Tag: struggles

Artist Daniel Arzola

He’s created some extraordinary artwork displaying the great struggles of the LGBTQ+ Community. His collection “I’m not a joke” is extraordinary powerful! Here’s his Instagram account 🖋💖

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#coffeeshare

If you were to have coffee with me, today, I’d share my frustration.

Every aspect of my life, every detail, centers around others. Yes, I do take time for myself. The majority of my life; however, is giving to others.

When I’m not doing OK, which is right now, I’m cleaning up spills. I’m cooking food my girls don’t care to eat. I’m changing a pull up or picking my daughter up from school. I’m running on endless cups of cold coffee, reminding the girls that food stays in the kitchen, and cleaning up more spills.

When I’m not chasing down the girls to have them stop running, I’m wiping hands, pouring drinks, snatching crayons so they’ll stop coloring my walls. I’m fighting my daughter’s school about something Ridiculous, cleaning up toys, cooking another meal, transporting them to the grocery store, getting them back to bed at 3am…

I’m putting time into the areas’ free little libraries, getting baths done, prepping for the night before, and every single other thing that ANY adult does for a child.

It’s just me… Except for the weekends. I’m thankful that I have that break; but kids are different with mom. I am exhausted… And frustrated from repeating myself. It’s frustrating that it’s just me…. It’s frustrating that I can’t have a two story place so I feel like I can breathe, without kids and mess under my feet constantly. I wish I had help so the girls’ fighting doesn’t piss me off.

I’m usually very good with handling my shit as a mom; but right now, I’m frustrated with all of it.

Transparency

She sat and looked at her. There was such a sad aura about her, pale color, disinterested gaze. Her hair went black, her clothes now heavy with chains and buckles, weighing her to the ground. She chose dark nail color, thick eye liner, a blank “Fuck Off” stare. She has stuffed away her pink and bows, and she’s replaced it with an exterior to match her pain. 

It was four years ago, her brother had enlisted into the Air Force. She wasn’t as close to him as she would’ve liked, but this was still her older brother. Did he really want to join   the military? She was doubtful; he hasn’t mentioned nor displayed such a passion before his enlisting. There he was, September 11, 2001, he was to aboard a plane and leave Ohio in the dust. 

Al Quida had different plans for him that day; shit, they had such for everyone breathing, that day . They were aware of the comfortable complacency and weakened division among the US citizens and their government. Neither here nor there, her brother didn’t arrive at boot camp for another two weeks. 

Little did she realize, eight weeks into her brother’s basic training, her life was changed forever. He wasn’t ready to obey his commanding officer. He wasn’t ready to obey rules of the US Government. He wasn’t mature enough to handle the responsibilities in the shoes of the military. She realize that ; she didn’t fault him entirely. 

The ball started downhill, rolling faster and faster, until it suffocated her. The thoughts that kept her up stole every desire within her. The night hours laughed at her fear, flamed her anger, and destroyed her restful sleep. As the dawns rose, a swelling grew in her throat. She had to face the public, particularly her peers, as if everything was absolutely fine. 

Walking down the hallways, the colors blurred together. The sounds muffled, and it was as if  she had tunnel vision. Her palms were always sweaty, her focus was on fighting back tears, and against anger outbursts.

She began to journal on a more regular basis. She felt to much, to deeply to carry all within her mind. How was she, at just 14, expected to carry such an adult burden? How was she expected to “fake” herself as a “fine” individual when she wasn’t fine to begin with. She had no idea who she was to try and pretend she wasn’t. 

This pretty decent and well behaved girl grew into a mass ball of confusion, guilt, shame, bitterness, depression, anxiety, jealousy, envy, spite, and anger….. Before she was given the opportunities to decide for herself, who she was. 

She sat staring at her, as the transparency of her truth appeared on her tear stained cheeks. She’s been so strong…. For so long… Trying with everything within her mortal abilities to gain the acceptance of these horrendous people who begrudgingly adopted her and her syblings. She tried to obey every rule, learn from syblings mistakes, and be someone of which they were proud…

Tear after tear, unconscionable, salty, anguished and fresh. She couldn’t stop them. She didn’t want to any more. This precious young woman turned from the mirror, placed her face in her hands, and wept for herself. 

This life… Is all she knew and understood about being, and it had been hell for as long as she could remember. ” There has to be more than this!” She broke through her weakened lungs.