Kristen's Blog

Well, I sure have had some rough days behind me. Let me just say that things have not been easy! And, I do get lonely at times. But, I'm lucky to have a couple of great companions who are always there for me no matter what, when others cannot be.

One is Elvis, my little full-of-attitude chihuahua. The other, Jasper, Brent's hunting dog. Even though he's Brent's dog, he belongs to me too and I keep him in my home. I love them and couldn't imagine life without them. I wake up to them and I look forward to coming home to them after work. My son also loves them. William fondly refers to Jasper as "Basher."

Elvis is funny. He is very expressive and always tells me how he feels and what he wants. No, he doesn't talk! But he does communicate to me with his eyes. If he needs something he will come up to me, stare at me and wag his tail. I will then ask him a series of questions and depending on how vigorously he wags his tail, I then determine the answer. "Potty? Go outside? Walk? Car ride? Food?" He usually wags hardest for car ride and food.

Elvis also makes me laugh because he is like a deer. And in fact, he is a reindeer chihuahua by breed. When he runs he will leap like a mule deer! It's the darnd'est thing. Once he sprung up a jack rabbit and chased it down a trail, springing in the air after it like an antelope. And he runs (or leaps rather) so fast!

Elvis got his name from Merrill, Brent's daughter. She was a little girl when her dad bought her her first dog and she loved the singer Elvis, so coined the name. I adopted him from Brent and Merrill not long ago. He is a very well trained dog and that is because of Merrill and her father. With her dad's help she trained Elvis when she was just 9 years old. That's pretty good for a little girl! They get to see him a lot so it makes me happy and it makes them happy and it makes Elvis happy!

Jasper is ... a lot of dog! He is awesome. I absolutely love him. He does keep me busy though and he certainly has been a handful. However, he is one of the greatest dogs I've ever owned. He was given to Brent by a friend. Brent lost his original and dearest hunting dog through his divorce and earned Jasper afterwards from his friend. But hunting dogs can't live in condos, as Brent does! So, he stays with me.

He's a handful because he's a full-fledged hunting dog. He is a German Shorthair and he's bred for upland bird hunting solely. In other words he is bred for his nose, which is meant to sniff out pheasant, quail, and hungarian partridges mostly. He is very intense and wants to go-go-go a lot of the time. He lives for the days Brent and I take him out and let him work fields. I've never seen such a smart dog in all my life. He works in unison with us and our guns. It's really amazing to watch him spring up what he loves - birds!

When not hunting and at ease in the home, he is a lover. He looks at me with big, brown and loving eyes, which then end up in my lap, cuddling up to me, looking up at me with affection. When I come home from work he is at the door waiting for me where I left him. He stands guard and protects. He obeys and gives me devote companionship.

I've had Elvis a little longer than Jasper and so far Elvis is learning to accept he is not the head hauncho anymore! I've been working on training Elvis to accept his rank in the pack, using Cezar Milan's technique's and techniques Brent has taught me. It's working well. I've been teaching both the dogs obedience and harmony in our pack.

So, that's a little something that makes me happy. I love my dogs. They have been good to me.

I never knew nature.

I came into nature a year ago. I continue to grow into it. It has now become a lifelong passion and walk in life. I've learned many lessons in only a year's time. It can be an outlet. Most of all, nature can earn you a peaceful demeanor.

Nobody can say they are a nature lover, or conservationist, or a preservationist or anything of the sort that entails them to call themselves, of the outdoors. Unless. Unless they participate in the order of things and become completely passionate with it, for life. We can walk in the woods or down a trail of even off the beaten path. We can hike and climb and photograph a thing or two. We can walk in our parks. We can pass through Mother Earth and never know her. To know this earth you must be intimate with this earth.

I've come to realize that the Earth is a gift we do not often deserve. I've come to see that through greed we have scoured her, and ourselves. She could wipe us all away. She left us all the organic knowledge we needed and we've grown godlike in our minds, forgetting we were supposed to look after her and be her steward. We certainly have created empires. And we've destroyed.
 

In every walk with nature one receives more than he seeks.

This quote comes off a hunting book I own to help hunters identify correctly the animals that are legal to harvest. This quote is dear to me. I hear it in my mind every time I go afield. Every time I strike out I see amazing gifts that nature leaves behind. In our every day endeavours to make something of ourselves and pay the tolls we must pay we forget to look down at the ground, and to look up at the sky for the signs that are there - Yes, God does exist. I find that God, that higher power we all want to believe in, that something happens after we die is found in nature, in the laws of life and death and energy.

When I go out into nature I see my reason for living, the evidence of life, the great bounty, the circle where I too belong. When I go into nature I go to my church. I cherish nature now. I am part of it. I am observer. I am lurker. I am predator and I am prey. I'm given more than I seek.

I see the little prints of a raccoon along a snowy log. I see the fallen feather of an eagle. I see the bones of a deer long dead and picked apart, scattered by the coyote. I see the feces of a mountain lion and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I startle a bear and swear in excitement. I sit in the lower branches of a dark pine and silently watch a herd of doe mule deer crest a hill, looking for a lost fawn. I look out over a ledge and watch the raven's fly over me. I sit on a rocky ledge and wait for the desert dog. I trample through the sage and bust up a jack rabbit. I see a bull elk proudly escort his harem in front of predator men, in fear of nothing. I hear the chipmunk alerting the forest to my intrusion and I chuckle. I see the Rockie Mountains from the Blue Mountains on the clearest of days. I go with a passionate man of nature and traverse the miles, seeing countless herds of deer. Water up to my knees, laughing with a sweet girl, I learn to fish and walk rivers. I bloody my hands in a worthy animal and make use of his life. I walk in the sea weed at low tide and gather the loveliest seashells. I float downstream. I walk countless miles. I live to be in it every breathing moment and on the days I cannot, I dream of it.

I wish I had been born a Native American, or a human that celebrated the land long ago. I wish I had been born into a culture that reveled in Mother Earth. Everything of the animals and plants.

We still feed off of the animals and the plants but it is so processed. We even buy our decor from a store instead of finding it in nature. The way we sustain ourselves as a society makes me feel like we are cows, led to the feeders. Who will then slaughter us? You buy a package of meat, did you kill it? No. Someone else did. But you partook in the eating. You buy vegetables from the store. Did you grow them? No. But you partook in the eating. We all do. We don't think of it. We do it. Where does it lead us eventually? The natives knew.

What I wish is for freedom. I want away from the slavery of society. I want away from working to pay someone something I could provide for myself. I wish to step away from technology, from modern life and to go into the wild and live from it. I know I wouldn't last long. I know I'd miss a hot bath and the luxury of this computer. I've only learned a small amount of survival skills and it would be foolish to undertake that way of living for me anyway. Besides, it seems I can't escape. My son needs education. There are things to do. But I think of it. We all have it in us, those who are born intelligent enough. Man has done it before.

To me, the Indians were God's true children. I see them that way. They worshiped all that was given to them and were grateful, even while technology, metal and man swept them away. How tragic. We could have learned so much from them.

So, here I am now. I've learned to hunt. To fish. To gather. I've come into nature and I see us, stripped down and naked, so vulnerable except for what was developed to place us on a level almost equal to that of the animals. We have our minds. We have thumbs. We made ourselves into predators and gatherers. Now that I know I find it almost repulsive to buy packaged meat. I feel like a crying baby. I'm proud to earn it on my own. I use what nature gave me along with what man mastered.

A few days ago I stood at the top of a hill. I looked out over many hills. There was no sound except the wind and the grass blowing. I left my cares behind at that moment. Like I always do when I go into nature, I feel a peace that cannot be equaled by any music. I will pass my love for the wild onto those I know and love. I touch the earth and I feel pregnant with her and every time I glide through the grass, or climb a hill, or hear the silent wind, or bloody my hands, I give birth and hold a gift in my arms.

I love the animals, the trees, the wind and the rocks. I love that nature gives us all we need and plenty of gifts too. So, I think how good it would be if more people thought of the eating of an animal, or the finding of a feather or a sea shell or a lovely rock, that if they could only remember that it was given, that it was meant to sustain the body and soul, for the short while we are here, in the grand scheme of time.

Last night I snapped at one of my co-workers. This co-worker also happens to be one of my dearest friends. For the past few days he has been calling me out on my negative comments, my bad attitude and things I do wrong, which I shouldn't. Honestly, I had had enough of him jumping down my throat. I told him to stop barking at me and leave me alone. And he did. I was angry and he was hurt. My friend and I have never come to this. It bothers me greatly.

Even though I felt intruded upon and that my reasons were justified, I feel that he was only trying to do me a favor. I feel like he just wants me to be myself - that happy shining soul that laughs in the face of hardship. He has been loyal to me. He has been there for me. He has done nothing but be truthful, even when I don't want to hear it because that is the measure of a true friend. I was wrong and I knew it. He was only trying to help.

I just want to be that woman again. Remember me? I would write of the beauty in life, of my family, of the world. Even though I was unhappy at times and knew I had a struggle in this life, I'd bring out the beauty around me and within me. I remember that woman.

Somehow I let her go. Somehow I gave into despair. Somehow I let suffering be my cloak and only comfort. I hold my head down and forget to look up. I sleep too much and miss the mornings. I used to rise with such vigor.

God, I am lonely. I am so cold. I feel beaten down and afraid. But making it through what you must isn't always easy, this I tell myself. I think we all wage a war sometime during our lives. I went into mine and lost hope.

It's time I held my head high again and let myself be me.

I don't know what to say.

It's been so long since I've written here. So many things have come to pass.

I've been working hard and struggling to make ends meet. I've been through a few different jobs. I've made it through tough times and health problems, and I am surviving my divorce. I think I am anyway. It's not easy.

I've taken up hunting and a little fishing. Both of these hobbies equate to a lot of hiking and I've gotten into good shape and have learned so much about nature. I have spent a lot of time doing these things with Brent, a man I've been seeing for about a year. I care for him but it is delicate.

My life has been and is so complex and I still am as passionate as I ever was. But I have nothing complex to say and I feel void of passion to write, though it resides in me. I just lack the motivation due to mental exhaustion. For now I will rest my mind and perhaps write later.

I am sad and my bed is empty and no one is near. No one speaks. My dwelling is quiet except for the dryer tumbling wet towels and the erratic off and on spurts of my thought as I type the bullshit out.

I have all this love to burn and sometimes it feels like there's not a soul to feel it's warmth. The weight of it compiles and the want grows bigger, and becomes a burden needing to be burned. So here I am lighting fire to it, as best I can.

I want someone to love me, to fucking save me and make me whole through compassion in every sense. I realized by the words of another that this is an impossibility. No one can save anyone. No one can restore another. That only person who can make me whole is myself, even if someone comes along claiming to be my personal savior.

I do want someone to make the answers seem simple, even if the answers are anything but. I want arms around me. I want someone to drive into me and thrust my sadness, loneliness and pain away and MEAN it with every muscle in their body. And afterwards, look at me and through through the eyes, convey what was just done - a healing. Then, arms. Arms that don't let go.

Maybe there can be temporary bliss and restoration but a dreamy completion from another can't be. No one can save anyone. I can only be there for the one's I love and hope another at the right time, or the other who is right, will open up, or come along and at least stand behind me and beside me for the darker days, for the healing, the happy moments that do come, and for the pleasure exchange of caressing the soul's wounds.

I wonder why more people don't seize every opportunity they have to love one another, especially those deserving and wealthy to give, especially those who are so sore, aching and in need of a reckoning and a trusting release. I wonder why some dwell on the pain and misery of others and what they can't have, or what is empty and lost and not worth saving. Anyone can love another and one should, even if some are not worthy, but there comes a time for weaning one's self from the lesser worthy and spreading hope, healing and faith to those who need it most. That is my philosophy.

What I wish to say is I wish one would say, "Yes, I will save you." That's not going to happen. Yet I wish it would. So I will burn what I want and can't have with hard words. Perhaps a new, soft growth will one day rekindle. In the meantime, I can shelter those I love with what is left of my heart and soul.

All my life I've been a rock for others. Like rocks, when water seeps into their cracks, some eventually break apart inside where they are most vulnerable or erode from constant bombardment of the elements, if the vulnerability is near the surface. People have seeped into my weak places and broken me apart slowly over time and people have worn me down when I've worn my weakest burdens near my surface.

Sometimes I feel like a lowly, gray and morose rock, tired of holding myself together for others, tired of being. Yet, I gladly let those I love into my soft, safe places and eventually, no matter what they always become a part of me. This I do not regret, even if they break me. Yet sometimes the strain is difficult. I want to hold up, for myself and for those I love. This is a worrisome thought.

Then I begin to wish I could be a liquid and flow into somewhere warm and safe, into a solid crevice, winding its way to become part of a permanent deep lake, untouchable and bottomless. But that is a dark thought and I can't be this way, or lean on another in such a manner. I can't expect it from another. Liquid and running and dark is not who I am.

I've been strong for my parents. My mother, my father. I've done it for friends. I've been a shattered rock for my first love which nearly broke me to pieces and possibly has, though I hold together like a mosaic, trying to at least be a pretty rock on the outside. And so, I've done it for lovers. And I go on this way. And I may always go on this way. But I want someone to hold me together, or piece me together if I break. I want another rock to crash down beside me and wedge me somewhere firm, so I feel safe.

To close off all my cracks and openings? Impossible and selfish. To either crumble into ashes and let everyone take a part of me? At least I would have given. To harden into something impenetrable? I suppose only a diamond can be so lucky, so perfect. And I certainly am far too flawed to be such a thing. I too wear myself. Aren't we all ticking time bombs?  Lava cools and forms and the rock is predetermined. So are we at birth, by those who shape us and how we are raised. I can't help but think, of how much the struggle is set? How much is choice?

Hey, Vox. My little rant down there? I need a vacation. Badly. And I do believe you've got one for me, yes? I'm ready to go to Paris, to Tokyo like you promised. And I'm ready to SHARE it with everyone here and take everyone with me along the way. So, let's go.

It's been a while. I haven't written in long. I've allowed myself to become closed off, I'm afraid. The past weeks since I last wrote, the weeks of January, February, and most of March have been days of trial. I've had devastation and some real big problems. Yet, I still find the courage to smile, to laugh and to love as best I can, because I've had hope.

Mostly.

I'm always worried what others are going to think. I hate that I barely write. It used to be my essence. I was personal. I shared myself with others. It has been what I do. I have began to understand I am a personal being. My writing is personal. It is the very definition of me. I used to think this was bad, that I was too open. But, so what? 

In being this way I have come to learn that people pass judgments. Friends come and go, as do relationships. Even family members. Sometimes, through my writing, others are inspired. Or forgiving. Or patient, as I unfold myself. Unfortunately, some have been cold. It is these salty sorts which I have allowed to effect me. instead of listening to myself and my gut.

Rarely now do I pick up a phone or sit down to an email and write to a dear friend for advice, asking "what now old pal?" Or, "can you help me?" It has become a resolute fact, this disappointment. And so I have tried to work myself out on my own, seeking the comfort, compassion and empathy of no one, except for a man I sometimes cry to when the burden is unbearable.

I feel glad I can confide in someone, that he is out there and even if I were to write down my entire life's story for everyone on the internet, I would rather tell him my most happiest of joys and darkest of sorrows if I knew I could pour all of it into his lap and feel certain he was strong enough to have it. But now the pressure is built up inside of me and I can't take it anymore and I wish to put it all down for what it is, damn the consequences, damn the backlash. I want to release it and speak of how I feel and let it flow out of me as it comes, whether it be ugly. Whether it be smeared. Whether it be shades of blue, red, black, white. I just want to be me again and do as I do.

I do not care if the things I express are not colored as others picture the painting on the wall that is me. Yes, I chose to put myself on display. But it is what I do. I am not always vibrant. I do not always appear in clarity. My colors may run. I am what I am. I do my very best to be as good as I can be. Yes, my actions, my choices may not always be the best but can I at least share them for myself? Can I at least be allowed to be imperfect, humble, to run my colors, to bleed out?

I have cared too much about what others think of me. I got so melancholy at losing people's faith, friendship or whatever it is they previously had to "give" only to take away, based on their moral high ground. This is my life. It is what it is. Judge me, hate me, encourage me. I don't care much, yet I care enough to show I am at least trying! It, this thing called life, redemption, lessons learned, it matters to me, that I prove to myself. I haven't gathered the proper tools to complete what it is I truly want to be, and to redeem.  I want to be good, to grow and be better. I want to follow my dreams and my heart. I don't want to be a woman lacking  ideas and sound character.

It's only been barely a year since I took my life and went in another direction and confessed how I truly felt. I've made some terrible, hard and bitter choices. Yet, I feel I've defied many. I've made successes in the midst of hard decisions and mistakes. Along the way I've grown, a lot in fact. At least while I've internalized so much burden I've allowed myself room for expansion to hold it all less I erupt in a fit of rage, hopelessness, or desperation.

I guess when if I finally do erupt, I would like to imagine it instead of a giant, grenade-like, volcanic dysfunctional mental splatter, but rather instead as redirecting it all right out of my ass, onto the very people who thought they were so much better, clever and more human than me.

Last night I had a dream that a man came to me in my sleep. He did not have me sexually. He simply put his hand on my forehead, stroked my hair and kissed my cheek. I went to sleep last night with ache in both of my legs. When it is cold outside my legs hurt. In my dream, he eased my pain. He put his hands to my legs and gently rubbed them, pulling out the knots in the muscles and relaxing me. I remember him holding me while I cried. It was mercy. But, when I woke up this morning my leg ache was still there, no one was near me and I truly felt alone.

I feel abandoned by everyone who should be there for me. Some of my dearest friends have made their decisions, their judgments and to them, I'm not worthy of their comfort, empathy or compassion. One could say they aren't truly a friend, but to me they are dear to me. I forgive all too easily. I love with all my heart, even if it rips my heart apart. I need their compassion.
 
I truly long for human contact. It is cold outside and to save money on heating costs, I keep the thermostat on low. I can only cover up in so many blankets before I am wishing for the warmth of another.  I hate the hours where I am here, in my empty apartment. I become excited at the thought of going to work. When I am here, as I am now, in my apartment, I try to find things to do. I cook and I clean. Sometimes I read. But, I do not enjoy it or find the meaning I once found in it. I've lost interest in things I love. I used to draw. I used to paint.

I've become depressed to a point I never thought I would return to. I was here, once, long ago, when I was a child. I was a girl and my parents fought quite a lot. Before the realization, I remember being very small, too young to know of their troubles, and running through corn stalks, thinking how good it was to be alive. Then, slowly over time I became aware of my parents problems. I remember at about the age of 10 coming to a point of despair in which I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I couldn't feel safe. I feel as if I've returned to this feeling.

I want someone to come sit with me. I want someone to hold me. I want someone to look into my eyes and tell me everything is going to be okay. I feel isolation and despair eating me alive. I fear that I no longer have enough vigor left in me to fight. I used to have strength. I used to take a stand for things I didn't feel were right. I would pick myself up and keep on going. I had a plan. Now I see my plans and my hopes and I can't seem to focus on the details, the steps they require. I feel paralyzed. I wish someone would come free me from the prison I am in, trapped inside my own hopelessness. I swear, a simple and consistent it's going to be alright, you can do this, would give me just enough courage and strength to keep going. I need true empathy.

It would be easier if the people telling and talking words would realize it's their actions, their deeds that mean the most, that motivate me and inspire me, keep me pushing through. The words come so easy to say, and to them these words are the solution. I hear the words all around. But for me, high up on a ladder I've started to climb, if I don't see my dearest standing below me, ready to catch me should I fall, I feel nothing but distraught.

I have an apartment of my own now. I will soon have a better job and a car. I'll bring my son home. But right now, at this moment, I feel lost. I'm trying so hard to focus on me. Me. My life. Everyone keeps telling ME that. "Focus on you, Kristen," they all tell me. That's easier said than done. I barely know how. I'm so used to caring for another, nurturing a love, and a family.

I hate to feel this helpless and hopeless. I feel so pathetic. But, I can't help it. It's how I feel. I hate it. It surely will pass though. Somehow I'll adjust. And, maybe by putting this down in writing and posting it, bearing all that makes me feel weak and ashamed, others who might be in my shoes will know they, too, are not alone.

Matthew sent me an audio text to my cell phone last night. I was woken up to the sound of my phone going off when the text came in. I check my phone 24/7, in cast anything ever went wrong with William or in case someone needed me. So, I picked up my phone, opened the text and listened to the recording. In it William was crying. He was asking, "where Momma? where Momma?"

My heart broke. Now he is beginning to feel the pain of this. I beat myself up constantly as it is. I know his confusion and pain will only grow. I try to tell myself that Matthew and I will make his life as easy as we can but in reality, his life will be full of never-ending change and stability will be difficult to maintain.

I asked Matthew not to send me messages like that. I can't bear it. I was almost angry at him for sending it to me in the first place. But, if my son is hurting I would like to know so I can be there for him as best I can.

However, what can I do from here? I'm 1,000 miles away and financially held back. I will just have to keep going and live with this and fight it! I must.

It's hard though. I have little to no help, therefore I need a car so I can take William to day-care, so I can work and not have to ask my small circle of friends (which are a couple of ladies my age who already have full time jobs) to babysit. I can't bring William to me until I have a car and I can't get a car until I have more money. I'm in a vicious and I need help!

I get so tired. I am succumbing to a deep depression, yet fighting it as best I can. I am trying so hard to stay focused on my goals, no matter how hard they may be, but my obstacles are looming huge in front of me. I walk several blocks to work regardless if it is raining or snowing or freezing cold, so I can save up for a car, so I can bring my son home. I feel disillusion and dismay. Some days my depression is so intense I feel actual physical pain in my body, a pain I can't describe, a pain I wish would stop.

I'd give anything for that pain to cease. I'd give anything to hold my son again.

The word that comes to mind is, anguish.