Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 8

Walking on egg shells

Tip

Toe

Tip

Toe

My mind rewinds

Plays

Rewinds

Plays

Will she understand my intention?

Or

Will she be offended?

I feel like I’m trying to create a relationship with a social media troll

Hush now

Be sensitive

The egg shells may crack

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 7

Today I’ve been thinking about home.

Craving familiarity.

I’ve been listening to country music.

Christian music even though I’m not Christian anymore.

Ya it got that bad. 😂

Craving mac and cheese

Tacos

Friends

My whole being is feeling this pull to reconnect with Americans again.

Being in Australia, I’ve only met 3 Americans.

One was a flake.

The second was too loud.

And the third is an adorable Cuban from Florida who is also very loud but we were able to work on it.

Other than that, I’ve met only Brits and Asians.

And don’t get me wrong, they’re very lovely people. But the Brits want to hang more with the Brits and their slang always throws me for a loop anyways.

So my only friends are Asian. And they’re amazing lovely women, but we can’t relate on everything. There are certain things I want to say, but I know they won’t understand.

Just like any group of people, your group knows you. They see you. They can relate with you.

And I miss that.

So I problem solved.

Where can I find Americans in Sydney?

Facebook.

So here I am today, posting on Facebook if any Americans in the city want to hang.

I don’t care if I sound desperate.

Because if you’re on facebook, you’re desperate too.

We’re all fuckin desperate for friendship and making the first move is my forte anyways.

So if you’re out there Americans, I just wanna say hey!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 5

I like to be naked.

So Fuck Adam and Eve

For their punishment.

I want to be free

And forget lent.

Life is about honesty

Commitment to choice.

Not living in serenity

Forgetting the noise.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 4

Working from home today.

That means hanging with the pup.

My new source of joy.

We saved him from the shelter a month ago now yet somehow it feels like I’ve always known him.

I had a dog before him.

Harley.

And she was my baby. My world. But I couldn’t afford to bring her across the world with me.

It broke me.

I thought it would be many years till I could replace her, yet it only took two.

Now this cuddle monster is my world, my baby and I couldn’t be more grateful.

His morning cuddles ease me.

His upside down smile warms me.

And his sneaky behavior brightens me.

He is nothing like Harley yet everything like her.

And I hope this time is different.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 3

I sit here with my flat white thinking of last night.

I almost cried listening to Jocko Willink’s motivational speech on discipline equals freedom.

He asked questions like,

You want free time? That takes time discipline. You want more saved in the bank? That takes financial discipline.

And the whole time he was saying this I kept thinking of my dad and how he taught me the same thing. He didn’t word it that way, but he did teach me discipline at a very young age. And I feel like I get it now. He wasn’t being a hard ass just because he likes power. He was being a hard ass because he wanted me to be free when I was older.

I always thought I wasn’t enough for him because he would criticize everything I did, but really he just didn’t want my expectations to be too low. Because low expectations don’t offer freedom.

And then I thought about how forgiving my dad is. And how even after I called the cops on him this year, he still is seeking a relationship with me.

That’s more than some daughters get.

Though he never says, sorry.

I know he is

Because he wouldn’t keep coming back to me if he wasn’t.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 2

Damn those dog farts stink!

Almost as bad as my dad’s coffee breath in church.

Rancid, dude.

But at least they’re both honest.

I wonder if my soul stinks as much.

Because as of late, I haven’t been honest with myself.

I go back and forth between pain and pleasure.

Thinking of my dad…

Buy a donut.

Thinking of my mom…

Buy a dress.

Escape escape escape.

Distract distract distract.

It’s so easy to pretend it’s alright.

I’m across the world from them.

They can’t get me here.

But my credit card says otherwise.

I am buying to distract myself from my stench.

Because this wound is festering, brother.

Yet I just keep slapping band aids on it.

Except today.

Today I’m getting a whiff of its misery and I’m not pulling back.

I’m not pulling back today because yesterday I promised I wouldn’t.

So here I am.

Raw.

Open.

And honest.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 1

I haven’t written here for a while. I guess I’ve been avoiding it. I tend to do that when I’m in conflict. Even through my past therapy lessons, I still run from my emotions. I guess some habits never change.

But I’m here now.

Writing. Thinking. Plotting.

I want to be consistent in my endeavor to be vulnerable.

I want to be more fearless.

So I’m gonna write.

Daily.

And it’s going to get annoying.

But I think I need to do this.

I need to find my pain and forgive it.

Because this blaming avoidant behavior isn’t working.

So here I am.

Promising tomorrow I’ll show up.

Love you.

Brooke

Also, we got a new dog. Say hi to Buckley.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

What am I grateful for?

I would say, definitely my new job. Honestly, it feels good to be able to breathe again. To be even more honest, I cried when I found out. Steph, my recruiter at appreciating talent, called me and told me the news. I was stunned. I didn’t think they wanted me. She told me they wanted someone else when I first interviewed with them so I wasn’t expecting them to change their mind. And so I started crying. Not on the phone of course! That would be a bit too boundary pushing for me. But after I hung up, I truly started sobbing. I’ve been carrying this stress on me for 3 months now, but maybe 2 months because the first month I was processing it so I wasn’t really stressed then. I was more numb. More in limbo. Losing something tends to have that effect on me.

I actually have a very tricky past of not handling loss well.

Loss of my grandma dying in church, my puppy being rehomed, and now losing my job to a pandemic.

So when I lost my job I did the best I could with the information.

But I still lashed out.

And how I lashed out was I called the cops on my dad and destroyed any kind of connection my family was trying to preserve.

 But that’s better than getting almost blacked out drunk and having a threesome with strangers, right?

Because that’s what I did when I “lost” my dog.

And before that, I soberly fucked strangers on tinder for almost a year when I found out God killed my grandma.

Like I said, it’s a tricky past.

So the cop calling. Well my dad is abusive, right. You know this if you have read my past work. And my mom is still married to him so shit gets complicated because all I want to do is save her, but she thinks God will punish her if she leaves. So what the rest of the family has done is ignore it. And dude I ignored it too. For over a decade, I’ve told her divorce him, but she doesn’t listen. So what else can you do? Well one day, after I lost my job, she told me on the phone he called her a Bitch and a horrible mother and she told me she was playing around with the idea of suicide.

So I got scared.

But I had never defended her before so I didn’t know what to do. And what do I do from all the way over here when they are in California?

So I called the cops in their neighbourhood and asked for their advice. I told them the history and the woman cop said, “It’s tricky. You can’t forcibly remove her. She has to want to leave on her own.” So she gave me a number of a safe house in California that protects women.

I called this number. The woman on the phone told me the same thing. She said, “I can go over there and talk to her if she is open to it, but unfortunately if he isn’t beating her, it is really hard to do anything.”

So I decided to email my family and ask them for help. They called me and asked if I believed she was unsafe. I said, “yes” because experience told me she was. They called her. She then downplayed it. She pretended it was fine. Everything is fine.

My dad found out.

Things escalated.

I called the cops and begged them to get to the house.

My sister then called me screaming at me that this was all my fault. That I handled it poorly. That it’s not that serious.

My dad then text me saying “you’re disowned.”

And there you have it folks.

My lashing out to the universe.

And how is this related to losing my job?

Well, when I am in pain I will do anything to run from that pain.

Even if that means distracting myself with another pain.

Because if I could distract myself with my dad’s failures, then I wouldn’t have to look at my own.


To find more, please check me out on instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/harleyray.blog/

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Last Book Review of “Sorry I’m Late I didn’t want to come” by Jessica Pan

The biggest obstacles Jess took part in within the book were joining an improv class and a comedy class, two separate classes. She chose these classes because she had a huge fear of public speaking and didn’t know how to solve it so she sought professional help. Though I have never taken on such a daunting task as that, I did adopt a puppy back in Charlotte, North Carolina after having no friends for three months. And I would like to think this could be seen as a huge commitment similarly to agreeing to perform a comedy skit on stage at a bar, which is what Jess did.

My puppy was amazing at filling the void I had back in North Carolina, but it came with a cost. The cost being she was not potty trained nor did she ever want to be. That girl would piss and shit every day on the floor. I tried everything, but that girl just loved to make a nice pile of dung on the floor for when I got home. It was great.

But what I lost in cleaning supplies, I gained in friends because Harley knew how to work a crowd. She was a people pleaser and my ice breaker to making real friends in Charlotte. I started taking her to the dog park every evening after work and slowly but surely I became friends with the other dog parents at the park. We would talk about their personalities and training tips and use dog voices as dog owners do to describe their dog. Yes, this is a thing. Just ask one of your friends if they talk for their dog or assume what their dog is thinking and watch as they give you that goofy guilty smile. It’s real.

Cat owners do it too.

Anyways, these dog park people became my people just as the improv class became Jess’s people and the only soul to thank for that is Harley.


And that wraps up the series! Hope you liked it.

Cheers!