping. Taking things down and putting things up.


I reject the fear that turned me.


I’m having trouble concentrating.

I’ve spent a bit of money this month, money I probably shouldn’t have spent, preparing. Preparing for that ugly, nasty loneliness that creeps up on me whenever I am single. It takes a while sometimes but it always comes. Depending on how I deal with it, I either end up better or worse.


It’s like a turning page. I know the next chapter is coming when that loneliness shows up. I know something new is going to happen, and it all depends on me.


The wrong answer is always ‘fill that void’. I usually do this with dating. Friendships that I will not hold up. Hoping and wishing for someone to sweep me away, for someone to love me, for someone that I can dote and love on. I spend a large amount of time in these fits hoping for someone special, doing too much for losers, and turning into a screaming beast myself. I make a lot of mistakes in that loneliness. I don’t want to do it anymore.

So I filled my room with pretty pictures, ugly pictures, family pictures, decor. I got a new desk to work with. I put plans in my head. I put a small amount of Christmas decorations up with the intent to put up more. I got a tv and an Xbox One and a case of soda. And I’ve been managing in this early stage of it.

Wuff is still here but tomorrow, when he’s gone, we’ll see how long it takes that real loneliness to kick in. Already, I am blaming myself for every mistake he or I ever made. I am blaming myself for his drinking, laziness, his misunderstanding me, his refusal to get a job until the very last minute. It’s soaked into my last post, even. Already, everything is my fault. I always end up hating myself in this type of loneliness. It distorts my vision in the mirror and I am just this weak, pathetic thing.

This loneliness, when it comes, always makes me want to be small. It makes me wish someone would carry me around in the palm of their hand. But it is all a facade, and I always end up pushing away anyone I falsely bring in during all that damn confusion. Time and time and fucking time again.


But this time. Pretty pictures. A garden, maybe. A desk. A game system. Children’s clothing, homeschooling, cooking and cleaning and all those things that make up a life.


This time, I’m going to float instead of flailing against an abyss while I drown.


I’m a monster.

And not the edgy, highly sociopathic kind. I’m the kind of monster that makes you feel nice and good about yourself. I feed you and eat with you and compliment you and help you gain a type of confidence that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. I move you in. I adore you.

And then I let you go. Suddenly. Most likely in an ugly, surprising way. You’ll feel like I hated you all along and why couldn’t I just act like that before?

There’s something off about the way I make and break relationships and friendships. I don’t understand it, never have. I absolutely don’t mean to do it, but it happens every time. I’ve become so close to people that they ask me before they make any sudden moves.


It’s this odd thing that is 100% me. Even when it could kind of be the other person’s fault, it really is mine. One small thing can happen and then this slow, ugly decline starts in my head. I don’t say anything, not at first. I let it keep sliding and sliding and sliding until I really can’t stand the person anymore. And that one thing can be super small – an attitude, a missed hello, a bad morning because of something else.

And I keep this up. It’s not changing. I want it to change, and badly. Wuff was the latest victim of it, and at this point he’s probably the oldest victim of it. He had huge flaws, yes, and he failed me a lot. But towards the end he was TRYING SO HARD. And it really eats me up. It eats me up that I get so angry at nothing and, the truth is, there’s no real answer but to leave when I get like this. It’s over. This spiral has hit a midway point and the next step is chaos.

I guess I wrote this to remind myself later, when I’m complaining about being lonely, that Wuff did try. He really did. He went to work and stopped drinking and you could see the wear and tear on his face, in the sunken in cheeks, in his lack of sleep. He talked about the future with me and the boys with so much spark, with so much hope, and I led him right into a wall. I tried, yeah, but I didn’t try as hard as he did towards the end.

And eh. I love myself. I appreciate me to a fault. And I know I will get up and keep moving and I can only hope he’ll do the same. The truth is, I don’t want a ‘situationship’. I know people love differently, and he loves in a way that we could just live together and make babies and be friends for the rest of our lives. He would be fine with that as long as I was happy, as long as I wasn’t angry out of nowhere, as long as I let him. And I really wish I could’ve made that happen, wish I could’ve just fucking let it work.

But I’m this type of monster. It’s a monster I like. But it doesn’t seem to want me to have anyone else.

This fucking thing.

I know there won’t be a next time. So goodbye, Wolf.



I don’t like people.

It’s a thing that grows more and more every day. Even when I have a good, natural time with someone, I understand that it won’t happen again. In the back of my head, laughter squinching my eyes, I understand that I’d rather be at home and I will be at home. This doesn’t go away. It’s hovering in every interaction – shit, even in online interactions.

Some part of me understands that I am very typical, but in a way that’s abnormal. Don’t ask me to explain that. And, no, it’s not in a ‘I’m a bit better than people’ type of way. I’m just a normal bitch that’s fucking odd. An odd woman in a sea of normality. Standing outside of the glass all the time, trying slightly to figure out where the door is.

I don’t dress well. I’m not conventionally pretty but I find myself to be gorgeous. I’m a huge talker but I get very bored listening these days. I am bi-sexual, I am agnostic, I am a lot of in-betweens.

Ambiguous, as a worthless ex put it.

There are ways to define me and my relationships with others but I don’t know how to fix my mouth to say them. It’s borderline Autism, but I expect I only think that because I have an autistic son. It’s amazing how someone else’s condition can paint your experiences. Everything looks like autism now.

I was told by a lovely group of women who provided me an escape I haven’t had in over ten years that I need friends. I need a tribe. I need to know other women who have autistic children. Who write. Who read. Who compliment me and my dry sarcasm. That’s such a specific subset that the very thought is depressing.

Part of me wishes I could turn all my long ass day dreams into reality. That I could make my own West World and disappear into it and never invite anyone else in. Fuck, could you IMAGINE the chaos that world would be? The vicious detail and all that fucking hair?

I don’t know about friends. I don’t know about relationships. I don’t know about casual interaction or even keeping up with old friends and making new ones.

I know I like it here, inside my house. I know I love it when it’s me and Urijah here, laughing and running around. I know I love lazing about in bed thinking up stories, taking Astrid on this adventure or that one.


I know it’s kinda better being alone.