The Weight of My Crimes

Heavy heartedly I heave myself into Hell, in hopes I can fill this hole, to be whole. I am guilty for my sins. I have hurt many, and in homes created havoc, wrecked households and like a harlot, I've had my fun, and when I've had enough, hightailed away from it all.

Help was hardly helping, and I had hid my hideous face from holy harolds, trying to escape my own headache.

Bah,

I told myself I'd post something every day, but who knew looking after a 6 month old would take so much time away from the day!

I'll have to queue some stuff when I have the time.

Anyways, hello world!

I made the CUTEST bird's nest out of some jute cord I bought from Walmart and of course, my favourite thing EVER -- mod podge! It turned out great and I am really proud of it. We're hitting the flea market today (ee!) and I am looking for some more stuff to add to my already growing craft bin. :)

I hope you all are having a wonderful day, and it brings wonderful things to you.

Why being extremely empathetic sucks.

empathetic:
showing empathy or ready comprehension of others' states;

Family disputes are hard to deal with. It's hard to sit back and let the ones you love duke it out while you silently pick a side and hope to God this is all done soon.

Unfortunately, these things are extremely hard for me.

As I type, I listen to my 12 year old sister carry much too big a burden for her heart. I'm overwhelmed with emotion that seems to be radiating from her; Anger, frustration, confusion and more than anything else, ferocious loyalty towards our mother. I've tried to tell her it isn't any of our business, and to let the "adults" handle it (although they aren't acting much like adults right now..), but she won't have it. Thus, I sit in her room with her, listening to her tell me what she would say and what would happen and how much better it would make things.

I'm also swimming in her feelings.

I've always been super sensitive. I've always put the needs of the ones I care about first, and I've always been passionately devoted to my friends, my beliefs and what I believe is right. This sensitivity and strong opinions have lead to me wanting to know how someone could possibly think any differently.

I'm very open minded, and love simply listening, so at a young age, that's what I began to do. I was very shy and soft-spoken, but very smart. I'd analyse a room before going in and playing, so I'm told, and if I didn't like what I saw, I'd stay back with Mum or Dad.

My analyzing habits come naturally now, and I have been analyzing people and situations for a long time. I hurt when they hurt, I laugh when they laugh, and am easily effected by their moods and feelings.

So that's why it sucks. I'm not involved in this family feud whatsoever, and I can't help feeling angry all the time. I feel better now that I've had a chance to write this though. A lot better.

Thank you, blog.
xo

Freedom

Whenever I'm feeling blue
I can't help but
think of you
and how you're doing

I hope everything that was good for me
is even better for you.

I'm sorry I write to you now,
but please, don't withdraw

I hate to do this,
compromise my freedom

But I've never wanted anything but
what I've never had for you.

It isn't like you to go on and break my heart
Again.
But I can't go on without asking,

Will you set me free?

Can I finally take flight
break these shackles
and go?

I'm not afraid to say how I feel,
even though we've both moved on
I've got a good man,
and I'm sure you're doing fine.
I'm sure you're doing fine.

But that possibility that someone like you, who deserves so much happiness, is unhappy keeps me awake at night. Waking up in the moonlight, cold sweats, and dilated eyes, I'm thinking about you. Sleep in my eyes, and hurt in my heart I want to make you happier than they can. I can't, because although my eyes light up like the stars, and my smile as bright as the moon, I'll always be just another lonely night for you.

Enough lonesome, set me free.

Tell me I'm just like them, and tell me I'm not what you want. Tell me you chose her over me and tell me she's the most wonderful thing you've ever had and her hair smells like your paradise and her hands are like mine but softer;

because God knows these hands are rough.

Just tell me please, tell me I'm free to go.

I'm baaaack

For today anyways!

Hi guys, somehow I'm still getting a couple views, so that means that some people know I'm still here. I took a break out of frustration because Google disabled my AdSense account. It's not that I had money on there or anything; It was more the fact that it was cancelled for something I had no knowledge or control over. Regardless, I'd like to improve my writing and give my family a little more insight as to what's going on in my life, because I know the only ones checking in on me is them. ;)

Lately, I can't get enough of crafts! It started out as a simple coaster idea and is quickly snowballing into bigger and badder projects! Today I made 5 bracelets (and counting..) and came up with an idea to print off DIY tutorials and put them in a binder, rather than cry and sob because I can't afford the gorgeous crafting books I want. It's all about DIY ladies and gents!

Speaking about do-it-yourself, today was a very do-it-yourself kind of day. I let Jaime-Rose curl my hair with a sock. She's pretty excited about it and I hope it turns out nice. Let's hope it turns out as beautiful as she thinks it will. Hahaha, pictures to come hopefully.

Anyways, thank you for reading everyone. It really really makes me smile that people are still checking in on me after I've been gone for so long.

Phoenix Falling

Pheonix Falling

Kaitlyn H.

phoe·nix/ˈfēniks/

Noun: (in classical mythology) A unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.

Rebirth.

Laying on a grungy bathroom floor, wrists bloodied, eyes glazed and mind leaving, I was certainly not laughing at God.

Prior to this event, I was spitting in His face. The drugs, the lies and the self abuse was venom that left my lips, and hit Him straight in the face. Maybe I was mad at him for sticking me with a sly-handed-silver-tongued Step-Father. Maybe I was scared because he let my Mother turned a blind eye. Maybe I just forgot about him.

I couldn't help but smirk when I pictured how I felt earlier this night. My arms were bruised from pricking myself with needles from strangers, my hair seemed to fall in the right places and my friends were beside me. This was glamor. I felt like glamor. I suppose all that glitters isn't gold though. And God only knows how everything was glittering.

God knew.

I managed to get into trouble and find myself alone with someone. Through the drugs and the alcohol, my only natural fear of men tried to steer me away from him, away from this empty locked room. His fist found my face, and my face found the floor and his hands found my hair. His dick found my mouth and throughout all of this hide and seek, no one found me. Not a single soul.

He finished with me and I crawled into the bathroom. My eyes were sunken in and red. I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe. My tears fell silently from my face, and I realized that in all of their elegance and purity, the tears burned tracks of emotion into my face. The rest of me was numb. I snatched something from somewhere, and the rest is history.

I lie here.

A beautiful bird looking for my youth. I had burned myself into ashes and was waiting to be renewed.

I spent my whole life laughing at God. My Mother laughed blissfully through ignorance, and my Step-Father laughed only at the idea of God. Little did we all know, God merely wanted to  laugh with us. He just didn't get it. I suppose it wasn't really funny.

There was no laughter coming from my mother as she wrung her hands nervously. She asked Him where her daughter was, but she already knew. God did not laugh, nor did He answer. She understood the consequence of her ignorance.

There was no laughter coming from my Step-Father as he downed another round at the bar. He asked Him why his life was full of sin. God did not laugh, nor did He answer. He knew what ruined his life lie deep within the bottle.

I was certainly not laughing as I closed my eyes. As my pulses slowed and my vision blurred, I welcomed God into my life. I called for God. I prayed as I lie dying that he would let me simply do just that. No matter how hard I prayed the night before for him to let me be, he always reanimated me with the same angst for him the next morning.

Death was neigh, but God was closer. I heard him laugh

Blood pooled around me.

I let God laugh.

The lights dimmed.

He was not laughing at me.

I closed my eyes for good.

He was laughing with me, finally.

Kaitlyn Harmon

Pheonix Falling

© 2011, Kaitlyn Harmon

kaitlynharmon@live.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

How writing brought me closer to God.

Hey everyone! I promise this blog WON'T be used as a personal diary. I just have something on my mind, and think everyone who reads my blog would be interested in.

First of all, I'd like to say my love for 'God' (call God what you will, this isn't technical) is fairly new. I mean, I suppose you can ignore those everyday miracles. Those little things that stopped you from doing something, or that little push you needed to leap into something amazing. Or maybe you thought of something you wanted so bad, and suddenly there was a tiny window of opportunity that you needed. Maybe some hurt you carried on your shoulders subsided. Maybe you saw something from someone else' point of view.

These are some of the things that I have begun to notice, and begun to appreciate. I love the fact that there are some days when it seems so dark, and the next I understand how to navigate through the storm. I believe that's what God does for me. He gives me a chance.

I believe God gives many gifts to everyone. As weird as it sounds, I have a knack for empathy. It's actually quite bizarre. I can remember times when my mood has had an impact on the overall mood of the room. I can also remember being completely overwhelmed by what someone else was feeling. I can sense what people are feeling, what they are thinking, and what they want. It's something I've always had with me, but recently tried to hone in on. It's strange.

I think how I write is a result of this gift. My stories are often raw and overflowing with emotion. I don't want my writing to touch people, I want it to grip people. I want my gift of understanding emotion and passion and thoughts to be shared with everyone. I want you all to know how other people feel.

It's easy to get wrapped up in your own problems. It's easy to wallow. It's not hard to feel sorry for yourself. But feeling sorry for someone else is a completely and entirely different thing. It takes courage to open your heart up to them. It takes even greater courage to lend someone else courage.

God has given me the chance to let people know what I am feeling. I know how everyone in my life is feeling, but sometimes I feel so misunderstood. God has given me the gift of words to be able to do this.

Am I letting God take the credit for the work I put into writing? No.
Am I saying my writing is good because God is in my life? No.
I am simply admiring the fact that one day I wanted to write. I am admitting that, without warning, dreams of winning awards, being on Oprah and simply being a happy author have come to my mind.

I haven't always wanted to do this, but I believe God is to blame for planting this idea in my head. I haven't always enjoyed writing, nor have I always considered a future in it, but now I do. I think God knew what I needed to be happier, and he let me know what he thought was best for me; What is best for me.

That's all. I don't mean to sound like a crazy person. I just needed to get this off of my mind.