Regaining our Pulse

It was graduation night for the group of cosmetologists at the hair school I work at, and I was unsure of how the night would unfold. Was I going to go out and celebrate? Was I going to meet up with the now graduates and some of the educators? Nothing out of the norm for a graduation night, but my friend, Ana, was visiting. I found myself sitting on the couch with her and another close friend talking about life and just having one of those good deep thinking conversations. It was too late when I decided I needed to get home and my bed sounded like the best idea.

I tend to be an early riser, but I woke up later than usual that Sunday morning. I glanced at my phone and noticed a slew of notifications.

“Alex, just tell me you’re OK. I’m worried.”

“Alex, I just saw the news. Are you OK??”

“Hey, girl. Please tell me you and the students are OK??? Text me back!”

Missed call after missed call. I was being tagged in Facebook posts. What the hell was going on?? I got online and my heart sank. “Mass shooting at Pulse nightclub. Several confirmed dead”. I still get goosebumps. I frequented Pulse. Pulse could’ve been a stop last night while celebrating graduation. I live less than 10 minutes down the road. My mind started to race. Did anyone tell me they were going last night?? Is everyone I know OK?? I started to text everyone in my phone; panicked. The number of deaths was rising. It would later turn out that I did know family members and/or partners of some of victims.

I spent that morning watching live streams of news coverage. Crying. Sobbing. Then going into leadership mode. Trying to figure out if everyone I knew and loved was safe. Helping those I knew who didn’t know if their loved ones were OK. Then back to crying. I remember answering texts back letting people know I was OK and them replying, “Thank God!” I remember breaking down at one point and saying, ” I am thankful it wasn’t me. But for so many it was. And I can’t handle that thought.” I felt guilt. I felt extreme sadness. I felt confusion. Why? Why? Why?

Ana picked me up only a few hours later and we were on our way to figure out how to help. Mister Rogers once spoke about seeing scary things on the news and his Mom would say, “Look for the helpers. There is always someone who is trying to help.” I couldn’t keep sitting at home. I had to get out with my friend – we had to help.

The sun started to set and we had way too many donations at our site. Some of the people we met decided that we’d all pack up our cars and drive the donations to another location that had nothing. We figured the families of the victims could use everything we had. We were told to head into a room and to just start dropping off the things we had in the corner.

I walked into a cold, drab room with white tile floors. It reminded me of my elementary school’s cafeteria. There were tables all around the room with what appeared to be law enforcement officers, detectives, and social workers. People were sitting at the table with them describing their loved ones. Some looked dazed and confused. Some spoke quietly and sadly while others cried uncontrollably. “He wore a bracelet that he didn’t take off. It was gold.” I heard a woman say. “Did he have anything else that you’d recognize him by? Tattoos? Where on his body?” the lady helping asked. At this point, the victims’ bodies were still at Pulse and had yet to be identified. As I was walking out to grab another cart full of food and water, I saw a police officer confirming to a woman that her son had been identified in the club and he was deceased.

There’s something about witnessing that moment – a mother finding out her child is no longer alive. It’s almost like I could see her world crashing down around her, I could feel her heart beat stop and I could feel the air getting knocked out of her. I could feel her suffocation and feel her losing herself for a brief moment in time. I walked out and immediately started to cry to Ana who had also witnessed it. We didn’t realize where we were being told to go and that we were walking in on these intimate moments. The group agreed that we would stop walking in and out of that room and drop off our donations in another area.

I heard from a friend in law enforcement that the cops were struggling as they walked around the club trying to identify people. Hearing the victims’ phones go off. A room full of vibrations, ringing, alert tones. Their friends and family I’m sure texting and calling the same things I had woken up to that morning.

I walked into work Monday morning like a complete zombie. My friend and co-worker, Mark, walked into my office looking the same. We sat in silence for a few moments before we started to cry. I walked downstairs and a student walked up to me. I remember his hug, so tight and so scared feeling. I could feel him cry into me. All I could muster was, “I’m sorry. I am with you.” as I cried with him. We suspended class and had a day of wellness. Letting students cry, talk, create art, etc. I left early that day and went straight to the memorial. Holding my candle while the city mourned together; listening to 49 bells ring eerily in a somber downtown. Everywhere you turned in the city there was artwork, posters, stuffed animals, etc. There were people praying. There were people crying. There was music both upbeat and sad. It was beautiful and it was tragic.

I spent that week creating a list of therapists and grief counselors that could come out and speak to our students and staff. I was even able to have therapy dogs come out. Watching those golden retrievers march in with their little vests that say, “Please pet me. I’m here for you!” will make you feel all kinds of things even if animals aren’t your thing.

Those sad, gloomy days turned into weeks. The city was one big memorial site. The news was filled with the stories and accounts of those who survived and the stories of those who didn’t. All social media platforms were remembering the 49. It was a while before “normal” crept back in. Our own Orlando kind of normal. Showing the world why we’re called The City Beautiful.

There’s not a day I drive past Pulse that I don’t see people there. For a place that holds such sadness, you find such calm there. There are groups that go to give free hugs, counseling, to just chat, etc.

I remember visiting one day and a lady saw me and started to cry harder than she already was. “I’m sorry, you look like Amanda. She died here. Do you know her? You look exactly like her. May I hug you?” I nodded and held her while she cried. We were meant to see each other that day. Those moments remind me that there is something bigger than us.

In a few days it will have been one year. 365 days. I can only imagine what those days have been like for those affected directly. Filled with grief. Filled with healing. Filled with nothingness and and filled with everything.

I’ve never sat down and wrote about Pulse. I tried many times, but I’d find myself too overwhelmed. This week I feel a lot of that sadness resurfacing. I feel that woman’s pain and yet I feel the numbness. That deafening, frightening quiet creeps in and I’m back to that day scrambling to help and seeing all those faces again.

There are hundreds more like me. Who have their own memory of that day. Their own experience on June 12th. Who have a deep love for Orlando like me.

This is our city. This is our community. Our hearts may have been broken a year ago, but we beam with pride to call this city home. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be or any place else I’d want to call home.

I encourage you to read the stories of those there that night or who knew someone there: Dear World: Orlando

Take a moment to pick out an Act of Love this month and honor the 49:

49ActsofLove-page-001

You can find out how to volunteer here: One Orlando Alliance

You can learn more about the Pulse Memorial here: OnePULSE Foundation

I remember spending nights where I’d just say their names out loud anytime I saw the list. I think that something I’ve learned is that we can’t allow them to fade away. Remembering how important these individuals were and are. We mustn’t forget. Say their names:

orlando-victims-names-videoSixteenByNine1050

Only the best Orlando love and light to you all. Forever, for always. Love, love, love.

Taking care of myself

me

It’s Memorial Day! A three day weekend is exactly what I needed. About three weeks ago, something quite significant happened. It’s still ongoing, and if I’m being honest, I’m unsure of what will come of it all. I am a firm believer in that good will always win and that it’s best to be open and honest. However, I also realize that sometimes you can’t witness good winning (or karma happening). Sometimes that comes over time and you may not even be around when it happens. And you know what? It’s a challenge! Relying on blind faith and knowing the Universe has my back is hard. On the flip side, it’s really opened me up in a way I don’t think I’ve opened up. It was an invitation to really take a look at myself and my surroundings. What am I doing right now? Is what I’m doing in this moment helping and/or guiding me to somewhere I plan (or would like) to be in the near future? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.

In the moments of feeling uneasy, I’m also feeling motivated because I realize how much I want change in this area. It’s also scary. You know, the great unknown.

I spent today grocery shopping. Foods that are delicious and also good for me. Planning out my meals this week. I took time to paint my nails and listened to a podcast. And while these things seem hum-drum things for some, for me it’s truly self-care. These are things I wouldn’t do for myself regularly because on some subconscious level I decide I’m not important enough to make time for. So quick and fast food it is and zoning out to a TV show that doesn’t challenge my brain until I’m asleep.

Self-care and mental health are so important to me. I spend so much time on it in my job and with those around me. Yet, I’m lacking when it comes to myself.

As mentioned, I’m struggling with making the right choices. How do I know if I do this that it’s the right decision for the future? How am I confident that I’ll be OK if I decide on that? Trusting my intuition and heart can be challenging for me because I like to have instant results and for things to be easy. But that’s not how life is.

This book came in the mail. Addressed to me. I was confused – I’m not 100% certain why this marketing manager chose to send this. But it was exactly what I needed. A book about true stories involving courage and risk. Facing the unknown. The Universe really knows how to nudge you, huh?

book

So, here we are. June is on the rise and tomorrow is the start of new, short week. I find myself repeating something my guides have told me, “Keep moving forward” and then I read a note from the Universe:

Rising suns and babbling brooks.  

Tropical forests and sleeping meadows.  

Modern marvels and scientific breakthroughs. 

Exciting discoveries and limitless frontiers.  

Devoted friends and caring strangers.  

Lives and loves and souls to hold so close, one’s own heart could burst. 

Can you even count the splendors, Alex?
    The Universe

I’m still awaiting something good coming from the last entry. And I know something is coming. I can feel it in my bones.

“Keep moving forward, Alex”. 

Love, love.

My life in pictures: Instagram

Tweets: Love, Light, and Alex

My last post: Seven, Psychics, and Feelings, Oh My!

 

seven, psychics, and feelings, oh my!

“You deserve to be in spaces and relationships that make you happy. That feed your soul and help you grow. You are worthy of connections that are loving, nourishing, kind, and authentic. So before you settle for anything less than, remind yourself that the places you visit, and the people you journey with through life, should make you feel safe, loved, and enough. ” – Alex Elle

I was chatting with my co-worker during a down moment in our office. I confided in her how I couldn’t get this moment and person out of my head. I needed to know more, more, more. I also found it odd that this moment I was thinking of coincided with another moment seven years prior.

“I feel like seven is significant here. Like… you need to figure out what seven means. In the bible it symbolizes completion. I’m pretty sure … hold on, let me Google it!” She went on to read about people who are number sevens (numerology).

I thought these traits sounded familiar, but I felt like we were getting off track. I asked her if she even knew what numerology was and she shrugged and said, “No… what is it?” I laughed and explained and then we looked up her number. It was eerily accurate. “I need to know what your’s is now!” I added everything up and we looked at each other, “Seven”. She grabbed my hands, “SEVEN. ALEX, YOU ARE THE SEVEN!” you would’ve thought she saw a ghost.

Turns out the person I can’t get out of mind is also a seven. And the events? Seven years a part.

Now, my great grandmother was a native healer in her time and did tarot readings. A gift that she claimed to be passed down to my mother and then me. When I read that sevens are spiritual and their need to know more and psychic abilities, I couldn’t help but think of my Mom, Grandmother, and Great Grandmother. When I got home I immediately did the math and my mom and Grandmother are both sevens.

This coupled with just feeling different lately – I mentioned this in my last post. I felt like I needed some new crystals and have just been having these feelings of change. Something new yet familiar is coming up. And honestly? While I feel like I may have a clue, I also truly don’t have a clue.

Don’t you ever get that feeling? Like something huge is about to happen? Something good and great? Like, you can feel it in your bones and in your being? But what? What is it?? I just wanna know!

Oh, life. Help a girl out, will ya!

 

We don’t deserve health care!

I am exhausted. Anyone else??

Yesterday might have been one of the most depressing days yet. We took healthcare away from 24 million Americans. I type “we”, but then I think, “Don’t include me in that hatred!”

It absolutely hurts my heart and my core to see people getting treated as if they’re less than. It leaves me confused. It leaves me disheartened and discouraged. It leaves me enraged and in fear.

How can people think this is right? That this is OK? I have a shirt from several years ago from Amnesty International that says, “Health care is a human right!” and it’s so nuts that this is still relevant.

In other news, my local radio station was talking about Cinco de Mayo this morning and asked Mexican and Mexican-Americans their take on the holiday and if it’s offensive to wear mustaches, ponchos, sombreros, etc. I decided to text in because- duh. Yes, that shit is offensive. And ignorant. Especially now – you know – while our government is trying to build a wall. Ugh.

Y’all. THE RADIO STATION BLOCKED ME. I wasn’t rude. I did what they asked the audience to do. All I could do was laugh as how asinine it was. So, now I’m in search of something to listen to in the mornings that’s positive and uplifting. If you got anything, I’m all ears.

Tomorrow I’m going to spend the entire day at Disney and it’s supposed to be gorgeous outside. I can’t wait to spend the day in the sun, eating delicious treats, and spending the day laughing with the best people.

I still have to be careful though since I’m a pre-existing condition now and soon won’t be able to afford the doctor. Am I being too much? Nah. Heavy on the eye roll.

Happy weekend! But really… be careful out there.

Last week was weird.

Hold up. Actually, … April was weird. April showers?

Given that April is my birthday month and despite the awful things I’ve experienced in April, I always look forward to it. But this year? April was throwing me all kinds of crap.

The first week I was bed ridden with an upper respiratory infection and sinus infection. I’d never experienced head pain like that before and to top if off, I didn’t realize I had developed an allergy to amoxicillin thus sending my body into hell. There was a moment where I’m pretty sure death seemed like a better option.

Due to me missing so much work and needing to catch up, I then decided I would work eight days in a row, ten hours a day straight. STRAIGHT. I feel like no one should work that much unless you’re like, saving lives. And I can assure you I’m not in that line of work.

That took me straight into my birthday weekend. I’ve spoken about this on past blogs, but I’ve just never really gotten into my birthday, and then I really fucked it all up when I found out I was pregnant one year days after my birthday. It feels like nothing I do ever goes right or feels right. But I will say this year it was a lovely day. Super low key which is my style. We had breakfast at a character breakfast at a Disney resort and spent the day frolicking around the Magic Kingdom.

Of course following my birthday week was the dreaded week. I wrote about it here if you’re interested. On top of memories, triggers, and trauma I had to deal with the DMV. So you know, more Hell on Earth.

Before I knew it, I was slapping April on the toosh goodbye with the good ol’ Justin meme, “It’s gonna be MAY”. See ya next year, girl!

I did get some new crystals one of those weeks. I’ve spent the last week of April setting my intentions, spending time inviting things I need and want into my life, asking the Universe to guide me, and I can feel something good coming from it.

Maybe April showers do bring May flowers. 😉

Seven years.

I wake up this morning determined it’s going to be a good day. I spent the entire weekend cleaning. That good kind of cleaning where you’re unsure if you’re going to have furniture by the end because you decide everything has got to go. I lit incense, I set intentions; it was a good purge.

Even knowing I have to leave work early today to go to the DMV doesn’t damper my mood. In fact it makes me want to repeat positive affirmations because the DMV can be an awful, awful place.

I brush my teeth and attempt to curl my unruly, almost-dry hair. I’ve even managed to make myself a cup of coffee which is rare these mornings. I seem to have fallen dependent on drive through coffee. I’m putting effort into my make up since I’m taking a picture later.

I am driving in an unusual amount of traffic for a Monday morning. I decide to put on India.Arie’s song, “Video”. It’s my go-to, feel-good song. I recommend it if you ever need to just love yourself a little more than usual. At the red light, I glance down and see, “Heart of the Matter” and I want to hear it next.

As I sit in traffic seeing red light, after red light and cars all around, I let my mind wander off. Before I know it, I’m sobbing and I can’t stop. It’s been seven years. It feels like a lifetime and just yesterday all at once. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” I whisper over and over again. I can’t catch my breath. It’s OK, I’m telling myself, breathe, Alex. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” I can’t stop muttering it.

A friend and I recently talked about trauma. How it’s passed down from generation to generation subconsciously (a curse, maybe). You don’t even realize it’s there until you’re left feeling broken in the middle of Monday morning traffic listening to one of your favorite songs.

Instantly, I was brought back to this week seven years ago. So lost, so confused, so unsure. I was pregnant and my ex boyfriend who I still very much cared for and was on again, off again, wanted nothing to do with the pregnancy. When you’re in your early 20’s and living at home, it’s hard to remember or feel like an adult and feel as though you are in charge of your body and life. I was pressured into ending the pregnancy and then continued on with a not so healthy relationship. I felt as though I didn’t deserve to grieve or work through it because it was something I chose to do. I let that grief and resentment and anger fester. Years later when I realized that I was allowed to grieve this, it was awful to wade through. It was as painful as I imagined it to be and then some. I never thought I would come to a place of peace and yet, here I am. Kind of anyway, right?

I pull into the work parking lot and I give myself a pep talk about how I can do this. I told myself it was going to be a good day, and that means it HAS to be. I pat my cheeks dry, take a few deep breaths, and walk into my office.

It only takes about an hour before I have my first challenge at work. An irate (adult) student is mad that they didn’t pass a class. As they’re crying, they start to raise their voice about how hard they’ve had it and how they don’t deserve this. I can feel my heart start to race. My face is getting hot. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS. DO YOU GET IT? NO. THIS IS HARD AND YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS HOW HARD I HAVE IT!” I can feel my hands trembling and I’m getting angry. “It is not fair for you to speak down to me or punish me for not understanding something you’ve refused to tell me. You are not in a place to speak to me professionally or respectfully, so if you’d like a few minutes to step out and bring yourself to a better place, you are more than welcome to. I would love to understand you and have you understand me, but we will NOT continue this conversation this way!” I say as my voice trembles. The student walks out of my office crying. My hands are visibly shaking.

I have a hundred thoughts swirling around in my head. I am exhausted. I am worn out. “How can they say I don’t fucking understand? How can I understand?! Do they understand that I’m crying on my way in about my abortion SEVEN goddamn years ago and now I have to get yelled at by them because they’re pissed about suffering the consequences for cheating on a test?!” I think to myself and then have to remind myself not to make it personal. This literally has nothing to do with you, Alex. Just breathe. Let it go. I’m finding it hard to focus and bring myself back to my work.

I arrive at the DMV and it’s still the early afternoon. I’m anxious. I don’t understand how the process is supposed to go and I’m confused. I wait until I’m called and the woman that helps me is a mess. She messes up my name on my drivers license, and has to have me repeat everything we’ve done. I’m on the verge of tears and I’ve managed to take the worst picture in the history of driver’s license pictures. I don’t care. I just want to go home and never return to this location ever, ever again.

Target cures everything so I pop in to see if I can find something that will cheer me up. You know, self care and treat yourself. I find a little something and decide I just want to be in my clean, newly organized room.

My room mate is lovely. I text her to let her know what’s going on with me. She asks me if I want anything, if I need space or if I need her to keep me company. I feel like I just need a moment to “chill out”. To relax. To let my brain think but then to let the thoughts slowly drain out of my head. Like a bathtub that’s slowly draining the bath water until you hear it gargle the last of it. I assume my bathtub will be draining all week long until it’s back to being empty.

I read something a friend told me about my pregnancy, “You didn’t lose her forever. But she helped you become the mom she needed for the future”. It calms me.

I realize that grief lasts forever. It shows itself differently as time passes and it’s how you deal with it and that time that determines how your life plays out. Sometimes I have it all together and sometimes I don’t. It’s funny how I can work so hard to “get over” this and yet instinctively and subconsciously  my body and the Universe knows that this was the week seven years ago. And it creeps back into the forefront. The last couple of years weren’t nearly as bad which is why I think today has taken me by surprise.

“You are here, Alex. Be present. She will be back.” I tell myself this evening as I sit on my chair typing this. This is year seven and it’s going to be just fine.

love, love.

See my life in pictures: Instagram

Find me on Twitter: Love, Light, Alex

 

 

2017: Best Year Yet?

If you think 2017 is the best year yet, I have news. You’re a white rich male. Because 2017 has been rotten thus far for anyone not in that category or it’s headed toward rotten-ville. Middle fingers to you, Trump.

Before I opened up a draft, I decided to read my blogs from December. I read this and my heart fluttered:

“Please remember to water yourself, Alex. Every flower needs water, kindness, and space to grow.”

It’s exactly what I needed to read. My new year was pretty lovely. I spent it with my best friend, taking pictures and boomerangs of sparklers, watching countdowns, mini champagne bottles, and sleeping shortly after midnight. Definitely better than previous years where I find myself anxious and in tears.

January I was headstrong with using a planner (like, for real, go me). I got work related news that validated my motto for 2017 :health, wealth, balance and love. I kept reminding myself to stay humble. If it happens, it will all happen in March (one month away). My co-worker is 100% confident everything will work in our favor. However, I think I’m too scared to put all of my eggs in that basket and it not turn out like we envisioned. Nothing is worse than banking on something that doesn’t work out. Maybe that’s something else I need to work on.

Mid-January I think my positive energy kind of dissipated. A bunch of realizations like, Oh, yeah, Alex. Remember when you were going to “arrive” to 30 and be all healthy and fit? And it’s almost a year after 30 and you’ve gained weight and are still at rock bottom? Psh, loser. What if work doesn’t pan out? Back at square one feeling lost and confused. It’s gotta suck being single, old, and feeling like you need a new career change. Ha. And that my friends, is how you work yourself up and into a downward spiral.

HOWEVER. It’s almost mid-February and I can recognize what’s happening. Which is pretty awesome to catch this in the second month of the year with 10 more months to go versus the sixth month, right? I need someone to give me a hug and a gold star and probably words of affirmation.

So this Sunday has been spent meal prepping. A sushi date with my room mate. And some planning for the week ahead with goals to move in ways that feel good. Also, a possible coffee date with a handsome fella depending on how I feel.

So while 2017 might be rotten. I can recognize that there are things in my little corner that I can control. And that’s what I’m going to desperately try to do. Even if it means every month I have to pick myself back up and start again.

Catch my life in pictures here: Instagram

Tweet me sweet nothings here: Twitter

xx

 

The Natural Deodorant Struggle

The title says it all. For about a year now I have struggled to find the perfect natural deodorant. I can’t even get into the billion YouTube videos I watched reviewing them all. Or the reviews I read online about which one worked the best.

ONE YEAR. At times I got so annoyed I just gave up and bought my go-to Degree. After all, who cares if I’m swiping my underarms with aluminum and cancer?? I mean, I’m sure the food, skincare, and air I breathe on the daily is no better. Then I’d feel bad, do more research, and try out another brand.

I F I N A L L Y found one! Schmidt’s for those on the same boat as me. It works, it works, it works! I found myself not getting unbearably wet, there was NO smelliness (praise), and the aroma’s I tried were everything. So….

I was devastated when I realized after putting it on my underarms felt warm and irritated. I realized a few days in I was super irritated and red; I almost looked like I had been burned and my skin was raw. Ouch!

Then came the discoloration. A friend experienced this same thing and told me to push through. It didn’t feel normal so I looked it up and found that it’s a common reaction to baking soda! But no one seems to know why the underarms become thick and discolored. Damnit! Why do I have to have sensitive skin??

Pass, pass, pass. So, I’m back to square one and thinking maybe this just isn’t for me. I’m throwing up my discolored, burned sad underarms and getting back on the poisonous deodorant train. I’m feeling so defeated!

Of course any suggestions or advice are appreciated. Some things just aren’t meant to be I suppose. Natural deodorant included.

Bringing myself back.

I don’t always remember dreading the new year. If I really think about it – I believe this may have started in my mid to late twenties. Every New Years Eve, no matter what I find myself doing; inside I am messy and chaotic. I’m thinking of all things I wanted to accomplish but didn’t. I’m thinking about how I’ve not changed. I’m spiraling and then I’m left feeling isolated and alone. But there’s fireworks, and cheering, and everyone is so fucking excited.

I found myself  watching TV and going to bed shortly after midnight this year. I cried a few times at how pathetic is was and couldn’t wait for morning to come when everyone is in “go” mode. It’s time to start working out, reading books, traveling, you know — “L I V I N G L I F E”.

The Gilmore Girls revival comes to mind. We find out that Lorelai is literally the exact same character we left almost ten years ago. She’s not grown or evolved; she has been living the same life day in and day out for TEN YEARS. I felt like we were the same. Jesus Christ. I am Lorelai. I’ve been living the same way, yearning for the same things year after year and now? Hello, 30. NOTHING HAS CHANGED FOR ME. Que the existential crisis. Thanks, GG.

My Mom loves telling me how much I hate change and how reluctant I am to it. I’m not sure if it’s true because of how much she’s told me this over the years or because I truly hate change. But I know that in order for me to get from point A to point B something has to change. I know what I have to do to get the ball rolling, but it means I will be uncomfortable and scared. I know it’s not permanent, but it still makes me not want to budge. I can’t be a Lorelai.

I think I want to leave behind fear in 2016. I want to walk into 2017 and celebrate myself and my life. I don’t want to pass up on things because I’m scared and I don’t want to not grow and evolve because I’m terrified and insecure. I mean, Trump is about to be president and that’s terrifying enough.

Yesterday I explored the Frida Kahlo exhibit in The Dali Museum and I had a sense of renewal. I was inspired and I felt it was perfect considered the year is coming to a close.

Today was a really tough day for my mental health. I decided to blog some of my feelings about the New Year. I truly believe your New Year begins when you’re ready to be reborn and grow. However, January 1st is a nice place to start if you need a nudge.

So here’s to the almost New Year. I’m really trying to not be so scared and sad about you.

Please remember to water yourself, Alex. Every flower needs water, kindness, and space to grow.

xx

 

Raw Honey Sunday V.6

WHAT IN THE COTTON PICKIN’ HECK, Y’ALL!

This is why blogging has always been a challenge for me. Life gets hard and blogging goes on the back burner. When in reality blogging actually tends to help. Because you know. Feelings. And purging. And shit.

There’s just so much on my mind. Stuff I can’t fully divulge here until I’ve given it real thought and explored it and then once the humans in my real life know, I’ll bring it here. But lots of potentially fun things. You know, living life to the fullest. Carpe Diem! Cliche, cliche, cliche. Supes cute, Alex.

But then hard things too. Like Black Lives Matter and the Pulse shootings (Pulse is about 5-10 minutes from my home). I get overwhelmed with all of the things I want to say and just let is swirl in my head.

6am Friday had me feeling all kinds of death. My room mate came home with a stomach virus from her vacation and I suppose in the few hours she was home and in the 10 minutes we spoke it creeped its way into my system. I felt so bad because my friend came to visit from Boston and she immediately had to go into take-care-of-Alex-mode. If the Devil was in me – he was purged for sure Friday. It’s now Sunday and I’d say I’m about 75%. My stomach is still a little sore and weak feeling. But – I’m alive! That’s a good thing, right?

There you have it. Another Raw Honey Sunday. I did it! I’m getting my feet wet (yet again). There’s always something so therapeutic about typing out what’s on your mind.

Love, love.

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