Tag Archives: inspiration

Just forget for a minute that you have spectacles on your nose and autumn in your heart

I’ve failed and made some major mistakes in my life, but that’s what happens when you’re out here trying new things and pushing yourself to the limit. I’ve always wanted a great life and was willing to work hard to get it. I’ve tasted the bitter taste of defeat and it makes victory that much sweeter. Quitting was never an option for me. When you have a spirit that never quits you are a champion.

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Spring Is Here

“Now is the time of fresh starts
This is the season that makes everything new.
There is a longstanding rumor that Spring is the time
of renewal, but that’s only if you ignore the depressing
clutter and din of the season. All that flowering
and budding and birthing— the messy youthfulness
of Spring actually verge on squalor. Spring is too busy,
too full of itself, too much like a 20-year-old to be the best time for reflection, re-grouping, and starting fresh.
For that you need December. You need to have lived
through the mindless biological imperatives of your life (to bud, and flower, and show off) before you can see that a landscape of newly fallen snow is THE REAL YOU.
December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence you need for the best FRESH START of your life.” 

― Vivian Swift

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Aphorism And What Have you

“Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food.”

“Those who believe it is all right to tell little white lies soon grow color blind.”

The above quotes are both from Austin O’Malley.

Hard as I try I can’t understand what the first quote means. The second I have an inkling. Perhaps it wants to say that be careful telling harmless lies because if you practice it often enough sooner or later it will make you a bonafide liar. Or something like that. But the first I have no idea. I googled it several times but no one out there can give me anything. Like me, they seem to be baffled. 

Care to try anyone?

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Listen To Me Woman

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
You can let them look at you.
But do not mistake eyes for hands,
Or windows for mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
You can let them touch you.
Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer, another woman –
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian, or a muse, or a promise, or a victim or a snack.
You are a woman –
Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat
You are not made of metaphors,
Not apologies, not excuses.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
You can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural,
Still strains the muscles, holds firm the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
Admit they don’t have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men will want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem, or the punchline, or the riddle, or the joke.
Woman, if you grow up the type of woman men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love,
It is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.
It is realizing you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope after the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart.
You learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean,
Even after it’s left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made,
The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night,
And know this.
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You are born to build.

– Sarah Kay

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What Are We Waiting For?

After living in the dark for so long, a glimpse of the light can make you giddy. Strange thoughts come into your head and you better think’em. Has a special fate been calling you and you’re not listening? Is there a secret message right in front of you and you’re not reading it? Is this your last, best chance? Are you gonna take it? Or are you going to the grave with unlived lives in your veins?  ~Justine

It made me think of a horse that had been let out the corral after being held in there for so long.

It reminded me of myself when I feel “good” and want to do everything before my expiration date.

I compare it to people who worked and lived for mortgages, education of their children, bills etc. and at 65 found themselves free of obligations at last and try to cramp their dreams and fantasies into that little time left before it is too late not realizing it really is because the things you can do in your 20s you can impossibly do in your 60s and the experience is not the same.

You simply cannot wait to live.

So, what are we waiting for?

You know what they say…

Better late than never.

Risky-Business

Paper Boats Forever

“We are what we remember. If we lose our memory, we lose our identity and our identity is the accumulation of our experiences. When we walk down the memory lane, it can be unconsciously, willingly, selectively, impetuously or sometimes grudgingly. By following our stream of consciousness we look for lost time and things past. Some reminiscences become anchor points that can take another scope with the wisdom of hindsight. 

Some details in life may look insignificant but appear to be vital leitmotifs in a person’s life. They may have the value of “Rosebuds” of Citizen Kane or “Madeleine cookies” of Marcel Proust or “Strawberry fields” of the Beatles. People regularly walk down the memory lane of their early youth. The paper boats of their childhood are recurrently floating on the waves of their mind and bring back the mood and the spirit of the early days. They enable us to retreat from the trivial, daily worries and can generate delightful bliss and true joy in a sometimes frantic and chaotic life.

When the shimmer of the past is melting into the presence, spreading a scent of attentiveness and inquiring ness, our mind may ask for a new reading of the story of our life. An innocuous flicker from a hazy sequence in our memory lane can affect our current awareness, making us raise questions, throwing new light on our expectations; crafting an airy vision of the future.”

― Erik Pevernagie

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Dead Toad Scrolls

We tend to see ourselves through other people’s eyes. We respond to how other people actually treat us as well as to an imaginary audience of people who we presume are judging us. Even living in total isolation of other people, I would construct a sense of personal identity based upon how I thought other people would evaluate me if they could only see me now.

The road to self-improvement does not begin with the realization of other people’s scorn. Personal salvation commences with the determined excavation and displacement of a crusty layer of self-denial, which defense mechanism camouflaged my intensifying sense of self-repugnance for how I acted in this earthly life.

Enforced seclusion from society and personal introspection are not the product of brilliant intellectual insight or a calculated election. Escape was necessary when reality proved too harsh.

Self-examination requires time alone spent in thoughtful study. We naturally fear aloneness, which reluctance can stifle attaining self-knowledge. In her 1942 memoir titled ‘West with the Night,. Beryl Marham spoke eloquently why we must overcome our fear of aloneness and conduct a search for our inner authenticity. “You can live a lifetime and, at the end of it, know more about other people than you know about yourself. You learn to watch other people, but you never watch yourself because you strive against loneliness. If you read a book, or shuffle a deck of cards, or care for a dog, you are avoiding yourself. The abhorrence of loneliness is as natural as wanting to live at all. If it were otherwise, men would never have bothered to make the alphabet, nor to have fashioned words out of what were only animal sounds, nor to have crossed continents – each man to see what the other looked like.

We are conscious beings always experimenting with the mystery of becoming our ultimate manifestation.

If we cleaved ourselves in half to examine our daily mind chatter under a microscope, who amongst us would daringly display the sediment of their innermost thoughts for public consumption? A tattler’s tale reporting the silted musings resembling my tarnished soul is probably the most typical scorecard. Thomas Hardy (1840-1928), an English novelist and poet declared, “If all hearts were open and all desires known – as they would be if people showed their souls – how many gapings, sighings, clenched fists, knotted brows, broad grins, and red eyes should we see in the market place!” My unsavory report card is indistinguishable from the blemished masses. Etched into the end zone of my life playing field are the horrors of gluttony, greed, failure, and humiliation. Recognition of my sinful life led directly to a rash act of despondency. Commission of a ream of sins is a reflection of my weak character. Guilt from leading a sinful life, not a strong character, manufactured the overwhelming despair that caused me to seek absolution. The willingness to grade myself as less than a satisfactory human being might be my only hope of ever achieving spiritual salvation.

A self-concept is fluid; it is composed of numerous ongoing self-assessments forming an awareness of a person’s physical and mental attributes. Our perception of self comes from our interaction with all of nature and is especially dependent upon social interactions with parents, siblings, spouses, children, friends, neighbors, co-workers, and other acquaintances. Self-identity includes an understanding of a person’s personality attributes, knowledge of their skills and abilities, taking stock of their values and religious affiliations, and tallying their choices for occupation and hobbies. Identity is a mixture of our resilience and our energy; it is the product of our aggressiveness and meekness. We forge an identity with the arms we bear to protect our territory and by the gentleness that we exhibit towards other people. Identity is weaved from sunshine and shadows. It derives from good and evil conduct; it encompasses a sense of love, wonder, and loss.

A person without a crystalline sense of self lives a mythless existence; they lack a definitive path to follow in life. Deprived of a solid sense of self, dispossessed of a connection to the past, destitute of a grounding sense in the present, a person leads a leaden and aimless existence.

None of us remains invulnerable to the demands of our physical survival or stands aloof and insusceptible to the shaping influences of society. We live in a social world and the prevailing cultural norms affect each of us.

Every step in life is a testing ground. Some active and perceptive people never stop blossoming regardless of what experience they encounter while other people seem to wilt with the slightest provocation.

The human mind is the artist of our mutable state of inwardness. External action signals to other people our inner composition. We control our present state of happiness. Each personal action taken or not undertaken subtlety or profoundly alters whom we were, influences whom we now are, and amends who we might become. Our shifting self-image controls our present state of personal happiness.

A strict self-image demonstrates a predisposition to maintain a rigid explanation and definition of a person. Our self-image becomes self-perpetuating because of the tendency of the mind to exhibit partiality regarding what we attend to and preference in what we are prepared to accept as true about the world and ourselves.

― Kilroy J. Oldster

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Mr. Right

If someone would ask me which part in a movie I would like to play, that would be of Bathsheba Everdene, the heroine in Thomas Hardy’s Far From The Madding Crowd. And like Carey Mulligan, who insisted and got what she wanted, I would love Matthias Schoenaerts to play Gabriel Oak. Heck, I would play any part opposite him. Physically, the guy has everything I don’t fancy in a man but there is something about him that makes him so irresistible and he is a Belgian which makes him more accessible to me. Dream big right?

On the other hand, the storyline isn’t new to me. Move over Bathsheba, if you got three suitors vying for your attention, I once had five if not an entire basketball team.

But that was once upon a time.

Dreaming of Matthias Schoenaerts is what’s now left of my once technicolor life.

Still, dream big right?

And keep dreaming…

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When The Truth Hits You Hard Squarely On The Face

She lost her identity. She tried her best to save what’s left of the relationship but in the end, she failed. She poured her whole heart and soul into making it work but it just wasn’t good enough. Now she’s feeling drained, weak and exhausted. She doesn’t even know herself anymore because she’s in too much pain. She can’t remember what she was as a person before you came into her life.

All she is now is a reflection of suffering and brokenness. Every time she looks at the mirror, tears fall down her face. She wishes to be the person she was before; charming, full of energy, and happy.

But she can’t. There’s a massive void inside her heart and she keeps beating herself up all because of one person. She feels like she’s not good enough. All she does every day is she’s fighting to survive with every deep breath and every wipe of the tear.

Do you see know what love can do to people? It’s like a double-edged sword. It’s either you’ll feel so alive and your heart starts pounding, or you’ll be on your knees and struggling to breathe.

Unfortunately for her, it was the latter. You know why? Because you broke her.

~ Unspoken Thoughts via Facebook
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This is What it’s Like to Live with Borderline Personality Disorder.

My struggles of living with a borderline personality disorder — the suffering, the hopelessness, and the light.

“You’re too much.”
“You’re Intense.”
“You go zero to 60 in .2 seconds.”
“Stop being sensitive!”
“You must like chaos.”

I consistently replay these quotes in my head. The people who spoke them have come in and out of my life.

I feel emotions far more than the average person. Although on the surface that may not sound entirely life-altering, it’s crippling.

I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder.

I live every day on the surface. Every emotion is ready to be set off—no matter what. When I’m happy, I’m euphoric. When I’m angry, I’m a monster. When I’m sad, I’m depressed. I have no in between. I’m either green or red. I have no yellow.

Putting my disorder into words is impossible. My mind is a maze, and it makes me sick to even think of it.

All I want is to be close to people. I want a relationship where I can share, love, be safe, but I become “too intense” and “too much” for anybody to handle. So, ultimately, I’m left with nobody. It’s a terrible cycle.

I suffer every day. I suffer with feeling overwhelmed all the time.

I find it difficult to communicate. What I feel in my heart and my head doesn’t translate. I can love you with my mind, body and soul while my words are the exact opposite.

I’m not trying to start drama and I’m not an attention seeker. When I “overact” it is not easy for me to recover.

I hurt. I hurt others. I’m depleted at the end of the day.

I am constantly afraid of the idea of being alone; abandonment is hell. I latch onto people and let go before they are able to let go of me.

Many believe that I am mean, narcissistic, a manipulator.

My moods change consistently and I have zero control over my emotions. I feel everything 24/7.

I was told there are two Monicas. The “Monica I love” and “the disorder.” The “real Monica” is nurturing, empathetic, passionate, enthusiastic, loving and happy.

Once that Monica is gone, you’re left with “the disorder,” which causes manipulative behavior, lying, distorting reality and pessimism.

How is it possible to have these contradicting traits locked into one human?

I’m going to open up my heart. I’m going to become vulnerable. I am going to be raw. There have been nights I didn’t want to be alive. There have been spirits of what I’d like to call “insanity.” I’ve had moments where I ran into the street while the one I love chased me—and I was hoping and praying a car would take me out of my misery.

Out of the pure pain of thinking the one I love would leave, I’d bang my head against a wall as hard as I could, hoping I’d be knocked out.

I tried overdosing three times October, two years ago. I’d had enough. I was bullied out of college and couldn’t handle the pain. I couldn’t handle being abandoned again.

I wanted to die.

I wanted people to care about me. No matter what it took. I wanted people to hurt and realize their wrong-doings. I wanted to punish the ones who didn’t understand. I wanted them to hurt as much as I did every single day.

When I’m down, I’m at rock bottom.

When I hurt, everyone needs to hurt.

I’ve read articles upon articles on how to deal with someone who has Borderline Personality Disorder. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s nothing uplifting to be heard. I read constantly how people like me drain the ones around us. We drain the energy out of the ones we love. We leave them with nothing.

I’m here to tell you that although I’m difficult, I am worth it.

You may not understand me 100 percent of the time. (You may not even understand me five percent of the time, but I am still human.) I feel emotions to the extreme. I long to feel accepted and cherished.

Do not be afraid of me.

We as BPD sufferers are the “difficult ones,” but we aren’t impossible.

-by Monica Adrian Patro


“A mess of gorgeous chaos” is the perfect description of Monica Adrian Patro. Words that flood from her mouth can cut you deeper than a knife or sound like the Angels from above. Understanding the monsters she holds is far more complex than one could rationalize.

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Inventory

“Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.”

― Dorothy Parker,

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You don’t look fake when you unconsciously pretend

It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideals which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life.”

― W. Somerset Maugham

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