Good Days.

Today is a good day.
That sounds like some third grade English required journal entry doesnt it?
So simple, just 5 words, 6 syllables , something most people think on a regular basis.

However , it's not something I can honestly say on anywhere near close to a regular basis.

Most days are at best "meh."
I quite frequently have days that are seriously terrible, or days that I can't cope with.
I have days where I can barely get out of bed, days that are full of panic attacks.
Days with dark thoughts.

Because I have such an abundance of less than great days, I can really notice when a day is good.

The contrast is obvious , visible, non-negotiable.
  On good days I do things, I create , I write , I paint , I smile.
I'm content , hopeful, optimistic, even happy sometimes.

I am not one of those people that are lucky enough to take good days for granted.
A good day for me is a breath that I've been holding for a year.
A splash of cold water in an Arizona summer.
It's refreshing , healing even.

I literally live for these days.
The good days are what keep me going.
Thankfully , today is one of them.

How I Am

I am a whirlwind.
Frantic thoughts, clumsy motions.
Sweeping through everything and everyone.
Haphazardly throwing things together in a blur of rushed movements.
Sometimes helping sometimes hurting, but making my presence obviously known.

Other days,
I am still.
Barely a gentle breeze.
Doing my best to hide.
Go unnoticed.
Curling up into myself.
Making just enough movement to breathe.

I actually deleted my Tumblr.

Wow.
I can't believe it.
I finally deleted that black hole which consumed way too much of my time and life.
It was great at first , seriously.
It gave me a sense of place , of community .
I learned so much from that website as well.
I learned about feminism and lgbt rights and gender rolls  and the wrongs that were occurring all over the world , and the different sexualities and all sorts of stuff I've never thought about before.
I learned about body positivity , and slut shaming and religion.
I've learned so much and opened my eyes to so much and that's so awesome.

However, when activism and teaching turns into ugly attacks and caps over who is wrong and who is right, and when a single comment turns into a witch  hunt, it's no longer okay.

The sjbs that preach peace and equality to everyone are the same ones that turn around and personally attack a person for an opinion.
It's insane.

And i've tried to hard to think and be and do all the things I can to make sure I'm not offending anyone but there is a line where youre no longer saying what you believe in for the sake of not being called ()ist or ()phobic or anything else.

There is a line between wanting people to be aware of how theyre being offensive , and being offensive yourself.

I won't be a part of it anymore.

That's all.

Anxiety and Phone Calls

I woke up this morning to 3 separate missed calls, all from unknown numbers.
That is a terrible way to start a day for me.

I'll let you sit here and be baffled for a moment because that probably makes very little sense to you, if everything up in your noggin is working correctly .

Well, phone calls from unknown numbers are the worst, they spin my head into the depths of improbable , but still possible scenarios.
Who is it? What do they want ? Is is an emergency ?
Is someone looking for me?
Did someone die?
Is it a bill collector?
Am I in trouble somewhere for something ?
Is it a stupid survey ?
Is it work?

Logically , none of those make any sense.
And i know that and I can consciously recognize that.
However , that doesn't mean i can control it.

"But Kiah, why didn't you just call them back and find out who it was ?" You're probably wondering.

Because that's what people do don't they?
They call them back.

Which again , makes perfect sense to me, yet I still can't do it.

That throws me into a near panic.
What if they don't answer?
What if they do answer?
What do I say?
What do I ask?
What if they want something?
I don't know what to do!

It's exhausting .
And I do know that there are tons of other people that understand where I'm coming from, that 
have this same repeat of anxieties every freaking day, and that is somewhat comforting.

There are more people that don't understand though, and that is so frustrating.
Everyone has this set of expectations of how every single person is going to react.
A phone rings? Answer it.
You don't sit there and fearfully stare at it, debating answering it until it stops ringing and then try to play detective through Google .

It's not just unknown numbers either.
HA! if only it were that simple.

I also can't make outgoing calls to people other than my mother , my brother ,my significant other and a very small handful of friends. Think around two friends.
Here's an example :
Just last month I needed to call the school I'll start at in the fall. I needed to tell them I registered for the wrong major online and I needed to change it.
Super simple.
I even knew exactly which office to call.

I put off that call for at least a week.
I even called my mom and tried to pawn it off on her.
When I finally decided I had to do it, I sat there and had a panic attack staring at my phone for an hour.
In order to actually call that damn number , I literally had to write down on paper word for word what I would say.
The call itself lasted maybe six minutes tops.

Another example :
When I started my job several months ago , I was required to learn phones.
The night I was being taught how to answer the phones and take orders I almost started crying.
My voice was shaking so bad the customers couldn't understand me.

This is something that affects me, everyday.

Often my mother says to me:
 "You should call (insert relative here) because (insert reason here)
and they love you so much." 
I'm sorry mom , but I can't .
Yes I do love them , and yes I am happy/sad for them , and yes I miss them and would love to see them , however I cannot call them and will continue holding on to the hope that we will all soon learn telepathy.

Simple Things That Make Me Happy.

Drinks that taste like popsicles from my childhood
Kittens
Sunsets
Paint leftover on my hands
Forehead kisses
When my hair cooperates
Children that behave in public
Ice tea
Naps
Finishing a project
Making lists

Daddy's Little Girl

My mother recently told me that when I was a very young girl I would stay up late and stand on the couch and peer out the window. I would wait for daddy to get home from work. I would wait for his truck to pull in the driveway and little me would hop off that couch and stand right at that door like a lonely puppy waiting for him to walk in.

I have no memory of this.

When I was years older my father asked me " Why aren't you daddy's little girl anymore?"

His question confused me , had I ever been daddy's little girl?

Ah yes. The hat. 

My father had taken myself and my younger brother to the fair that day.

This was long after him and my mother finally officially split.

He bought me a hat , pink and trucker style with that sweet-as-sugar catch phrase
"Daddy's little girl"

I sometimes think he expected me to stay little forever.
No feelings greater than happy, sad, or hungry.
No activity worse than teasing little brother.

When I was 8 he told me
  "You're eight years old now , you're old enough to make the right decisions."
He was referring to my mother here, how he wanted me to live with him instead.

8 years old is not old enough to start mental manipulations on.

He use to play baseball and squirt guns with us , I do remember this.
For a few years he would even take us to the park.
Sadly for my brother though , that didnt last long.
It was like , I got to a certain age and my father thought I no longer needed that.

And maybe I didn't
but my brother , three years younger than me, should have had three more years of laughter and summer and fun.
Instead of starting off three years too early with inside video games and awkward small talk over watching television.

My sophomore year of high school, we moved across country.
My mother and brother and step-father and I.
My father signed the papers, let us go in exchange for not having to pay child support. 

He wrote us letters though.
We would fly out to visit him every summer.

On my sixteenth birthday , he made me cry.
I still to this day don't know why he was angry with me.
I went outside , and he's on his phone and he turns around with a "Why can't you ever just listen? I can't deal with this right now . Why?
Never mind it's your birthday I don't want to yell at you."

Too late.
It still bothers me that I don't know what I did.

I graduated high school at 18 , thank goodness.
He said he was proud of me and he wouldn't miss it for the world.

How long was it?
Maybe two weeks before I was scheduled to walk across that stage, my mom came into my bedroom crying.
All sorts of colorful names she gave him , without using his actual name.
Somehow I knew what it was without her telling me outright .
Daddy's little girl was no more.


He never bought the tickets, he never planned on coming .
My brother and mother watched me , since at this point my stepfather was gone too.

So many betrayals , all swirling at once.


I got over it though , my forgiving side winning like usual.
Stayed with him over the summer , meeting his new baby son.
Exchanging civil conversation with his new , three years older than myself, wife.

Staying doesn't equate to bonding though , that much was soon apparent.
My father , who can make strangers laugh in public , who can make small talk with neighbors on the river, is also the same person who, when his family drops by for a visit, somehow seems to magically vanish for long periods at a time , visiting with no one. 
I  did not have one meaningful conversation with him the whole summer.

I spent that year in Michigan , going to school , catching up with family.
The same family that would tell me how happy my father was to have us back.
Then why couldn't he show it?
How hard was it just to get to know me ?

A few months from 19 , I packed up what I could fit into one suitcase and moved back to Arizona.

I talked to him on the phone here and there.
And those small chats became fewer and fewer.
The drama got larger and louder.
"Family Stuff"


Is what we all call it when someone asks what's wrong.
"Oh it's just family stuff." We say as we shake our heads and change the subject.

I heard it  in pieces second hand from my brother or mother. 
How my fathers wife was treating my brother , and trying to fight with my mother.
My father standing aside and allowing all of this to happen.
How dare you.

I tried to call my father , no answer.
I left voicemails , un returned.
Text messages probably never read.
I told my brother specifically to tell him to call me back.
Never happened.

This went on for two months .
Two months he couldn't , or wouldn't spare 60 seconds for me.

Until he called one day out of nowhere,
asking how work was , how much was I making , how many hours I had.
Called to yell at me about student loans from my previous school year , and how I was a disappointment for taking a year off.
How broke he was.
I cried , I told him sorry , I would pay him.

It's been close to a year since I've heard from him.
He hasn't called for a chat since.

I heard how he's doing though.
Too broke to buy his oldest son a 75 cent birthday card when he turned 17, 
but his wife can turn around and buy her baby an infant electronic tablet.

He does't give my brother lunch money , or care about his grades.
He doesn't go anywhere or do anything with him anymore.
He buys food that only the toddler can have ,specific cupboards just for him
  and my brother lives off ramen.
My brothers shower broke one day , and my father was too busy to fix it , yet wouldnt allow him to use his shower.
My brother went two days without showering.

He is the reason my brother is a constant worry in my head.
I've thought about breaking my silence for my brothers sake , but I can't do it.
I'm too scared of his reply.

I'm so sorry for that.

I've considered writing a letter, but I heard that my grandmother wrote him a letter as well , and it went unread ,ripped up and thrown away.

My father no longer exists.
He's physically a person.
He's just  not who he once was.
The father I used to have would have nothing but bad things to say about this person.

I am two months away from 21 now.
Daddy's little girl , doesn't claim her daddy anymore.

Thoughts I Have Throughout the Day (annoying list number 1)

                         

• Why is 9:00 am even a thing?
• How much longer can I sleep in without being completely useless today?
• Is it really my turn to wash the dishes already?
• Why are all my thoughts in the form of a question?
• Are my kittens under the couch again?
• If they are , can I get off the couch without squishing them?
• I should really figure out my life today.
• How do other people know exactly what they want to do with their lives already?
• Is 20 too young to panic about life?
• I do not want to go into work today
• I so do not want to go into work today
• Please do not make me go into work today
• I have to get ready for work
• Mentally calculating how long I can put off putting on my work uniform
• Seriously, I look like an asshole in this uniform.
• What would happen I got heat stroke walking to work?
• Would someone notice me or would scorpions devour my flesh ?
• I don't think scorpions eat flesh.
• I should workout today
• Where can I find a free personal assistant to make grown up phone calls for me?
• Why is everyone having babies already?
• I don't want babies.
• I'll stick with kittens
• I am now one of those annoying list making people
• My life is now complete.
• Seriously though, work , ugh.