For my Brother, and My Cousins. ❤️

The mixed scent of sweat and metal on my hands from the swings.
The sound of the witches hat clanging in the wind. Left alone.
Pieces of white styrofoam drifting onto the beach after having supported kids for hours. H2Odeo.
Waves that still hit the beach piling up bigger and bigger only now in a pleading lonely way.
Lukewarm baths taken in heavily iron laden water.
The hard wet cold bathroom floor.
Someone yelling "wear shoes!" As you burst through the door headed a couple cabins away.
Chinese checkers, broomstick microphones and "Leader of the Pack" as loud as we can.
Shasta. The Groundplay. Watermelon and pepper.
Ghost in the graveyard and someone always running into a tree.
Fireflies in our hands, bats in our hair.
Bonfires, s'mores, hot chocolate.
Hot and humid and deathly silent.
Quiet milling parents, staticky radio channels, ONE TV channel.
Enough to know.
Kids and dogs and blankets and neighbors and calm but stern parents down to the garage.
The smell of gasoline.
Excitement that vibrates.
Quiet.
An angry train bring black space with it.
Small flying debris.
Large flying debris.
Fiberglass garage doors.
Moving to the back of the garage past the old cars and popped floaties. Scoria under foot.
Wind howls more quietly. Then stops.
Garage doors open slowly.
Storm is over. The air is purple and orange and blue. The water is calm.
The kids are asleep.
This perfect day happily, gratefully enjoyed for years.

Progress. Definitely not perfection.

I survived a flight that almost went down in the Pacific Ocean. I've had babies without pain meds. I passed a kidney stone 6 months pregnant without pain meds. I had my last rites read to me when I was 7. I tried to kill myself and survived. I was raped. Violently. I sunk into an addiction that consumed all but a very small fraction of me. Those things were hard. Those things taught me to grin and bear it. To fake it. To keep people around me comfortable. To shrink inside and get loud outside. To smother what was left of me. Getting clean, staying clean, relearning almost everything I thought I knew, rebuilding myself from ground zero is the hardest thing I've done. I feel my art again though. I'm bleeding on my canvas. I'm trying to move forward. Ask for help. Listen to the healthy voices wherever they come from. To quiet the noise in my head. I'm trying. I'm making mistakes. I'm still hurting people. I don't think I want to be who people think I am but I'm pretty certain I don't want to be who I am. I wish you could tell me who I am. I wish I could say we're having tacos for dinner and go to the store without crying in the parking lot. I wish I could remember how it feels to be happy for no reason. I wish I could know I'll be clean and happy in the future. I wish I knew which direction to go, what the right decision is, I wish I knew the right amount of selfish in my recovery. I just want.