Life Through The Eyes of Stacy

Of all the thoughtful and wise things you have told me over the years as my Mom,  one thing in particular has helped to carry me through some of the toughest emotional challenges over the past few years. One day you and I were having a discussion about my boyfriend at the time. I was worrying that he didn't seem to understand that I needed more emotional response from him; He would constantly break up with me but then expect me to get back together with him a few days later. He didn't understand why our yo-yo relationship was messing with my self esteem and heart..To me it was simple, if he loved me he would not break up with me over small disagreements~ He would stay and make it work.  You didn't know or understand his problem anymore that I did...If you had I know you would have tried to make me understand him but I think you knew that we were destined to break up. You did me a bigger favor by letting me learn my own lessons. Looking back I realize that the problem was h...

I cannot live without my heart yet I can't live with it. Take it from my chest, finally rip it from its place here. There is nothing that you can say that will fix me or that will make all this damage you've done go away and yet your silence is breaking me bone by friggen bone. How do I breathe this ugly and harsh air inward and somehow you expect me to breathe out something gorgeous? You keep touching me and destroying this soul from the inside out with that thing you call Love. I cannot live without your touch yet these bones and skin cannot endure even one more blow. Stop~ Please quit trying to fix me two seconds after you've broken me apart. I am not your dummy or your fucking toy. No, I cannot live without my heart or my breath and I can no longer live with it because of what you done to it with everything you call love. Stacy J Roosa

For a very long time now I have dealt with anxiety. Not only has it been an affliction that has caused me to doubt myself and my own judgment, but it has affected pretty much every aspect of my life from the way I plan my day to the overprotective way I parent. To say that my anxiety is controlling my life is an understatement yet that is not why I came here to write this time. I actually had 2 things that happened today...break throughs I will call them. While talking to a family member who deals with anxiety too I learned that many of the things I do in my day to day life are normal for someone dealing with this.  I was embarrassed to admit that I put off such important things like getting and taking my medications and visiting my doctor.  Also, we compared notes and were both relieved to learn that we procrastinate about other similar things. It felt good to know that I am not alone in the lengths I will go in order to keep my brain from going into a panic mode.  Is...

~There's a voice in me calling out to be heard. It was born when I was first molested as a young child and has been building with time. The voice once like an animal scratching at its cage, is now hollering in need to be heard. Wisdom has been growing slowly but very strong in all the pain. Its always there-the words in me and I don't always know what I am going to say. Yet with  pen or keyboard in hand that voice finally feels free to tell my story. Not always backed by enough years at school, my voice can lose strength at times  but where I might lack the easiness at what words I should choose, I never lack the honesty or the sincerity of what has happened to this body, and in turn, my heart and mind, Yes, I too fear judgment from my readers but know that anyone who comes to this place for the right reasons will not walk away questioning why they came. There cannot be any judge of someone's experience with being molested.  ~Why was I molested as a 7 year old? Why was ...

I have always been attracted to working with people. Until lately, it was the idea of helping others that gave me the feeling of giving back. Whether it was out of high school working with people with developmental disabilities or at my last job where I worked with  people with addictions, I found the job rewarding because I could see some of myself in the people I was helping. Its been too long since I've worked outside the home. When Mom died so unexpectedly I was working at my most demanding position, running a program that aided parents with addictions to live a normal, healthy life in order to get their kids back from foster care. I have never looked down on anyone I was helping simply because no one is above making mistakes, especially not me. What you or I may call a wine or beer at the end of the day another person may not be able to sleep or go through a simple day without.  While I may not understand why a person would stick a needle full of poison into their own ...

My face book status for Today :Ellen DeGenerous came to my house and brought me a car!!!!!!!!! Ok, she didn't really but I still have my fingers crossed! Hope everyone is having a great day ;) Everyone thinks I am crazy. They say that I am dreaming and that people like us don't get surprises like that....If that is true then who are the people that win the lottery or are recipients of the dozens of cars and a few houses she HAS given away? Why not me? Why not you? I am tired of never hoping or dreaming anymore for fear that I will get hurt or let down. I want to believe that good things happen to good people... I am a good person and I have a lot to give. Why not me?

On May 11, 2012 The phrases "God works in mysterious ways" and "God never gives you more than you can handle" have been swirling around in my head for awhile. Since my car was totaled about a month ago I've had to ask friends, and sometimes strangers, for help. Since its happened you wouldn't believe the people who have been helping. My ex-fiance, Bill, who I was engaged to back at the age of 18 who is now married to a wonderful and sweet woman, has been giving my boyfriend car rides from work on and off for a month. On the days Bill and his wife aren't doing it my Dad's new wife, Michelle has been picking Jesse up. The kids. who I have going to school some 30 miles away through school choice, have been picked up every morning by their father to get to the bus stop (which happens to be on his way to work) and my son's best friend's parents have been bringing my kids home every day after school. Now my daughter has been given a part in a sc...

My Love, my baby~ He is the other side to me. The up when I am down. The left when I go right... He is love. He will do anything to make me smile... Still, if I don't or I can't, and he's tried everything to make me happy he can't smile either. He says it hurts his heart to see me cry~ I watch his usually smooth face break into lines of worry and pain when my tears fall. His mood lifts simply when I touch him. If I lay my head on his chest or give him an unexpected kiss I watch as a smile crawls up his lips and reaches and lifts his dark brown eyes. I swear as I lay my head on him that I hear his heart beat quicken. If he is upset- which he rarely ever is~ his handsome face will become hard and his voice deep. Yet with a flash of my own smile or the words "I love you" I see his anger melt away completely. (Even when I am the one who's upset him.) In his arms, in his eyes and in that great big heart I feel a love I've hon...

From as far back as I can remember I have always had a curiosity and deep love for language. Words on paper, spoken and written, I have appreciated all things having to do with words.  As a toddler I had a lisp. I could not say words with an "S" without sticking my tongue out and often my "Th" sounds came out more like "F" sounds so fire truck would be "Fire F#@K" (Yes, funny now but not to my parents then).  I remember as a toddler watching peoples' mouths as they would speak. I was taught early to feel the letters in my mouth and to work them so that I could correct my lisp. Even now I find myself watching people's lips as they speak. I love the sounds of words. Over time I have made many long lists of my favorites. While I may not always care for or feel equally intrigued by their meanings,  a word in itself can influence a poem for me.  Like the word "innocuous" or "indigenous", words like these are like gifts t...

What if I love only to be broken? I know I cannot endure a loss. What is left when all inside is taken? An echo? A question? A need to hide away from the sun. I cannot stand the hope even when its so close I can feel it kissing my face. Its like a tease then a ripping out of my heart. I think I'll stay here and love back the dark. It doesn't want my best or even my heart. I may come out for a bit and let the sun warm my skin but I am not letting it heat up my soul. Never again.

The arms of Love should hold and protect~ Keeping their Love safe from hurt with a strong embrace meant to hold but not possess. Love's eyes should admire, drinking in the beauty of his lover longingly, lovingly but not with a feeling of ownership or lust because Love realizes that her beauty is not his to have~ It is there for all to see at least once yet his, if he's lucky, to witness today and forever. Love's hands should hold his Lover's hand softly, intertwining and lacing his fingers gently around hers to touch her, to let her feel him but not to keep her from touching the world with curiosity. Love's heart should love without needing back her love in return yet should be overflowing with Hope for what her Love would bring to his life and into his world. The mind of Love knows that Love is not just a gift but its a lifelong promise, not to be ripped away to harm. Love's reasoning knows that even if their being together ends befor...

A poem should be like a Painting~ Every word chosen with great intent  like the stroke of a painter's brush till together they form an image. Every sentence intricately layered one after the other building the message, creating the vision that the Poet intends to. Not a simple scribble of thoughts or an means to an end but the beginning really~ A collection of poems is the voice of the Poet's heart. Instead of paint, a pen. Instead of a picture drawn out literally, images thought up, described with mere words on paper that when read paint the story in the reader's mind. Poetry is painting but with words. ~Stacy J Roosa May 2, 2012