Just Breathe.

Breathe.

Just…breathe.

I have to keep reminding myself to do just that.

It’s bad whenever you have to constantly tell yourself to breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Here I am; listening to usic and drinking…sitting on the bed in this large empty room.  I’m looking around and all I can see is the world spinning…I can hear the words of the songs, but there is still this echo that bounces off of each one individually that screams through my ears…

You know the sound of a mosquito when it won’t leave you alone?  The one that flies right by your head constantly that has that high pitched buzz that doesn’t necessarily bother you until it’s the only thing you can concentrate on?

That’s what I’m dealing with.

When you are in this empty cube…when you have nobody to talk to…nothing to look at besides empty walls…and listen to the buzzing of the echo off the words of music…it drives you to this certain insanity that can’t necessarily be pinpointed…but you know it’s still there…

So, that’s why you have to remind yourself to just…

Breathe.

XoXo.

Recollection Of Love

I have an abundance of letters, pictures, cards, and homemade…or prison made…gifts from his stay.

I look at them all the time and think “wow” did we really make it through all of the shit we went through?

He made this log cabin out of rolled up newspaper and rocks.  It was my third year valentines day gift.  It was so beautiful and detailed.  The craftsmanship behind it took me by surprise.

The best part is that it opens up and there is a secret compartment inside it.  I lifted up the compartment and there was a beautiful note that literally touched my heart.  The entire thing just brought tears to my eyes.

How in the world could someone love ME so much?  Of all people…me?

What in the world did I do to deserve this kind of love?

I look at it today and I cry for more than one reason.

Although it is still the most beautiful thing I have ever received from any man, simply because it came straight from the heart and took I know a good few months to build…

It brings back so many painful memories as well…

Just as all of the contents of his drawer do.

I created this drawer in my nightside table for him.  I kept everything he ever gave me in it.  Gosh, there has to be enough letters to make a novel.

What is the title that Larry names his piece that he writes about Piper in the Orange Is The New Black?

“One sentence; two prisoners”

I never saw it as me being in “prison” per se, so let’s name it…

Hmm…

Love Has No limits.

Ha…

Funny , right?

I’m not sure ifI have ever told you about that story, so let’s just keep that one on the DL for now.

So, if one day you are walking past those shops on the sidewalks with the giant windows that display all these random books and magazines; you happen to see a book called “Love Has No Limits” and it has a picture of handcuffs on it…you might wanna check it out.

Not that I am ever going to publish that, but it is a thought now that I have mentioned it to put all the letters in order and make it into my own personal book.

Probably not a good idea.

There’s a hell of a lot of raw emotion when your loved one is incarcerated.

Damn.

Anyway, I got slightly off track.

He would send me a card or some creation he came up with for each special day of the year.

My birthday.

Christmas.

Valentines Day.

Hell, this wonderful man even sent me something for Mothers Day.

I’m a naturally emotional person, so I would cry like a little baby even at the sight of my name on an envelop before I ever opened it.

“HE LOVES ME!!! HE REALLY LOVES ME!!!”

It’s like…

“I just got a letter, I just got a letter, I just got a letter…wonder it’s it from?!”

I would even do a little dance and squeal with excitement.

I’m sure it was entertainment for the neighbors to see this lanky white girl walking to the mailbox going through the mail and seeing a letter from her man causing her to scream and jump up and down.  All the other letters would fly in the air as I ran to the house to open it.

The funny thing is…

I’m not even kidding.  I never skipped a beat.  It was just natural.

Oh and just in case you guys are wondering about me continuing to use past tense, it’s because he is no longer in prison.  If you’ve read my stuff before I think I started blogging when he had 10 months left or 6 or something like that.

The crazy shit you do when you’re in love, huh?

XoXo.

Broken Window Serenade

Throughout his bid, I downloaded songs and made a video type diary so I could give him all of it when he got out.

One of the songs he wanted me to download is called Broken Window Serenade. I listened to it over and over again.

As messed up as this seems; it was my “suicide song”.

Suicide song = the song I listen to on repeat when I’m feeling depressed.

There are a few different songs I have used, but none of those are relevant to this post.

Well, back in January, I decided to come clean to my love about a lot of stuff I had done throughout his bid.  I hated myself for it and I wanted nothing more than to get it all off my chest so that he could decide if he wanted to stay with me or not.

He decided that he didn’t want to, which absolutely crushed me, because I was head over heels for him and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

I had quite a bit of trust issues before him, so I brought them into this relationship and ultimately it hindered me from giving my all the whole way through.

Anyway, I decided that I just would rather be gone than to have to deal with the pain and guilt and the horrible darkness that I knew would follow the break up.

Selfish? Probably.

I mean, geez…look at who all I’d be leaving behind.

Well, I put on Broken Window Serenade on repeat and laid back on my bed.

I won’t go into details, but I ended up in the hospital for…3 days?

I’m not sure.  It was in the middle of a snowstorm, so it seemed much longer.

We decided to work things through and I automatically felt stupid and regretful that I would even try such a thing.  I would be leaving everyone I loved.

For the first week or so after I returned from the hospital he was so different.  He seemed so concerned and everything around me felt weird.

I spend a lot of time thinking back on the things I have done in life and I am ashamed. I regret a lot,  but I can’t take it back, ya know?

My point is that even to this day, although I love the song, I can’t even listen to it without a heavy feeling weighing on my heart.  It makes me want to just grab him and squeeze him until I have no more strength.

It’s like I’m holding onto life with all my might.

It’s as if…

I have more of a purpose than just to be this girl that cheated on her boyfriend while he was at the lowest point in his life and got pregnant.

Excuse my language…

But ultimately, I was fucking myself the whole entire time.

Although I am and have been 100$ faithful and loyal for over a year now…

I should have been the whole time.

The point is that…

Even when you listen to your suicide song, there is still hope of some sort.

I don’t mean to sound so cliche…

Or like Snow White and Prince Charming off of Once Upon a Time (who are my least favorite characters by the way)

But, it’s true.

What’s that saying?

Expect the worst; hope for the best.

Life has a funny way of handing you challenges.

Keep Looking for more posts.

XoXo

 

Only One Can Understand

Being in love with a prisoner is one of the most challenging relationships I have ever had in my entire life.  Given, I am only 23.

Can I give you some background on my past relationships?  Ok, since you insist.

My first “serious” relationship was with an army guy.  He smoked weed (something I have always refused to do) and well…let’s just say he had some major jealousy issues and anger?  Oh yeah.  He was my longest relationship.  I dated him for 1 year and 3 months.  I decided to go to a different school in hopes of bettering myself and since he was still around in my hometown, he didn’t approve.  He stopped talking to me oneSunday and exactly 3 weeks later, he called me out of the blue “hey baby”.  Umm…no.  Keep in mind that I had tried constantly to get in contact with him during his MIA period.  I later found out that he had been doing those hard drugs and partying and sleeping around with all the girls in that scene.  Well…bye bye army guy.

My second “serious” relationship lasted only 6 months officially.  We went to Mardi Gras, he told me he was going to marry me one day…and then the next he dumped me.  Now, I chased after this dude for quite a while.  He did me WRONG.  Or so I thought, anyway.  He lead me on constantly believing that we were going to get back together.  Naive little me.  What can I say, I was in love.  He went as far as inviting the girl he cheated on me with to our apartment on MY BIRTHDAY and locked me out of the bedroom leaving me to sleep on a dirty ass floor in the living room, because his other roommate didn’t know how to clean…I didn’t even have a dang blanket.  There’s much more, but I’m not tring to relive all of that.

The third guy I thought I had fallen for ended up randomly quitting talking to me to get married.

So, do you see where my past relationships have this lovely way of repeating itself?

Now, let me get onto my current relationship.  It’s been 2 years, 2 months, and 18 days…not that I’m counting.  This time, I’m the one screwing up.

Can you imagine how messed up I feel about myself everyday?  Being so head over heels in love with the man of your dreams and planning this future together because he wants it just as bad.  This same man at one point tells you to “shut up and marry me”.  This same man says time and time again how important you are to him and how much he can’t wait to come home to you.

This same wonderfully marvelous man that you fucked over.

I live with my past every single day of my life.  I hate…HATE HATE HATE what I have done.  We have decided time and time again to “lleave the past in the past because that was then and this is now”

Do you know what it’s like to ride on a roller coaster?  You never know if one day your’re going to get off the phone laughing or crying.  Let me tell you how much it sucks.

A WHOLE FUCKING LOT.

But, you know what?  I keep pushing through.  I keep “trucking along” as he says.  I am strong not only for me, but for him as well, because that’s how you have to deal with things when a loved one is in prison.  I , more often than not, carry both of our weights.  I do it wall because I love him.  I do it because I am busting my behind to prove to him and to everyone else that I am worth his time.  I’m not messing up.  I’m working hard to pull him along.  I’m doing what I’m suppose to be doing…

but, it never seems to fail.  The past always comes back up.

What more can I do?

Life as a prisoner’s potential wife maybe if he doesn’t leave me…is NOT easy.

Mark my words and never think otherwise when I tell you IT IS NOT EASY.

But, I do it. I am doing a good job at it.  Turns out I am a lot stronger than I thought.  Hopefully, one day, he will see me as the best again.  You fight for what you want, right?

XoXo