"My name is Rosemary..."

"I heard you say you don't feel right,
Somethin' must've changed inside.
She said, I still love the bands and the boy down the street,
But everybody else gives me the creeps..."

I don't feel right.

I haven't felt right in a long time.

I tried to have a normal week with Stef but nothing was normal. Everything was pushingpushingpushing and just trying to smile and laugh through the hurt. And even Edmonton isn't the same anymore; even going to Montana for the first time and spending days shopping and laughing until the store staff were confused and just hugging and grabbing obnoxious shoes to buy weren't the same.

A Wednesday spa day to wash it all away.

And a message that had me in tears at 8 am and Stef so angry I had to beg her not to blow.

A narrative being spun.

"And there's a hole in you now,
Like the windshield was taken out.
And everybody's hurt, and mine ain't the worst,
But it's mine and I'm feelin' it now..."

No grief is bigger or smaller than another.

Every path is different.

And writing has always been therapeutic to me.

Mr. Broderick told me in grade 8 to never stop writing because he knew it was my outlet.

I have always felt if I do not let something out it becomes poison and it courses through my veins.

And if I choose to share that publicly, to share the ugliness and the hurt and the deception, then maybe it helps someone else who is caught under this shroud of pain and who has not found their words yet.

I know some of you have messaged me and I hear you.

If my words help then that is more than I can ask for.

"Sometimes I think it's haunted inside this house..."

I came home to a shattered glass on my counter.

The one thing in this house that meant the most to me.

And I broke.

The tears won't stop and I feel so much loss over and over again.

Thank you to Jeff who replaced it with another when he heard but it will never be the same.

Nothing will ever be the same.

"And I hear ya cryin' over the phone,
'Where have all the good times gone?'
Downing the glass of shouting matches,
Lost in the songs they don't write anymore..."

So I sit here.

And I turn on the music that has gotten me through since I was a child and my dad told me there is a song for everything. He was right. My dad raised me on music, movies and hockey. There is, indeed, a song for everything.

I was told not to write.

Not to share.

That it was wrong.

But I will not stop writing and I will not stop sharing.

I will not stop speaking truth.

If that truth hurts you then you maybe need to look inside and adjust the reasons why it hurts.

"It's all right, I ain't tryin' to bring you down tonight,
'Oh my, my, my, she says, I don't mind,
I'm just so tired of the empty sheets I sleep beside...'"

And I do not try to bring anybody down; I try to let it out. I try to release the hurt and the pressure, hit the valve that will put it out there in the hopes that someone else feels their pressure released too.

Because there are far too many of us.

"Heard you say it's gone all wrong,
Since when did the days and the nights get so long?
She said, I still miss the scene and the dying breed, but now I'd settle for some company..."

Company.

Barely anyone checks in anymore.

The girls still chat and I still talk to one of his friends and his wife who are such beautiful people who get it, but it is a damn lonely existence.

Company.

Sometimes it would be nice to know someone cares enough to come by.

"And there were things that I did, just so I could feel anything,
But somewhere along,
Something went off,
And I woke up with blood on my lips..."

Maybe there were times when I have said or written things many feel I should not have because they are private but they poured from my fingers.

"And yeah, and there were nights I just did whatever I liked..."

Trauma.

Hurt.

Trauma responses are weird and sometimes you wake up and wonder why you said or did a certain thing.

It is hard to understand that until you have experienced it.

But there are zero regrets.

It's called boundaries, building walls and deciding who deserves my energy rather than who can walk in, zap it for their own gain and walk away.

I refuse to be hurt anymore.

Will I ever be the same?

God no.

Nor would I expect to be.

And if you are hurt by my words about your own words or actions that is a you problem, not a me problem.

Find a lie.

If your words or actions evoke negative commentary that hurts you - maybe ask why that is.

I am now realizing my worth and that I do not have to take anyone bringing me down.

And nobody has the right to silence my voice or truth.

Sometimes the truth hurts.

"My name is Rosemary,
You'd be lucky to meet me..."

And I'll rely on my army. Always. It's bigger than some think.

"Someday they're gonna love me back to life..."