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22 February 2014 @ 08:29 pm
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05 February 2014 @ 08:34 pm
I've been thinking about you a lot lately, Mom. I guess the all-night dreams over the last few days have finally gotten to me. Most of the time I can shake things off, and tell myself that you're better off wherever you are. I know that you're with your parents and you're with Dad, and that makes me feel better knowing that you have your great love beside you.

I think about how my life will turn out a lot too, as everyone does I'm sure, but I think about it a lot because I feel this huge void in my heart, and in my life. And I think part of the reason I want someone to love, and to love me is because I need someone to love more than just a friend. I love my closest friends, I love the family that's left, and you know that, I know you know that. But you know how it feels to lose a parent. Imagine it two-fold? I'm so glad you didn't have to go through grammy dying because I don't think you could have handled it, not after everything else, not after Dad. I'm glad that it was me that had to take that rather than you. But sometimes I wonder if I'm going to end up like you. I wonder if I'll ever find a career that I truly love; one that doesn't give me that deep sinking feeling in my stomach, or the ache in my back. I wonder if I'll ever find someone who loves me as much as I need them to. I wonder if I'll have a family that appreciates me. I wonder if it'll be like you. I wonder if I'll have someone who has deep, dangerous flaws and who draws me down a bit. I wonder if I'll be alone, surrounded by friends and family, but lonely as ever. I don't want to be stuck in my mind's negativity forever. I wonder if I'll have kid's that resent my own need of happiness and how I feel fit to become happy.

I'm sorry, truly. I'm sorry for everything that you had to go through that made you doubt life, love, and happiness. I'm sorry that you lost Dad. I'm sorry I resented you for so many years, and man was I GOD AWFUL to you. I'm sorry that I purposely forget to say "I love you," when you said it to me. I can't even think about some of the things I said or did because it makes my stomach turn and my head hurt. I'm sorry I didn't see you enough those last couple of years, and I'm so so sorry for that Thursday night. I'm sorry that I was cruel and inconsiderate. I'm sorry I didn't barge into that hospital and demand to see you, to be by your side, and to hold you hand as you passed. I never got to say goodbye and that kills me because you weren't you when I walked into the ICU room alone. I didn't feel you there, as I do right now.

I started an internship recently, I'm sure you already know. I was driving in Lowell the other day and I thought of you. I knew you were always proud of my successes, even more so when I put effort into things. I know it was hard to watch all three of your kids become different people after Dad died. I knew you loved watching me play sports, but this I know you'd be more proud of. I love music because you loved music. It grows in me. There are so many songs that you'd play as you stood in the dark kitchen with only the dusty sun-lit beams from the window. The chalky orbs floating across the room when I sat still. When I think of music, I think of you. I see your smile, and your loose hair pulled back in a clip, your cut up t-shirt, and you're carefree vibes flowing through my being. I write about music. I write about you. I write about love. You know I can't look at a vinyl without thinking of you? What would mom think of this? Did she have this one? Do I know these songs? Did she? What stories could she tell me about them? But what I'm trying to say is that I'm a lot like you, and sometimes it scares me.

There's so much more I want to learn about you and Dad. As I get older, as I experience more I crave understanding. I talked to you about falling in love and what it meant to feel so unsure about something I'd never felt before. I talked to you about life, and what it means to be. I talked to you about sickness and the fear that only you could understand. That was our last real conversation. We literally laughed and cried, fought and hugged that day, in the couple of hours we spent together. I need more advice, Mom. I'm trying to teach myself, and it's really hard. People don't realize how lucky they are to have those small talks. But I want you back, I need your thoughts. I need the feeling of you.

Auntie Carol is doing well helping me though. I sense you a bit when I'm with her. She turns corners in the new house, and sometimes I see you in her profile, or in her hands, or in her voice. I feel some of your comfort in her, but it'll never be you. And that's what hurts so much. I'll never feel your embrace, your warmth and heartbeat. The feel of your shoulders against mine. I'll never feel a hug like yours. I dreamt you ran down the stairs and you hugged me like you hadn't seen me in years. It felt so real. And well, I haven't seen you in years.

Anyways, Mom, I just wanted to tell you that I missed you. I wish I could tell you the stories of my days. I wish I could share with you the life that I'm living, and all the moments that have yet to happen. I feel like a lot of them are going to be great. Put in a good word with the big man, alright. You know as well as me that we could all use some inspiration as much as possible.

I'll love you forever,
15 February 2013 @ 09:40 am
Sad girl writes another blog entry. Surprised, huh? Yeah, I'm not either.

I honestly don't know what to do anymore. I'm fighting for something that's obviously not there and will never be there. This has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I know that great things come from hard work, but does that count for things like this? Am I supposed to fight this hard for love? For something that is supposed to be given freely?

The last time I saw my mom, she told me, "Just give him space," and ,"he'll come around." Funny, that coming from the woman who would lay on the floor with the phone next to her mug of vodka, crying herself to sleep when her boyfriend had had enough of her crap and told her to go home. But, for some reason, her words felt so comforting, and that's probably because she's my mother.

I have a hard time knowing when to analyze something, and when not to. I often over-analyze a situation because I want it to be perfect; I want to know that I did everything for it to work, and I'm not okay with failure. Yes, I'll sit in bed sulking about how much life sucks and think about how I'm going to give up on every one and every thing, and then I put in the effort to text someone. Yup, that's giving up, Kristen... yeah, good work.

I've always wanted an epic love story too. I believe that sometimes people mistake long, tough romances for a shitty relationship that should have ended a long time ago for the saneness of both parties. Does it make me a hypocrite for thinking that this time it's different? But really, this time is different.

Here's what I tell myself when I'm starting to doubt things: 1.) I felt this crazy, movie scene type shit, coupe de foudre kinda happenings when I first met him. Legit, I felt like my stomach was going to jump out of my body it was so excited, and the world kinda just stopped for a few second when he walked past the gate into the Timber Splash at good ol' Canobie Lake Park. And then time sped up and I didn't know English anymore. So yeah, that happened. B.) I never tried when we first started hanging out, I was nothing but myself and the stupid asshole kissed me, and then a few weeks later told me he was falling for me. My head went, "oh fuck", while my heart went, "ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod" as I kissed him on the forehead and hugged him 'cause I'm absolutely adorable and who couldn't love that shit. Okay I lied, both my head and heart kinda went, "ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod". Did you not read the part about my jumping stomach and french lighting?

BUUUUUUUUUUT, then my stupid-ass, over-analytical, emotional security of a baby says... but what if that was just nerves? AND SHOOTS THE WHOLE THING TO SHIT! Fuck you, brain. You need to RELAX and leave me alone sometimes.

So that's how I feeling right now, just going in an infinity of he likes me, he likes me not. Being a girl and getting pretty damn depressed.

Should I check my phone? NO, he still hasn't texted me back...
21 January 2012 @ 01:53 am

My mind is all kinds if crazy right now. I can't be left alone for long periods if time without going a little crazy.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

21 December 2011 @ 06:03 pm
I'm so nervous for tomorrow. I can't stop thinking about it. I'm going to throw up tomorrow and not sleep tonight. Fuck.
20 December 2011 @ 03:53 am
I don't get why expressing my feelings over and over to myself and even other people still doesn't ease anything in my heart or mind. I'm so totally fucked up that not even general psychology can fix me.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

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06 December 2011 @ 11:31 pm

  I woke up at noon to no alarm, I hadn’t been setting it anymore because I didn‘t have the best sleeping pattern after my mom died. I hardly got sleep anymore. It was my day off from class, and I thought I’d do some shopping for the house and then head over to my grandmother’s with my brother since I promised I'd see her about 16 hours before. Thirty-two minutes after I woke up, strangely the doorbell rang and I heard my cousin walk up the stairs. My brother let her and my Aunt in, they walked into my room crying and said, “Grammy”.

There was an accidental fire set to my grandmother’s home at around 2am in Methuen, Massachusetts. The home she cherished, the same home my grandfather built, my mother grew up in, and the one that each member of the family lived in at one point was destroyed. It was home to all of us. It was the one part of the family that stayed secure. And the one woman who held the family together, and me for that matter, didn’t get out in time, and she was so close to the front door. Otis, the dog that meant the world to her, lay 20 feet away in the living room gone as well.

The article says that the fire most likely started in the kitchen, but it was not definite. All I could picture was that no more than seven hours before, I was standing in that kitchen making her crack up. The kind of laughing that makes your life worth living, where you cross your legs, hold onto whatever’s closest to you and laugh until no sound comes out anymore, as the tears run down your face. I loved when I made her laugh like that. There was honestly nothing better to me, in the world, than seeing my grandmother genuinely happy. She said something about me getting too tall as she always did, and smacked me in the stomach lightly and said, “Stop growing,” as I shrank down to her 5 foot frame and pretended to see the world from her view. I opened cabinets, looked out the window above the sink and looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Man, this is tough.” She laughed so hard, she thought it was one of the greatest things, and said, “Yeah, tell me about it!,” as well as, “Don’t make me pee my pants!” After we laughed for a little more, I told her I had to get going. I said bye to Otis and gave her a huge hug, kissed her on the check and said, “I love you,” and she did the same. She walked out onto the porch with me, I went down the stairs to the driveway and unlocked my car and she laughed at me for locking the car in “this neighborhood”. She closed the porch door, waved through the glass window, laughed and shook her head as she turned back into the house. I pulled out of the driveway and knew I’d be back tomorrow as I promised, which didn’t get to happen.

“Thank God for Julien,” is what my grandmother would always say before she would tell a story about Julien Plourde, her next-door neighbord. Plourde said, “She was a sweetheart. We were all very close. She was a good woman, a good neighbor, a good friend,” and I know he meant that. I’ve known Julien my entire life. He’s always been the next-door neighbor that took care of Grammy. Always there when she needed him, and the only person on the street she would talk to about my mother’s death thirty-seven days prior to the fire. He came to my mom’s funeral, sat next to me during the mercy meal and I cannot thank him enough for being there for my grandmother at all times. I am forever grateful for him. These are the kind of things the article didn’t mention. He wasn’t just a longtime friend, or a next-door neighbord. He had become part of the family.

Thankfully, this article points out how energetic, friendly and generous she was and stays faithful to that. I chose this one out of the others because of that reason, and of course because Julien commented in this one. Other articles list the value of the home and other irrelevant speculations that downgrade the purpose of the story, to honor her and Otis. Some also have other pictures, but they're incredibly hard to look at. Plus, I talked about a memory in the kitchen, and this shows it the best view, the right hand corner. I can vouch that she most definitely was what this article described. She was incredibly important to me and my family. She was the only person I could talk about my mother’s death with. She was always there for me and my family when things got hard, even other people including her neighbor Valerie whom she opened her home to when her house caught fire in November of last year. I will always be proud to call her and spoiled-rotten Otis, who ate better than any of us and got more “cookies" than anyone could imagine, my family. My grandmother was one of a kind. She had a very loud personality and she said what was on her mind, without remorse, and without filter. My family and I were talking the other day about her and we just thought, of course Grammy would make the news and papers when she died. It was just the kind of person she was and I will always love her for being her.

[Adding this because I submitted it for class, and if the blog is deleted, I still want it around.]
16 September 2011 @ 05:56 pm
It's quiet, and when that happens I think too much, fuck me.
15 May 2011 @ 05:20 pm
Truest feelings as always a part of Livejournal, even if I'm hardly ever on anymore.
I miss LJ. I wish I had a new username, I just don't want to make a new one and not have all my old post. I want ONE journal lol. I want bendyourbrain, like my tumblr. I think I'm going to do a revamp. New layout, new icons. Even though, like a dumbass I deleted my icon folder :( boo. Oh well, fresh start to LJ then lol.

Anyways, so I haven't been here in a few months, I think. School's school. It's alright I'm really trying to make this semester a good one, especially if I ever want to get out to California. I need good grades to do that, and I'm not settling on a okay school. I want Loyola Marymount, I'm not going to settle for less, get meh?

I think I may write today, maybe later. Today's gonna be a good day. Woke up to bacon and eggs, and took a ride to Dunkin's to get a coffee.
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