21 August 2018

random (irritated) musings


Respect.
Its something to be given but also earned.
Do not come talk to me and demand my respect,
And do not talk at me disrespectfully when I’ve done nothing to earn that.
These days,
There is not enough honor or common courtesy when it comes to the feelings of others.
Its all about self.
We are in a Narcissistic era right now
And that’s what’s becoming wrong with this world.
Everyone is focused on ME ME ME
And forget to be considerate to those around them.
You can focus on yourself,
But the moment that you treat others as disposable fallacies
Is the moment that you have outed yourself as a Narcissist.

You do not have to DO for everyone or others,
But you should be courteous to others as they are human beings also.
You would be upset if you were treated this way,
So why start the treatment.
Life is too short to be so ugly and not willing to listen to others.
Life is meant to listen to the voices of others.
You can learn why people do what they are doing
And still not agree with it.
You are listening to these people and letting them know they are humans.
But the minute you are unwilling to listen,
That moment is the saddest in existence
Because you’re not dehumanizing the others,
But rather yourself.

19 February 2016

A Work in Progress...

I've had this blog for...almost 10 years.  I started it with great intentions. A way to empty my brain, release tensions and anger, give myself that creative boost i needed, a sanity savior...

But updates have been sporadic.  This is because my muse has disappeared.  I've been searching and searching, looking for my muse or for a replacement.  Sanity has been threatning to break and crumble, destroying myself and everything around me. Its been a very rough decade...

Man. Saying decade like this... its kind of a real eye opener.  I don't know if i've even come close to accomplishing anything that i wanted to all those years ago. 

But I wonder what I have done and changed that i never would have thought of back then....

28 January 2015

The Miraculous (& unwillingly) Only Child.... (WIP)



Spring – Gods season of Miracles.”

            -Kim Hyde, mother



I’m not supposed to be here.



I shouldn’t have survived.

I was not meant to be born.


But here I am sitting at this keyboard, sharing this story. Every time someone new hears my name, I am met with an onslaught of questions and jokes: “Hey Spring, where’s summer?”, “Hey Spring, you know it’s Fall?”, “Were your parents hippies or smoking something?”, “oh, you must have been born in the Spring.”, “Like a bed spring. Haha”, and so on. Each time I just smile and laugh and let them get their jabs in. It doesn’t bother me that they joke as I’ve heard most of the jokes before and when it’s a new one, I applaud them and let them know that it’s a good one. Most of the people who ask about my name aren’t genuinely interested, just want to know if my parents were hippies (no they weren’t) and if they were on something (again no). They have no real interest in knowing the true story, and if they push it and I tell them, they are awkward and regret asking and don’t know what to say.

What has brought about this topic is an incident that happened today. While at work, I ordered Jimmy Johns because I needed something fast and healthy (turkey unwhich for the win). The delivery guy (an older gentleman, all white haired) was asking our receptionist what nationality I was, trying to figure it out by my name. (Side note: this sort of lets you know his age since mostly our grandparents’ generation and back would ask this and held great interest in it. Not saying that our generation doesn’t, but it’s not as prominent as it was back in the depression era). He was shocked when I came up and I was white. We chatted a little and when I finally told him in layman’s terms that I was named Spring because “It’s Gods season of Miracles and I was a miracle baby” he shuffled uncomfortably and said “interesting”, took his receipt and left.

Now, I know it’s a topic that makes many uncomfortable. They don’t know what to say, if they should give condolences, keep quiet, etc.  I just want to say that you don’t have to say anything. I didn’t tell the story for you to feel uncomfortable and regret asking. I’m honest about it and I will tell you if you ask me. And I guess that’s why I felt the need to finally put this into writing. Let people know the reason why my mom named me Spring and how it has affected me and my life. And why I completely embrace my name, its namesake and the life I have.  This may take one blog, it may take many. I haven’t decided yet on how I will write this since I’m writing off the top of my head and from my heart. So I guess we will just have to see where they will take us.



My name is Spring, and I was born in the dead of night in the middle of winter.  12:02 am on December 19th to be exact.  I am an only child, but not by choice. I know that the moment I could talk and write, I asked for a sibling. I wanted a baby brother or sister to have adventures with, to fight with, to make memories with and to comfort each other when my parents were fighting. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted someone who would see what was going on and be going through it also. Who was submersed in it the way I was. I wanted someone to love and to be family who was ALWAYS there, even if we weren’t talking to each other.
Every Christmas I wrote a letter to Santa asking for a sibling. When we went for pictures and I was asked by Santa what I wanted, I told him a baby brother or sister. For my birthday, that’s all I would ask for. This continued until I was in about 2-4 grade when my mom explained to me that she couldn’t have babies and she was getting her tubes tied (endometriosis and military doctors refusing to do a hysterectomy). From then on, I still begged Santa at Christmas for a miracle sibling.
When I was in 5th grade, my parents sat me down and told me that Santa Claus wasn’t real. Normally, a child would be upset. But not me. I switched tactics and started begging my parents to adopt since they couldn’t have their own children now.  No more letters to Santa, just a wishlist to my parents for birthdays and Christmases with Sibling at the top. When my mom finally got her hysterectomy, I knew that there was no chance of an accidental pregnancy (id read up on getting tubes tied and had read stories of rare pregnancies even though tubes were tied) and no chance of surrogacy or any other way of my parents having a baby.  During these times, I was constantly being teased about my name. I started going trying to go by Casey (nickname from my middle name) or Binker (family nickname) because I hated being teased about my name.
I forget when exactly it was, but I finally asked or she finally told me the reason from my name once I was in high school. She named me Spring because “Spring is Gods season for Miracles. And you were my miracle.”  I was her miracle baby. She had Miscarriages and false pregnancies before me (and I would find out many after me). They wanted more kids but because of her endometriosis, they couldn’t have anymore.  And they couldn’t afford treatments or surrogacy. She was lucky to have been able to have me and survive the labor (she had toxemia after giving birth to me).
I finally fully embraced my name, realizing that there was emotional meaning behind it. That people can tease me all they want and it didn’t matter. It was a badge of honor, proof of survival.
I wish I could say that this information helped my situation, helped me fill the void of being an only child. Up until I graduated, I continued my requests for a sibling. Begged my parents to adopt, that they wouldn’t have to worry about quitting jobs and such. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of my sibling. I finally stopped asking when I found out that there was a max age for adopters, 40 (this was years ago, I think it’s changed since then).  I was devastated that we had missed our opportunity, that I would never have a brother or sister all my own.
And that’s when I started developing a shopping habit. I somehow got in the mindset that I needed to buy stuff to fill the void that was left where I wanted a sibling. The ONE thing I couldn’t have. That I would NEVER have. It’s a terrible and longing ache that I suffer every day of my life. I struggle to curb the spending, the eating, the sleeping because it has gotten me into trouble. I know many people will look at this as “she’s making excuses for her behavior”, but those people don’t realize that there are things in our past that influences how we do things today. And this is one of my things.  I created this blog to help me overcome my battles, to help me become a stronger person and to heal my inner wounds.


NOTE FROM AUTHOR:  There was meant to be more to this specific blog post. More information, more details, more thought. But A) the blogger hates editing so she usually just posts as she finishes, B) she was working as she wrote this which is also why it ended suddenly and will be continued later, C) she is sleepy and distracted and hopes to add to this or focus on more information in a later blog as to why she chose the beginning paragraphs and some insight on an empaths POV….  Thank you for reading and hopefully will be able to update again soon…. ~SCH~

22 January 2015

A broken train of thought... (that became Bambers oriented)



I am grateful.  This trip my family took to Hawaii was much needed, especially for my soul.  I remembered what it was to be happy over nothing. To just naturally smile for no reason whatsoever.  Ive started to refind myself again, and that makes my soul bloom.
I find myself: sitting at my desk as I’m entering part lists; watching tv; outside with the dogs for potty breaks; laying in bed; driving; etc., and I just smile for no reason whatsoever. I’m just genuinely getting back to my naturally happy self. And this is wonderful. It’s a momentous occasion for me.
I’ve had a creative block for the past 12 years. Still have some of it and am struggling, BUT with this creative block I’ve been struggling with depression, anxiety, losing sight of myself, forgetting what it means to be truly happy and forgetting to live in the moment. But thankfully, with this trip, I relearned what it meant to just sit down and enjoy all around me while I did nothing or wrote or read. Boards were pulled from my heart, from the walls Ive built around myself. I started to let myself feel again.
And yes, with this newfound rememberance of feelings, things hit harder. Bambs death hit harder. The tears come more frequently than before, but that’s because I’m letting myself feel instead of stuffing it down inside and letting it fester or trying to forget about it.  I let myself look for her til I remember that shes not here. Let myself remember what was hers and that roadtrips will never be the same. Sleep isn’t the same. Life will never be the same.








But then I remind myself that she taught me true love. She taught me how to look after another soul and to not be so selfish and narcissistic. She taught me how it feels to not be alone and to be loved unconditionally. Our bond was… is unique. To others she was just a dog or was ‘springs pooch’. To me, she was my child, my best friend, my soul mate.
She loved me no matter what I did. She knew when I was upset and comforted me. She never wanted anything but love, kisses, hugs, treats and food. And I was more than happy to comply. We shared everything.
I’m smiling through tears right now as I remember the times we would drive north and we would share an ice cream cone as I drove. Id have a few licks, then would reach over to her in her car seat and let her have a few licks and so on. To many this was disgusting, unsanitary, unheard of. To me, it was sharing with my loved one. It was the simplest thing, but it made us both so happy.  
When we first got her, she was terrified of car rides. TERRIFIED. She would try to hide under the seats, burrow, anything she could to pretend she wasn’t in the car. But when we stopped, oh how she would love looking out the window or going exploring. As she got older (and my parents stopped smoking, we found out it was the windows cracked for their cigarette smoke that terrified her) she started to LOVE car rides. She would actually run out to the garage and climb into the car and into her car seat that I got her. (And let me tell you, that was the best $50 I ever spent. I still have that car seat too. Its been through some tough times, but I still have it.)  She would just look at me and whine, excited to get on the road. She was the best lil navigator and made my car trips enjoyable. And when I was the passenger in a car trip, she would lay in my arms like a baby. She HAD to be cuddled with momma no matter what.
















And this is where the downfall of writing at work comes in. I’ve lost the tangent, the thought that sparked this piece. Lost where I was, where I wanted to go with it. I can’t be interrupted while I’m ‘on a roll’ because I will lose where I was at, will lose the energy and the drive that propelled me to write. And then I’m stuck with a barely finished thought. A ghost of what I wanted to create. But I guess it also means that I will just have to immerse myself into that moment again at a later time. See what I create then and where it takes me. Always two sides to a situation: the light and the dark.

(also, sorry for the post being all over the place and same with pictures. i'm at work, so couldn't edit it properly.)