Weight of My World

I am mentally exhausted and yet I can not sleep.

It's amazing how quickly life can change. I once heard it said that life is what happens when something else is planned. Boy, is that ever true.

I've seen changes in many directions since the spring of 2009, but never in my life has it had such an impact on my mental state or emotions. I find myself drained - lacking all motivation or drive, wondering what's going to happen, knowing that my entire life hangs in the balance, resting comfortably in the hands of someone other than me.

I have nobody to blame but myself. I put myself in this situation. But I can't hang in the balance too much longer. I MUST do something about this, and I will.

I've always been a strong person, even when I didn't know it. It took a precious friend to point that out to me recently, and I can't thank her enough for that. I always find that I have that fire in my belly when I need it most ,and I know when the time comes it will return full force. I've done and seen enough in this life to know how to survive with nothing but the clothes on my back, and though I really wouldn't want to ever be there again, I know I would pull through it just fine as I always have before.

I often wonder if I was ever really meant to be happy. While I often screw things up for myself and I have a long history of poor choices, I've also been known to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've had it all, only to have it pulled out from under me like a Persian rug. I've given up so very, very much, only to get very little in return. I've been promised the world and denied everything but food and shelter in the same breath.

I've been too trusting, too patient, too loving and too generous. Well, I just don't seem to learn. Time and time again I find myself wondering what I've done wrong and what I've done so bad in my life to end up feeling like this, feeling like my whole world is crumbling around me, crushing me under the weight of the world. It's not the first time I've found myself wondering what's going to happen to me.

I have an enormous weight on my shoulders right now and I can NOT lift it on my own - YET. I can feel that strength bubbling up, but right now it hasn't even gotten past my calf muscles. I know, without a doubt, that by the time the fire bubbles to my finger tips, I will have all the strength I need to hurl that weight off my shoulders and straight to the moon.

It's not here yet, but it's not long in coming. When it gets here - look out world - THE REDHEAD WILL BE BACK IN ACTION.

The Direction of Hope

Came across this poem and thought I would share it...



Sitting in an all too public place
Smoking a cigarette and thinking.

If words were railroad ties
I would have plenty to say.
If wishes were trains
They would be but a minute away.
If hope were a direction
I would be on my way.

I'm just watching the people
Travel here and there;
Wondering where they're bound.
The train whistle blows
But I can't hear a sound;
Except your voice
Echoing all around.


Plans may change,
But people rarely do.
I put all
My faith in you.
You've let me down...
Now what do I do?

Sitting in an all too public place
Smoking my last cigarette and thinking.

If words were railroad ties
I'd have plenty to say.
If wishes were trains
They'd be just a minute away.
If hope were a direction
I'd be on my way.

If hope were a direction
I'd be on my way.
If I still had hope,
I'd be ok.

~Amber Montgomery

My Greatest Addiction

There are many things that the human race has been addicted to since the beginning of time. Probably one of the first and most primal addictions was adrenaline. The cave man knew not why he enjoyed the hunt so much other than the feeling of accomplishment once the kill was on its way home to feed his fellow tribesman and woman. What he didn't realize was that a catecholamine secreted by the adrenal medulla in response to stress was stimulating an autonomic nerve action; in other words, an adrenaline rush. A day in the life of a Neanderthal wasn't overly exciting, I imagine. Suddenly, during the thrill of a chase, the danger of the kill, he felt alive. He felt new and refreshed, like there was a reason he was alive. His body tingled with the very sensation. His hearing was more keen, his sight more honed in, and his nose far more sensitive. He could feel every breath of air that swept past his bare arms.


Man has had the grand misfortune of finding many more highly addictive substances over the past couple of million years, some of which we've discovered how to fabricate for ourselves. The number of drug and alcohol addictions in this country is staggering!


One must wonder who it was who discovered that this horrible, tiny, hard, bitter bean would be wonderfully pungent and delicious once ground into dust and hot water was filtered through it. Did you know that Americans use more than 2.3 billion pounds of coffee beans each year? We are addicted to caffeine!


But my addiction is none of these. My addiction is something much more serious, and taken with a much more lighthearted attitude. My addiction is love. Some of you may sneer, jeer, jest, heckle, and just plain roll your eyes at this. Others may say that I'm either crazy or headed that way. Maybe so! All I know is that I love to be loved. I enjoy that feeling. I crave it! And I know that when I cant get the love I crave from the source I so desperately want it from, I become a very sad person. Its a horrible addiction, and one that I feel I am on the road to recovering from. I do not wish to live for that feeling. I don't want be depressed, sad, or lonely when I feel I don't get the attention I want. There will be times in my life when I wont be able to have that attention and I must learn to live with that. Just knowing that the one I've decided to give my own heart to loves me should be enough but I crave that interaction between two hearts and souls; that beautiful moment when nothing else in the world matters but the two in love.


I have known many that said they loved me, far less that meant it, and far fewer than that whom I have ever loved in return. Still, I let those who loved me believe that the feeling was mutual so as not to loose their love. Was that bad? Was it wrong? I believe it was, and yet I could not help myself for so long. Every time I had the opportunity to let one of those people I did not love fade off into the background, I seemed to pull them back in and dangle that carrot just out of reach once more.


It took so long to grow into the person I've become. I know now what I want in life, I know how to let go of those I do not and can not love, while at the same time holding tightly to those I do. I know finally what real love feels like. I know it's waiting for me - just patiently waiting. He's right there. Maybe he's waiting for an email or a text message from me... but he's out there. Very soon now, I'll be looking into his eyes as he looks deep into mine, soul mates seprated too long ago and forced into strange lives we were never meant to live appart.

The Wreck

"... and here we are, going round in circles, wondering if the lie will be discovered. I’ve told some big ones, but never really on this grand of a scale. And to what end? Actually, strangely enough, it covers her tail end in several different directions. She’s a crazy one. Perhaps someday she’ll let more people in on the secret, but for now it’s only me. For now she won’t even tell her own family. For now, nobody knows. Nobody but herself, me, and the driver of the small pick up truck that crashed into us..."

Exerpt from my book three days before Heathers death.

My Religion

Mom started dating my father after a blind date (where she was 5th pick, the others bailed out,) and she was only 15 at the time. My father was a 20 year old Military guy. She'd always lived in the country woods, so this New Yorker was just different. There was an instant attraction. It just so happened that they were both the same religion; Methodist. Mom's parents hated the thought of their little girl getting married at 17, but knew that if they made her wait the 3 months before turning 18 to get married, they would not be invited to the wedding, so they conceded defeat. Mom and Dad were married in a Methodist church on June 7th, 1975.

It wasn't long after that my mom discovered she was pregnant. My brother was born on July 25, 1976. My parents never had a Honeymoon (btw - neither have I). Instead, my dad left the Air Force and moved her, while still pregnant, to upstate New York where he got a job in a grocery store and they lived with my Dad's Step-Dad, my Grandpa Frank. That's the way I understand the story, anyway.

They went to church with grandpa Frank all the time. He was the kind that would swear like a sailor and then repent on a Sunday. Eventually I think my mother got tired of it and decided that the church had too many hypocrites in it. That's when they stopped going.

Sometime after that, Dad joined back up with the Air Force. In the summer of 1979, Mom was pregnant with me and Dad got stationed in Germany. Mom said that the last thing she wanted was for her last child to be born somewhere other than the states. She wanted an all American baby. (LOL! And here I'm so proud of my Irish heritage...) So, Mom moved back to Arkansas with my brother to be with her mom to have me. I guess she was about 8 months along when she decided she couldn't take it anymore and moved to Germany to be with my Dad. Then I came along in December that year, 2 weeks to the day before Christmas.

Got a little off track there ... sorry.

Anyway, My brother and I knew basically nothing of the church for many years because my mother didn't want us getting "Confused". The only kind of church they had on the military bases were non-denominational churches. Mom and Dad thought that it would only add to the confusion if we went to these churches that Mom thought was full of only more hypocrites. She's got many strange beliefs, most of which I do not agree with in the slightest.

My brother and I used to sneak out of the house early on a Sunday morning and ride our bikes the 3 miles to get to the church for the service. There was rarely a service we missed. Mom and Dad just always thought we were out playing, or sleeping in. They never really knew.

Finally, once we moved to Utah and my brother moved away, there were no churches close by but the LDS church, and my mom would not have stood for me to go to an LDS church. It's the rebel in her, I guess. She doesn't ever want to "follow the pack" if you know what I mean. No offense to the Mormon religion, but Mom didn't want any of us to be what everyone else was. Besides, she was raised Methodist and firmly believed in the religion - just not the hypocrites.

I finally found a Methodist Church on Laker Way in Washington Terrace and somehow I talked them into going to church with me. We had a grand time, actually. Mom and Dad dressed up to go with me, and for the first time in years, my grades started to do better in school. I felt like I had their support finally. Then it came. The letter.

I started my first job at the Wendy's in Roy in the summer of 1996. I think it was Andrew Libby who actually asked me on a date while I was working there. He took me to play Mini Golf - the first time I had ever played. And the last. We had a blast. When school started back up again, he didn't know who I was.

Anyway - getting off the point again.

I wasn't making much money at Wendy's, and it was saving what I could for school clothes and supplies for when school started back up. One day I went to the mail box to get the mail and found something for me in it from the Methodist Church.
The letter said roughly that they appreciated my donations every week. They understood that I now had a new job. They outlined for me how much I made, how much was taken out for taxes and various purposes, and then told me how much I SHOULD be donating every week.

I never went back.

I tried a church here and there for a while and even became friends with a pastor once who was quite good. He expected nothing from me but kindness... but still my heart wasn't in it. It was too late and I was jaded at that point. It's been years now since I've set foot in a church. I imagine it will be yet a few more before I'm even tempted, if ever.

Despite All Odds

Each day I live with the knowledge that my parents are ashamed of me. Each day that passes I know they claim that they do not judge me, but rather disagree with the life I live. Each day I wake up, I know that there is so little they know about me and how I live. And - what is judgement if it's not a disagreement with how someone lives or what choices they make?

I'm a strong, powerful, self sufficient woman these days. Maybe I haven't always been that way, but things change. Even though I live each day knowing they judge me and 'disagree' with my choices, I don't dwell on it or think about it each day.

I live my life with purpose. I've tried to find meaning in my life, and though most of the time I can't find it, I know it's there. Yes, I look towards the future, and yes, I remember the past. I even share stories of my childhood - but I live in the moment.

For the first time in my life, I live alone. I have no roommates except for the cat. I watch what I want on TV, I eat what I like, I go where I choose and I fully support myself. I pay my bills on time, I parallel park my car on the street and I go for long walks when I'm having a bad day. More than that, I'm a good person.

My parents were convinced that I was sexually active when I was very young. I didn't loose my virginity until I was 17, and even then it was to someone they knew. My mother was at one time convinced I would marry the guy. She never knew about us. They were also convinced that I was addicted to drugs at about 13 or 14 I believe. I actually took myself off of Ritalin at 15 years old after an 11 year addiction. I imagine my unusual behavior symptoms at that time could be contributed to having withdrawals after being on a highly addictive drug for so long. I flushed the Ritalin daily. When they noticed the signs, I was taken to a shrink and put on Paxil, Prozac and Klonopin, which I flushed down the toilet each day. One night when they were angry at me for something (something I undoubtedly deserved their anger for) I went down stairs and FINALLY took the medicines I had been prescribed by the military head doctor. When they called me up to 'talk' to me, my eyes were dilated. They didn't believe that the only thing I had taken were the medicines I was told to take daily because they didn't know that I hadn't been taking them thus far.

Once or twice my mom would make me take the medicine in front of her. I tried to hide them under my tongue to spit them out later on, but she found them. I tucked them into my cheeks, but that failed too. On the days I actually took the medicines, I nearly passed out on the bus to school. I couldn't focus all day. I would grow paranoid and became highly reclusive. I skipped school because I couldn't stand the noise of people talking around me. I grew fearful of everything and everyone. On the days that I flushed the pills, I felt like a normal kid.

I lost a lot of friends during the time I was going through all of this. I also lost all of my possessions, having them taken away one at a time. A lot of people don't know the true story of what happened to me back then. I was living in a daily Hell and fought back every second. I knew I was strong enough to make it and I was Hell bent to prove it to myself.

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and put into the school for troubled kids. I focused on my art and writing, finding an escape in every day activities. I never sacrificed my own morals or beliefs in order to survive during the times I ran away, despite what my own parents believed and told others about me.

I was beaten and abused by a boyfriend at 18. They never believed me.

I was kidnapped at 19. They never knew.

My ex-husband was controlling and manipulative, depressing, appalling. They wouldn't listen.

I nearly starved to death once and got down to about 96 lbs., showing every one of my ribs. Anyone could count my spine beneath a T-shirt. I asked for help in order to survive and they said no. They wanted me to return to the abusive relationship.

I stopped asking for help or telling them what I was going through because I knew it didn't do any good. Likewise, I didn't tell them how well I was doing. I just decided not to tell them anything of importance from then on. Last year, I decided to try again and was disappointed.

Three years ago, the day Pete proposed to me, I didn't want to tell my parents because I dreaded their reaction. Something about that is incredibly sad. It should be a happy moment. I told my Dad and he grew very morose. He said something to the effect of knowing it was doomed to fail before it started. When I told my mother later on, her response was simple.

"Promise me you'll give the ring back when you break up."

There has never been much faith from either of them, and yet I've worked my entire life to prove them wrong. I've worked hard to prove myself right - that I can survive and be happy. Perhaps they have hope - but they have NO faith in either of their children.

More than a year ago now when I called them to let them know that Pete and I had broken up, they told me "we knew it was coming" when I expected just to hear "I'm so sorry to hear that." When I had my hair done for Extreme Makeover, the first words out of my mother's mouth after years of not seeing her were "Your hair is too dark" instead of "you look lovely" or "Hi". When I moved out 2 days after I turned 18 and they couldn't understand it, my father said that my mother gave me 6 months before I came crawling back to them. My father gave me 3 months. When I went to stay with them last year, my father told me "You had a good run of it, Kiddo - but you remember what I said. We always knew you'd be back." It's no bloody wonder I left again in such a damned hurry. There was no way in Hell I was staying there for a full year. The breaking point was when they threatened to kill Oliver or turn him out into the streets because he had gotten out of my room while I was gone.

I left in July of last year. I called for birthdays, I called on Thanksgiving - but something was amiss. Something was wrong. Something was broken and I couldn't fix it. Then my 30th birthday came and went without a phone call, without a card. It was then I realized that they had no faith in me, and equally no hope. Truly, they were that disconnected from me.

I've done better since that exact moment than I've ever done in my life. I have the highest salary I've ever gotten right now. I have a job where the people respect and love me. I have 9 people working for me that would do almost anything for me that I asked of them and a boss that speaks frankly with me out of respect and understanding. I have more at this exact moment than I've ever had before in my life... Self respect, dignity, humility and a loving understanding of the world around me. I have my cat. I have furniture, groceries in the fridge, a reason to wake up in the mornings and a passion for all things in life; past, present and future.

It's been a release for me, knowing finally, once and for all, that I do not have the approval, respect or understanding of my parents. I never will. That's not something I'm looking for anymore. For 11 years, that was my greatest mistake. I wasn't trying to figure out who I was - I was trying to be who everyone else around me wanted me to be. I wanted more than anything to be a success so that they would FINALLY be proud of me. Knowing now that it's something I will never achieve has made me open my eyes to new possibilities. Now, I am finally proud of MYSELF.

I have people who read my blogs, who listen to my thoughts and stories, who respect and love me and want more than anything for me to succeed. As much as I love each of you for that part of you, I have to tell you that the only person I have anything to prove to anymore is myself.

I don't know if I'll be the hero of my own story or if I'll perish as an unknown at the end of the final chapter, but I wish the world to know that I have truly lived a wonderful life full of happy and wonderful moments, love, laughter and LIFE, despite all odds.

Without You - song from My Fair Lady

Eliza (singing):
What a fool I was, what dominated fool,
to think that you were the earth and the sky,
What a fool I was, What an elevated fool,
What a mutton-headed dote was I!
No, my reverberated friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.

Professor Higgins (speaking):
You impetant hussy! There's not an idea in your head or a word in your mouth that I haven't put there.

Eliza (singing):
There'll be spring every year without you. England still will be here without you.
There'll be fruit on the tree.
And a shore by the sea.
There'll be crumpets and tea without you.

Art and music will thrive without you. Somehow Keats will survive without you.
And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you.
I can do without you.

You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.

They can still rule with land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado we can all muddle through without you.

Professor Higgins:
You brazen hussy,

Eliza (singing):
Wihtout pulling it the tide comes in,
without your twirling it the Earth can spin,
Without your pulling it, the tide comes in
Without your twirling it, the earth can spin
Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by,
If they can do without you, ducky, so can I
I shall not feel alone without you
I can stand on my own without you
So go back in your shell
I can do bloody well
Without...

Professor Higging (singing) interupts:
By George, I really did it,
I did it, I did it,
I said I'd make a woman and indeed I did,
I knew that I could do it,
I knew it, I knew it,
I said I'd make a woman and succeed I did!

(speaking)
Eliza you are wonderful

(Eliza)

Goodbye Professor Higgins. You shall not be seeing me again.