when my heart is hurting

My heart is hurting today. 

It hurt yesterday too.

but it hurts for a person

whose no longer you.

the person I loved,

the heart that I had,

aren’t the same anymore

they’re just things of the past.

// Not Lost // 

 


 

she told me to write it on paper

so I could maybe find the words

to say what I was thinking and feeling at that moment in time

 

but the thing was,

whether those words were said or written,

it didn’t matter.

I’d told you once,

I’d told you before, once too.

my words meant absolutely nothing to you.

 

you didn’t care the day I told you,

and you won’t care tomorrow.

your time is something

that can never be borrowed

 

then,

now,

there is no difference.

you hit me where it hurt,

you really let me go

you showed me you never loved me

how couldn’t I have known?

 

I don’t know what I did

or what you think I did

to make you do that

 

but now that you did,

there’s no turning back.

 

//my mistake// 


her?

of all people.

“her?”

I ask.

 

“it isn’t serious,”

you say.

“it’s nothing.”

Then why is it that we’re talking about something?

 

it seems that we talk about nothing a lot,

it seems that you forgot what nothing is not.

 

of all the nothings there are,

why her?

why now?

 

losing your something,

made you go back to “nothing”

; that in reality was never nothing at all,

just a something you called nothing

to keep in your pocket.

 

it’s too bad that the one who stood holding your alternate hand,

never knew the secret you held in the other;

that, that something she is,

is just one of the others.

 

I hope you learn to distinguish nothing from not,

because I sure as hell

am not something to be forgot.

 

“something” I am

in fact,

I am “something” you lost.

 

now your pockets are empty

there really is nothing

I hope it was worth it,

you won.

you lost your something.

 

// something or nothing //


 

when people used to say that their heart hurt,

I never believed it was literal.

it was until mine broke inside of me,

but kept beating

that I could see that living

was now much different

 

in every literal sense,

a heart can hurt

like a disease

it isn’t like a broken bone,

there’s no timeline of when it’ll heal

it’s all dependent on how you make yourself feel

 

I wonder how many times a heart can break until it becomes broken

how many pieces are there to break

and why did no one find out the number?

 

Maybe if someone would’ve told me,

I would’ve protected mine a little bit longer.

Given it a break every time or two;

like some time off,

instead of more with you.

 

maybe if I would’ve known how many more times my heart could break

I would’ve considered how much was at stake.

 

it takes 364 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop,

how many breaks can my heart take

until its had enough?

 

1?

2?

10?

12?

 

Hell, what happens when I’ve had more than enough?

I wish someone would have told me

how many times my heart could break

but I guess it wouldn’t even matter

when all that’s left is faith

 

so really the question is how much faith can be lost

until I throw in the towel,

and love is the cost?

 

// what faith? // 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

part II: stories untold

he asked me what was wrong,

he said he was my friend.

but i sat there wondering,

what kind of friend

would do this to a friend?

// Lies People Tell //


saying goodbye is hard for me

because I watched the ones I loved,

leave,

without saying a word.

// wordless //


we’re talking

and fighting

and screaming

and crying

; pretending that we’re listening to each other’s hearts,

when we’re only really interested in our own

// we aren’t listening //


everyones laughing drunkenly outside the window at the memories they won’t be able to remember tomorrow

I wonder what is so appealing about the idea of forgettable nights and engaging with strangers who won’t exist by tomorrow morning

then I remember,

that forgetting those moments

allows us to re-live them over and over again

sometimes not remembering tells us

those moments were worth forgetting

because if we did remember what happened,

we may just decide to not live,

or at least live the way we did,

that night,

and on all the other nights we chose to forget

// Is this living? // 


you looked at my bones like gold,

and pushed my skin down

to imagine a finer distinction

pointier,

rougher,

and thinner

than my own

silently,

you showed me what you wanted

and what I was at that moment,

was not enough.

// Bones like Gold // 


80… 90….100 

miles per hour we go

you sped down the road

hands smashing onto the dashboard

with my screams turning into tears

as I gripped the side of my seat

accepting the fact that this car ride may never end,

and this seatbelt may never come off

unless I jump out the door

// Safety First // 


“pretty, pretty please Nan,

can I come back really, really soon?”

she said to me.

with tears in my eyes,

I couldn’t find the words to respond.

it had been a decade since I wished to stay somewhere

so strongly that I begged

I realized at that moment,

that I would never experience that longing again

childhood was the only time that a feeling like that existed

// Longing //


I look at her and wonder where the world went wrong

if everyone were to have the soul of a 3-year-old girl,

things may go differently

as I ponder,

she turns to me out of the blue and asks,

“Are you okay?”

I want to scream no and tell her that she’ll only be able to wonder how others feel for so long until she learns the truth,

that no one’s okay.

everyone’s pretending.

and that someday she’ll stop asking

because she’ll know the answer is a lie,

or at least not the full truth

the people who embrace her kindness and shield her youth today

are bound to be overpowered tomorrow

by the corruption

and anger

and guilt

and pain

that could overflow oceans

and hearts

and minds

during this,

all I want to do is look at her and say

“are you okay?”

because I know there will only be so many more times that

she will say yes

and really mean it without hesitation

but instead I tell her that I’m okay

because I need her to believe this half-truth

she has yet to unmask

and secretly I hope that someday

she may grow older

and still believe it

without hesitation

as I used to

before.

I think that if we all chose

to protect the hearts of 3-year-old girls,

and allowed them to bask in oblivion for just a bit longer

without exposing them to what our modern-day truth looks like

that maybe someday,

somewhere,

a little girl will create her own

and although she may have never known our version,

we gave her the chance

we hadn’t been given:

to form her own truth

without it being decided for her.

// you decide // 


part I: someone loves me

I kissed his neck and said stop talking.

thinking my mouths touch could express

every word he wished I would say

I woke up the next morning

unknowing to the damage I’d done

to his body and heart. 

/empty expressions/ 


hands that were once so loving became cold,

words that were once so kind became cruel.

is all of you a lie?

/uncertainty/ 


I looked at you and lied,

knowing that any truth I spoke

would only do you harm.

but for my own selfish reasons,

I couldn’t let you go.

/Sorry/ 


I wanted to call you and tell you about all the things that have changed,

then I remembered you were just another one of them.

/oblivion-unmasked/


imagining me & you was easy

it was as if we never fell apart.

/we did/


you made me see love

and in the process,

realize I’d never been in it.

//until now//


while a part of me wishes to kiss you,

another screams to run away.

knowing that I,

am not the only one,

to feel your abundance of love.

/always running/ 


“It makes me mad because I know I could make you so freaking happy.”

It makes me mad too.

/path-to-destruction/ 


He asked me what was wrong with me when I acted like myself.

I didn’t know how to reply.

/unwanted?/ 


I regret letting you pressure me into believing

that love was expressed through touch.

there are different forms of affection

that don’t require taking my clothes off.

/impure/


Do you love me?

Are you in love with me?

At all?

Or do you only desire the idea of me?

I’m starting to feel like a project

/a work in progress/ 

a detour

I know I said that this was the beginning of finding myself and all, but really I feel like college has actually taken me in the opposite direction. It isn’t its fault or anything, it’s honestly my own. I think that once you come here as a freshman it’s hard to grasp right from wrong and how to say no in general. A time of such instability and change has created even more anxiousness and misunderstanding than when I was in high school. Who would’ve known?

I thought when I left that I could find a fresh start and potentially become someone else. I realize now that I am the only one blocking my transition. It’s hard not knowing anyone and honestly not even knowing yourself. You can feel yourself drift, but for some reason there’s always something pulling you back to where you used to be. The comparison happens to be even worse, and the self deprecation only increases within your first weeks of rushing. It’s crazy how confident you can feel with yourself, and without even knowing it, completely forget all of the great things you loved. It’s even harder not being surrounded by the people who kept tabs on you for 4-years and constantly reminded you of your goodness.

College is basically like remaking yourself, but somehow I managed to remake me into a worse version. A lot of the things I loved in high school and never felt the need to take part in feel almost essential now in order to fit in. I used to not even care about fitting in, but at least in high school people noticed. It feels like you could disappear amongst a crowd here without a soul knowing, maybe besides my roommate. A lot of the qualities I had feel as if they’re irrelevant now; it seems like everyone’s wanting something different.

This probably sounds like a total bummer post and is long overdue to be honest, but I promise it’s gonna get better. That is the one thing I could never guarantee myself in high school.  It just feels like sometimes I’ve lost sight of what I came here for in the first place,  but maybe I’m just looking at it the wrong way.

It’s crazy how many things change throughout your first 6-months of college, and even crazier to see how much independence you develop. I think I was well prepared for this and I haven’t had that hard of a time adjusting. I will say that sometimes (well, oftentimes) I desire the comfort of my own bed and my picture scattered wall. I spent a lot of time in my room throughout high school, the good times and bad. Although I call this place home now, it doesn’t really feel like mine. It’s hard to sit here and think the way I used to, but I guess thats just growing up. It’s also important for me to remember that sometimes letting go of old memories is the only way to move forward. I keep waiting to relive the past and by now,  I should know better than this.

If I could go back and tell myself anything at the beginning of my senior year I’d say: “choose yourself.” I think that’s something I always thought I was good at, but honestly was horrible at. The slightly older I get, the more I realize how much I wish I would’ve prioritized my growth over others. I feel like if I would’ve loved myself a little bit more, I would be in a way better spot than I am at this moment. It’s too easy to repeat old habits and comparison games when you lose comfort in who you are. It’s hard to let other people love you when you find every reason to not love yourself. Cliché, but somehow this always manages to be my worst living nightmare.

As much as I understand this fault, I have repeatedly chosen to not do anything about it. It’s sad to say it isn’t oblivion anymore, it’s just fear. It’s also sad that I used to not be this person, and I’m not totally sure when I lost her. I don’t think it was ever relying on others that initiated my problem, I think it was just avoiding it as a whole. I wish I could understand how to fill my empty voids. Somehow I just end up using control methods as a way to fill them, whether it be my weight or perfecting some other element of my appearance, I always seek gratification in the unattainable. One pound feels great, how about 6 more? That’s my problem: it’s never enough.

Basically, I’m hoping that by understanding this I can stop fulfilling other people, and choose myself for once. I keep doing things and acting in the same patterns knowing they’re destructive, but somehow deciding to not stop them. It’s honestly like sometimes I enjoy making myself fall down. Pretty screwed up. I don’t know where I got it from, but I do know I need to change it.

Maybe small steps aren’t my answer anymore, and drastic measures are necessary in order to make a change. It’s time for me to choose me.

Okay, sorry for the babble.

Sincerely,

Me.

 

an open apology to myself 

DEAR MIND,

I am sorry for the times I doubted and ignored you. I’m sorry for damaging you for what I thought was eternal. I’m sorry for allowing others to, too. I’m sorry for overworking you until you felt empty. I’m sorry for not letting you make me happy, I know you tried. I’m sorry for redirecting your thoughts and changing your views. I’m sorry for not listening and not acting upon every instruction you rightfully gave me. I’m sorry for losing you when I needed you the most.

DEAR HEART,

I’m sorry for making you feel weak when all you wanted to be was strong. I’m sorry for letting others tug on your strings whenever they pleased. I’m sorry for not guarding you with my entire being. I should’ve. I’m sorry for letting you go, only to call back for you, again and again. I’m sorry for letting you break. I’m sorry for not realizing how much love you held until I took it all away.

DEAR EYES,

I’m sorry for letting you become weary and dry. I’m sorry for the rivers you’ve cried and the sorrow, only you, have seen. I’m sorry for the things you saw; the things you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for not turning away. I’m sorry that you couldn’t speak the emotions your pupils conveyed. I’m sorry you had to sit there, watching, defenseless. I, at times, feel the same.

DEAR MOUTH,

I’m sorry for the things I did and didn’t put inside of you. I’m sorry for neglecting you on the days you watered pining for nourishment and love. I’m sorry for letting mouths of those who mean nothing to me force themselves upon you. I’m sorry for their brittle touch and for the way it made you quiver. I’m sorry for the times you wished to scream, but said nothing at all. I couldn’t bare your sound. I’m sorry for the times you spoke too loudly and abruptly, creating no influence at all. I know you thought it would help. I’m sorry for not loving you the way you should be loved, I’m sorry for not letting others.

DEAR BODY, 

I’m sorry for the way your ribs peak out when you breathe. I’m sorry for not providing adequate warmth. I’m sorry for trying to make you looking like something that’s photoshopped onto billboards; I’m sorry for only loving you when I felt that you did. I’m sorry for letting others look at you like something that’s already theirs. I’m sorry for letting you feel like instantly acquired property rather than a hidden buried treasure. I’m sorry for the hands that touched you in your coldest moments. I’m sorry that I believed that they could provide you warmth.

I’m sorry for the times that I couldn’t avoid others’ grasps. I’m sorry for the way they gripped you; ways you shouldn’t ever be gripped. I’m sorry for not pushing back hard enough, for not defending you enough. I’m sorry that people feel entitled to your embrace. I’m sorry that they think you’re an open invitation. I wish that no meant no. Some tend to believe that no means yes, or at least that’s what they said. They thought you wanted their touch. Maybe they knew you didn’t, but didn’t care at all. I’m sorry for not loving you for what you precisely are. I wish I never expected more of you. I’m sorry for letting society conform you into a mold of something other than yourself. You are perfect, I hope it isn’t too late for you to see it.

DEAR ME,

I’m sorry for not allowing you to be your true self. I’m sorry for seeing you worst qualities rather than your best. I’m sorry for thinking that critiquing  was the only path to bettering yourself. I’m sorry for truly believing that you weren’t ever enough for yourself, or much less the world. I’m sorry for not telling you your own worth, every morning and evening, of every day. I’m sorry for not cherishing you the way you should be cherished. I’m sorry for thinking that others could fulfill your needs. I’m sorry for seeing you as one human of the billions, rather than one of a kind.

You are perfect and you are mine.“”

Dear Ana 

To my dear friend Ana and to the friends who struggle because of her,

It is national eating disorder awareness week and I feel an obligation to at least blog to my few subscribers of my own journey and the countless others I’ve witnessed.

Ana starting talking to me my sophomore year of high school. Things weren’t going well with a boyfriend and I felt out of control. I made poor decisions that I regretted for the rest of high school (and in general life). I have major OCD which initially caused me to be a perfectionist within my school work and a constant need to control relationships and friendships.

When all of these things spiraled out of my control, there was a final resort: my weight. It felt like the most magnificent way to solve my problems. Once I hit my breakup, I had one thing left for myself: my appearance. I’m a short petite person. 115- 120 pounds is more than enough for me. But these high 120’s began to feel like 200’s. I wanted less 0’s. Around that time, I remember a friend took a picture of me jokingly as I changed somewhere in the high school. I remember her showing me my rib cage. It was the first time I noticed that I didn’t look as great as I thought I did.

But I kept going anyways. I picked the tightest dress I could for a dance. At this point, I was 100 pounds. I maintained that weight as long as I could in the worst ways possible. I didn’t eat. I recreationally took things I definitely shouldn’t have. My personality spiraled down the drain.

Boys noticed me. Girl friends asked me why I wasn’t eating at lunch, if everything was okay, are you hungry, etc. Friends would offer their sandwiches and I’d reply that I wasn’t hungry.

I did this for a long time my sophomore year without much notice from anyone. Eventually, I stopped. As I always do. In stages, Ana comes in and out of my life telling me to lose those 10 pounds so I can look acceptable again.

What’s funny is, I’ve never been told that I wasn’t enough. My parents told me more than enough times. My dad hounded on me to eat every meal. My mom tells me how skinny I look. I’m not sure where the insecurity comes from. I’m not sure it is even an insecurity.

All I know is that in a mirror, it’s the first thing I notice every day. If I’m one pound heavier, I feel worse than the day before. Things need to remain the same. I need that sense of stability. I think what I enjoy(ed) was the reaction of it all.

I craved the attention of looking like someone I wasn’t. With that, I became someone I wasn’t too.

Ana is a lifelong shadow for anyone who has experienced an eating disorder or insecurity. She has the power to mentally destroy you. But I plea with you not to let her.

I’m struggling daily to remind myself that I can be beautiful at 112 pounds. But I keep telling myself anyway. Find a reason to keep Ana locked in the shadows and not reflecting through your mirror.

Beautiful is beautiful. Beautiful is not skinny. Ana is not beautiful. You are the only one who determines your worth.

Stop believing society’s definition of beautiful. Stop commenting on skinny girls instagrams telling them “I want your body.” Chances are, she’s craving that comment so she has the motivation to lose more. Stop looking in the mirror and changing clothes in hopes of looking skinnier. You already look skinny. Eat a burger. Eat whatever. Just eat. Remember that a size doesn’t define you.

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ruins

It’s been awhile. I don’t have much good to say lately, but I have a sad story. I can’t tell you the story because it makes me sad. That counts for something right? People say that hardships come and go, that life goes on. I do believe them. I really do. But the hard part is, they just keep coming at me. Right when I think it’s finally over, with every door I open, someone stabs me in the back.

While I don’t want to tell you the story, it’s far too sad, I would like to cover the premise of it to hopefully save some of you the pain. I’ve met a lot of harsh people. I’ve shed many tears, but they’re trivial compared to my most recent ones. But what I didn’t know was, it isn’t just the harsh people that create them. It can be the ones who love(d) you the most, or so you thought.

Love is tricky, but in my mind there was something so constant about it. In my mind, I knew that I could never hurt someone I sincerely loved. I knew I could never intentionally tear their heart into millions of little pieces. I could never sit in another room and leave them sobbing, hovering over the floor. I just couldn’t. My heart was too big for that. My heart was so big that I believed the ones’ I loved had to have a bigger one than my own. That’s the only reason I could be attracted to them, right?

Wrong. The thing about big hearts is their filled with expectations. You don’t just want people to be the best version of themselves, you KNOW they will. And when they let you down, you refuse to believe that just maybe that person isn’t who you thought they were. It’s disappointing. The amount of times my heart has shattered for those who did nothing to save themselves are too many to count. It’s hard to have a big heart, but I never found a good enough reason to abandon it.

That was until now. One’s heart can only be so big, so innocent, so loving, so courageous for so long. One can only take so much of the world coming down on them. There’s only so many cracks to be made until the bowl shatters. It’s horrible. It’s horrible that this damage is allowed to be inflicted upon someone.

So the premise of my story is this: if you love someone, don’t hurt them. Don’t put them in harms way, guard them. Save them. Be there for them. Be the best version of you when you’re in love, because if you aren’t, it isn’t the right love. Or maybe you just took advantage of what you didn’t know you had.

Don’t cheat. Don’t lie. Don’t steal. By don’t steal,  I don’t meaning belongings. I mean the innermost, beautiful qualities in a person. Don’t tarnish those. You can ruin yourself, but don’t take down others with you. Don’t steal the things that make a person whole. Don’t dip into them and take the things that made you love them in the first place. That big heart you fell in love with? Don’t ever think of forgetting it. Because once you do, everything is ruined.

The things I had spent so long building. My reputation, my character, my heart. They were so strong for so long. People who don’t love you doing things to hurt you, normal. The ones who love you most? Not. Once this occurs, everything you once knew isn’t a fact anymore. Everything you once trusted becomes a lie. People become blurs of to you. Your heart becomes an angered time bomb just waiting for someone to click the button. Anxiously, I wait for someone to click me once more; to tell me one more thing that’s wrong with me and my life.

Love was a 4 letter word. Love is what I wrote about for years. Love was my idea of a life. Love was my world. Love was what I felt for myself. Love is what I felt for others. Once someone abuses that word, what does it become now?

Nothing.

So, for God’s sake, and someone else’s, don’t use it lightly. Don’t abuse it. The pain feels like forever. Some day it won’t, but as of now, it dwells. It reoccurs in my head every morning and every time I try to fall asleep. It ruined my head. It ruined my heart. It ruined my love for people. It ruined my security. It ruined my confidence. It ruined me.

Don’t ruin anyone. It’s no one’s job but your own.

 

 

waking up

I think when you’re little you wake up and think all of these things about the world. You think it’s kind, endearing, and welcomes you with open arms. You think your parents will stay happy forever, you think your friends are the best, there’s nothing you would change. Life is good. Life is carefree, you can’t imagine it ever not being that way.

Then one day, things get harder. You become a little more observant. You realize that there’s more to life than the playground. Being hurt isn’t just falling off the swing set anymore, it’s when you don’t get invited to one of your best friends’ birthday parities. Or the boy in your class who didn’t pick you as his friend for the free lunch with your teacher. You remember the time you curled your hair for the first time and wore a dress. You remember your teacher asking you why you looked so dolled up today. You remember being embarrassed for the first time about your crush on that boy who didn’t feel the same way. It’s when you learned life wasn’t always fair. It’s when comparison started to begin and you really realized what inequality meant.

But life went on. You observed more things. Instead of elementary school drama, it turned into middle school. You feel like you’re a step behind everyone. The girls become pretty, but you still have your braces and acne. You start to lose confidence. The boys on the bus call you names; they make up rumors. You didn’t even know what those words meant, but you’re starting to learn. The clicks start to form; you find yourself lost in people. You realize what awkward small talk is. You realize that not everyone is a true friend. You drift from the people who used to be your best friends, and attempt to make new ones.

Classes feel harder, you start to learn what stress is. Life isn’t so easy anymore, it isn’t just a playground. The teachers get grouchy; they start making premade assumptions before they even meet you. You look at other girls and wonder why you don’t look that way too. Clothes become important. That bright yellow Juicy Couture tracksuit doesn’t cut it anymore; you need a new pair of Abercrombie jeans. Don’t mind the price, it’s style. You don’t want to look different, do you? You walk around the halls, talking about the same things. “That new girl is so mean.” “Yeah I know, I think so too,” no you don’t, you don’t even know her. What #1 says, is what #2 believes. Your opinion is irrelevant; you must follow everyone else’s.

Middle school ends, you join a new and bigger world called high school. This is the place you’ve dreamed of. You think your opinion will be heard, you’re mostly right. You think the boys will grow up and you’ll meet someone nice, maybe that’s true. You think that you’ll start fresh here. It’ll be easy. Dear God, it’s not.

Your freshman year of high school, everything is exciting. The classes are new; you’ve developed a new sense of freedom here. There’s more expected out of you, but you think you can do it. You notice girls changing. Abercrombie jeans are ridiculous now, are you 14? No, I’m 15. Well, now it’s True Religion, can you ever keep up?

Things like Homecoming Court become prevalent. Those who get elected are supposedly the most admired in the school, at least that’s what you thought. You shortly realize it’s all just a popularity contest. You thought high school was more than that, you thought personality would start to be valued. Nope, still just looks. The guys get excited at football games while watching the dancers; you always watch in the stands behind. Jealousy creeps up. Why can’t I be that girl? Cause you’re not.

You find a group of friends; you think they’re pretty solid. Little do you know, a year from now everything will change. You experiment now, you meet the older guys. You walk around the school in hopes of someone older admiring you. Little do you understand, it’s never for the right reasons. They invite you to parties, but you’re still to scared to try anything new. You admire the older girls; they seem like they have their shit together. Oh my God, no they don’t. You meet a boy, you date. He was nice, but too boring. You get confused. You find someone else. Too bad you didn’t break up with him yet.

You start your sophomore year. You’re that girl that gets elected on to court; you think life is pretty good right now. Except the fact that you’re confused as hell, have no idea what you’re doing, and there’s a kid playing tricks on your mind every day. He tells you he loves you, he asks you for a picture. You ponder the thought because you think this is how high school works. So you do it. Nothing bad happens, but you feel like an idiot. Always will too. How could you do that to yourself?

That guy who said he loved you introduced you to new things, he said you should take a shot. You did it. You find yourself in a deeper hole than ever. There’s no way out now. The shots become a frequent weekend activity, your friends have open houses. The girls who haven’t done these things think you’re going insane. They spread rumors, or really were they? You walk around with your head down. You plug your headphones in. “I just have to get through the day,” becomes a common mentality. Your boyfriend gets worried, you’re worried too. You don’t tell him though; you want to sort things out. Or do you?

Your boyfriend breaks up with you. You think life hates you. Everyone’s out to get you, this is the worst time in your life. Trust me, you’ll be proved once again that that isn’t true. You turn rebellious; just because you want to hide how really sad you actually are. You start to think you aren’t good enough; the first thing you look at is your body. You’re so fat, Jesus, 120 pounds. What are you?

You stop eating for awhile. You’re breaking out on a daily basis and hiding in your room. The good news is, you’re down to 111. You feel healthy again, at least for awhile. Boys start to look at you. Single and skinny; two things you think guys really like. Too bad the only one you wanted didn’t like you too. You start to eat again.

You’re quite sad how things have ended up, you really don’t want to be anywhere. You’re not wanted. You show up still, have to maintain an image. God, if they only knew what was hiding behind those eyes of yours. If they only knew…Junior year begins, you started to take birth control because of your anxiety and acne. You gained like 10 pounds. You basically wanna shove your head in a pillow for the rest of your life. No one thinks you gained weight, but you can feel it. Soon, you get off that pill and lose it within two weeks. Things are better, right?

You’re snapchatting that boy you met at the end of summer; you think he’s perfect. Nothing like any of the guys you’ve met before, he’s nice. You put yourself in his brain. You make him get to know you, but he didn’t really want to at first. You were just a friend, maybe with some benefits. He loved someone else; you were just a distraction.

You give him an ultimatum; you start to realize your worth. You’re more of a person than you ever were before. He doesn’t love her anymore, he wants you. You get to know him, never know if it’s what you want, but you decide to really give it a chance. You cut that guy off from freshman year, it’s time to grow up. You go on dates, real ones; you even ask him to plan them. It’s all about the impressions. If I can be this cool, sane, and pretty girl, will he learn to like me? You avoid the touchy subjects at all costs, he can’t know the real you.

You get closer. He actually is pretty neat. He’s got some baggage, but you were always a fixer upper. You like the challenge. He distracts you. He convinces you that life is great, only if you’re with him though. The separation anxiety will start to kick in. For the most part, junior year is great. You quit that God awful therapy for your panic attacks, and saw a psychiatrist. She couldn’t believe you made it without meds. Your anxiety is shortly (somewhat) relieved. You have a boyfriend you love. You distance yourself from the drama of your friends, and pop in whenever you want to.

Then you go to prom for the first time. The best night of your life, right? You look perfect. You’ve never been more excited. You have a blast at pictures, then you get on the bus. Your anxiousness and social anxiety kicks in. He wonders why you won’t dance. You host the after party. It’s a catastrophe. It reminds you why you stopped hanging out with your friends in the first place. They always act like intoxicated idiots.

You pull through junior year. You take the ACT, you still suck, but you’re okay. You say, “I love you,” for the first time and actually mean it. You’ve never felt this way before. You’re so scared for him to leave for college; your happy place will disappear. You’re lucky though, you’ll have the summer to prepare. Just kidding, that’s bullshit.

The summer is spent with him, him, and more him. You loved most of it, besides the topic of college. You didn’t do anything too risky, but you felt pretty good. You were in a good spot with most of your friends. Everything was okay. The last weeks before school approach, you’re gone almost all of them. You spend time with your family, and his. You hear some good, and some bad news. You sit through one of the most difficult talks of your life and don’t understand why your faith has never been more challenged.

He leaves for college. You make dinner for the first time night before, you say your goodbyes. “It’s only 20 minutes away,” they said. I never knew how far that would feel until it actually happened. There are moments of clarity, and some with none at all. You visit often, but he wants to be alone. He’s a college kid, that’s what college kids do.

You try to get used to the partying, the confusion, the unknown. It’s so much harder than you ever thought, you feel like you’re breaking. A two way street isn’t two when the other isn’t compromising. School sucks. You hate your classes; senior year was supposed to be fun. You never see any of your friends, and you hate football games. There’s nothing to do in this city. Just when you think the fighting, sadness, and security issues could any worse. You find out she got sicker.

Your boyfriend’s mom; who you quickly learned to love after months of trying to impress. She had cancer, a shitty case of it too. Your heart starts to hurt. The helplessness kicks in. She’s had it for four years, but now she’s on hospice. Things have taken a turn for the worse.

You’re there for him, and his whole family. You can’t even imagine the toll on their hearts. This whole situation is just a testament of faith. Can they do it? Can you do it? What can you do? You stick around. Your first two weekends of senior year are spent with him and his family, struggling to find ways to support.

You give hugs, write cards, give food, but nothing seems to ease the pain. You’re struggling too, God, why this family? The first weekend’s spent filled with goodbyes. You try to hug the pain out of them, but you can still see it in their eyes. You’re trying to hold it together, but it’s so hard. You remember the few, but always meaningful comments she made to you. You’ll always love the color light pink on you, it’ll remind you of her. She thought you looked beautiful in it.

He’s mad all the time. At you, at himself, at the world. Can you do anything right? You feel like the bad guy, but all you’re trying to do is be there. You have to say goodbye; all you can mutter is “you’re an amazing woman.” “I was,” she said, if she only knew what we were all thinking. She’d become the inspiration of your life in a matter of months. So strong, so courageous, 6 kids? How can you manage all of this with 6 kids? She is an amazing woman, always was. Never stopped.

She passes the next day. Could life honestly throw me one hurdle, come at me please. You want to make everything better; you can’t. Just be there when you can. Next weekend, the arrangements begin. The wake, the funeral. Don’t even want to get into specifics. She was a beautiful woman, that’s all I can say. She also raised hell of a family, you can’t even imagine. Her passing will continuously break my heart in the days to come.

You see the impact she made on everyone; especially her children. How will they carry on? You feel this need to be there, but you know you won’t be forever. This, by far, will be the biggest challenge you’ve faced.

So, senior year. Things should be great, but they’re really just not. You sit and wonder why God does the things he does. You question why you of all people are the one in this situation, and how to do a better job in it without losing your mind. You don’t know how to save him in fear of losing yourself. The wait for college acceptances begins, and the anxiousness and fear hovers over you. Every. Single. Day.

How will it end? I don’t know.

why is life so God damn unfair

I mean, I think this phrase comes up pretty often, but what the hell?

How many obstacles can you throw at people until they’ve hit their breaking point?

Why do you keep doing these things that are so unfair with no remorse?

You just keep doing it over and over again.

I want to scream. I want to tell you to stop. But how on earth can I control what you do?

I can’t.

There are those days when people come up to you and tell you that God has a plan, and that everything truly will be okay if you give it time. LIFE. I keep giving you time. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. How much of my time will I give you until it’s too late?

You keep taking people away from me. You keep shortening their time. You keep breaking hearts. You keep making us sad. You keep expecting us to grow, to be better, to move on.

How am I supposed to be better when all you do is make me sad? You keep giving these temporary people and temporary places to create this temporary sense of relief. When will something be permanent?

When will anything be permanent when all you do is turn things to dust?

When will the good times stay good? When will God tell me his plan? I can seek refuge all I want, but when will I ever gain understanding?

I just don’t understand, life. What are you trying to do to me?

Lessons Learned 2.0

The night before my first day of senior year, and last day of my high school career has arrived. My mind is crowded with anticipation, fear, and happiness all at the same time.

I’ve learned a lot about myself this year, probably more than I ever have before. Junior year brought the best and the worst out of me, and I can’t distinguish which one there was more of. My year was mostly spent happy, but also very stressed at the same time. I didn’t and still don’t know where I’m going. I’m still stuck at school for another long year. Lastly, I’m still as cynical as I was at the end of my freshman year hating every day here just as before.

There are lots of things that made it better though I must say. My family and friends were pretty great and always there when I needed them. I got a boyfriend who made my life 1,000 times better as it seemed. I have a roof over my head and a life to look forward to. The life that I’ve always spent looking forward to; a life in college. Although I’m not done taking my tries at the ACT, I have solid options and hopefully will end up happy wherever I go.

But right now what I can really say is, I take things for granted a lot. I take for granted how good life is to me just based off of singular events and people in my life. I know people who are, and have been, struggling for years. I know people who don’t know if they’ll make it another day. I also know people who have to worry for the safety of others, ALL the time. I’m pretty freaking lucky as much as I hate to admit it.

I go to a school where teachers provide and promote a well rounded education every day. I live in a house where my family provides almost everything for me without a thank you. I have friends that would jump hoops for me whenever I ask them to.

I’m failing to get to the point here, so let me state this more clearly. Life sucks sometimes, to be honest, mine right now kinda even sucks. But honestly, it has to get better. Be optimistic. If you spend years dreading what’s to come and being unappreciative to those who matter, you’re obviously going to hate life. I’m not saying I take my own word by any means, but going into my senior year I’m starting to realize life is a little bigger than just me.

There are so many things to do and people to meet, always be openminded. Life will never stay boring unless you make it that way. I sometimes feel like where I live is the worst place in the world, but then I realize how much freaking worse it could actually be. If you’re bored, switch things up.

Do what makes you happy and keep whoever makes you happier. If neither of those things happen, you’re bound to a life filled with disappointment.

As cynical and afraid I am of the year and whats to come, I know how much I’ll end up missing this time in my life. Life is easy, easier than it probably ever will be. I’ve had the same friends since seventh grade and I don’t know what life will look like without them. I live with my beyond supportive family and my mom who does my laundry every single day.

Focus less on your doubts and more on your joys. Take life as it comes to you and always work to be more. Life isn’t easy, but usually we’re the ones that are making it harder.

Life is good, God has a plan, and things will and can be better. Always do your best.