I am stuck in this feeling of happiness and jealousy,
I am so thankful for your achievements.
I am thrilled that you have everything I ever wanted.
I am in love with you and your humility as you accept all of these blessings and opportunities as you embark on college.
It si taking everything I have to act with tact and grace.
Please don’t forget about lowly me as you go on to achieve.
I am 14 years old. I have become friends with the monster. He tells me my body is a bit pudgy in certain areas. He tells me that they will pay attention to me if they can see me losing weight and counting calories. He is telling me all the things wrong with me that drove away my friends. This monster is ever present in my mind as the scale looms. He is holding my hand on the way to class. He is whispering lies in my ear as I speak with peers. He is telling me over and over again that I am unworthy of love. He likes to isolate me, you see. Hey, hey, but it’s okay. He is a jealous friend. He desires me all for himself. One on one relationships are better for us anyway right?
When I am 15 1/2 I think that the monster has been put to rest. I am going on dates and kissing boys. Yet I remember a not so far away time of kisses shared with the same sex and I am confused. My faithful friend comes back and tells me to fake it with boys. The result is a kiss in a tree with a friend/enemy watching from the ground, cheering on my humiliation; the result is an emptiness and a lack of knowledge of what love truly is and can be.
I am 17 and the dancing queen-except I am the unwanted burden of a daughter; the trophy daughter that did not recieve the trophy. I am kicked out and pulled back in. I am at last the one thing that no one wanted. The monster comes back to tell me it is all my fault. The monster is back to whisper that I am unloveable, I am a dark cloud, I am a failure, I am a stray dog that they took in for charity yet realized they don’t like dogs much later. I am the extra fat that they could use to trim off.
I am 18 and alone in a new city with no one who knows my name. It’s me against the world. I have no friends for I am in a place where the familiar is no longer a thing on my radar; I have become a constant adventurer. I have a hard time trusting that the phrases that people say are just words; I have a hard time believing that people do not have a hidden agenda. I am consistently asking God why no one loves me. I am hearing the whispers of the monster that I am better off alone. I am feeling the spiraling not-so-soft pull of feelings of inadequacy and dreams of failures at events that have yet to occur. I am a displaced individual adrift the comments and feelings that others may or may not mean with malice.
I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am the warrior princess. I am Leslie Knope. I am Rapunzal. I am Sleeping Beauty. I am my own Prince. The monster is now a dragon that has grown so huge I cannot take it on by myself anymore. I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am learning that asking for help is a good sign. I am 19 years and 1 week old. I am a student of healing now. I am growing from who I once was. My old friend has finally been slayed.
“The enemy is dead-and we have killed him.”
Cheers to a lifetime of depression. Cheers to a life left to live in freedom.
I am the burning bush. I may be rough around the edges and scratch and burn if you come too close to the core. But inside of me God is speaking. Don’t be afraid. Don’t run away. Don’t give up on me just yet.
To my mother who was told that at 22 the last thing she needed was a baby.
To my mother who did not get an abortion when asked.
To my mother who has never been unkind to my Dad’s mother.
To my mother who called me even when I hit ignore on all her calls,
To my mother who had a baby at 22 and has never said it was a mistake.
To my mother who decided her call in life is to be just that.
To my mother who never gave up on me.
To my mother who called every day when I moved out on my own,
To my mother who listened to me cry tears of loneliness over the phone,
To my mother for believing in me when I most needed you,
To my mother who worries about me when I am sick or traveling
To my mother who still listens to the CD I made her in Christmas 2012.
To my beautiful mother who doesn’t always believe me when I remind her of her beauty.
To my mother who always finds a way to take care of those she loves,
To my mother who fought for me when the odds were stacked against her,
To my mother who was the object of slander and lies that I believed and yet she apologized anyway.
To my mother who has made mistakes.
To my mother who has apologized for her own as well as forgiven me for mine.
To my mother-you are the mother who cares.
Thank you. There will never be another quite like my adoring mother.
You are irreplaceable.
You are indestructible.
Do not forget that you are Pocahontas-you chose the harder path by having me.
I love you Mommy.
The stairs grew in number, or so it seemed, as Abigail began first steps in the wrong direction. A million questions flew through her mind all at once. Who will I be? How will they think of me? What have I become? Must I be the one?
Abby reached the bottom step and turned her head up the staircase, imagining the fast asleep and half naked husband she left behind. She imagined the small boy in TMNT pajamas that she had kissed on the forehead before she left. “I love you. Please believe me,” She had began her letter to her husband. Like a lake that dries up and cannot be filled again, her tears were long gone. All she felt now was a deep numbness.
“Lucille, are you coming?” Her escort called for her.
Abby, Lucille, Haley, Anna, Michelle. How easy it is to fade away from one identity and merge into the next when one is on the run.
Young and impressionable, I truly believed that you were simply shy and sweet and cute to boot. I felt lonely and unnoticed at times when you came on the scene of my life, and it was perfect timing for you to come in with your night in shining armor disguise. A new kid on the block, you saw something in me that drew you to my side and I was flattered and pleased to be noticed in a new way. Surely, this boy, this one boy, could be the one that I was searching for right? After all, opposites attract, right? I could not have been further from the truth. I was irritated at the very obvious fact that you were not mature enough to be dating me. Did that stop me from 9 months of dating you? “The slow learner is taught the lesson by repetition.” I tried to understand you, I tried to fix you, I tried to change you. I fell for excuses and put up with inappropriate behavior because I so craved the feeling of being loved I refused to acknowledge the truth-we were not compatible.
Possibly the worst feeling was feeling jaded. My hand limp at my side unheld and my lips puckered yet unkissed while her sheets were unkept and you both showing signs of lack of sleep.
What was it about me? Was it my moral standards? Was it my sense of self respect? Was it my pushy and demanding confidence?
Or maybe it wasn’t me at all.
Was it your shy nature? Was it your tendency toward deception? Was it your love of physical pleasure and displacement towards emotional intimacy? Was it the language barrier? Was it just bad timing?
Or was it a passionate night at a Korean summer camp with a stranger and a lie that you were too ashamed to admit until a wasted night and a drunken voicemail on my machine.
“Does your work make you leave your comfort zone? Does it make you leave your comfort zone and tap into the pool of emotions you’re used to suppressing?”
Like a small dot lost in the void or a cotton ball floating on aimlessly, I am a small seed. I have acted like a tree for quite sometime now. I pretended that I had a trunk and branches and green leaves. Yet when alone at home in my room tightly tucked into bed with the light off, I knew all along that I was seed. I was startled by this knowledge and burrowed it deep inside so that no one knew that I am still growing, I am still a work in progress. Often I get caught up in who I am supposed to be and who others expect me to be and I end up falling flat on my face. As I lay there with the lights off thinking about my seed-like state, I begin to have self doubt, pity, and delve into the world of depression. My thoughts turn into a battle between who I am and who I am supposed to be. Why aren’t you 30 years old with everything together yet? How can you be so alone? How can you not have a friend base yet? What is your mission on this planet? How can you not be an amazing Christian yet? No one relates to you. Be a better person; be a better friend; be a better leader; be a better daughter; be a better girlfriend.
The seconds turn to minutes that turn to hours that turn to days and weeks and months of this self doubt attitude. I find myself evaluating conversations to see if people like me rather than finding an interest in them. Again, I remind myself that I am only a seed. I am growing, if only little by little. As I shake off this feeling of inadequacey, I look to the people and events and life going on around me that is yet to be lived and I forget. I forget who I am supposed ot be or who other people expect me to be or who I expect myself to be. I have begun to just be me.
Who am I? I am a child of God who is loved by my Father who art in heaven. I am an aspiring writer. I am a lover of indie music and a avid reader of novels. I am a girlfriend of the kindest man I’ve ever known. I am an estranged daughter and a hiker and a youth leader and a babysitter and a receptionist. I am a passionate 19 year old who fell in love with a harsh world. I have a favorite coffee drink and catch phrases and TV shows and movies that I have loved so much they feel like my own. I am healing from a lifetime of emotional abuse. I am a warrior princess who is more warrior right now. I am the beloved, I am an encourager, I am an advice giver, I am a friendly acquantence. I have the gift of mercy and I am still figuring out what that means. I love philosophy and teaching and children under 5.
Who am I?
I am seed that without my realizing it, has started ever so slightly, to grow into a small stalk.
Friend (noun): a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.
“A friend is someone you love and who loves you, someone you respect and who respects you, someone whom you trust and who trusts you. A friend is honest and makes you want to be honest, too. A friend is loyal.” -Urban Dictionary
[Based on horoscope signs] Aries: Will motivate you and bring out the best in you.
“Two things you will never have to chase: true friends and true love” -Mandy Hale
I am going through a season of healing and in that healing, loneliness. I feel a bit isolated. I have lost friends who have decided that they no longer trust me. I have a deep desire for friendship. Perhaps though, just perhaps, I am learning what it means to truly be a friend. I desire someone to invite me out to coffee, rock climbing, or tennis. I think these things would be a blast to do with friends who find them fun as well. I desire a friend who calls to check on me just because they care. I desire a friend who asks me how I am doing with Jesus right now. I desire a friend who is understanding yet fun, compassionate yet silly. I am still searching for this type of friend. There are areas I need to work on in order to be that type of friend though. While I await for that type of friend, I will be the listener, the inviter, the interested, the loving, the non-judgemental friend that I wish others to be for me.
If you have any advice on how to be a goo friend, please let me know.
As I scroll through Instagram and look at photos of people I no longer see or particularly care about, I become a tad bit existential. What does this all mean? I want to meet more people, get more involved in there lives, get more aquainted with all the whole world with it’s many colors, accents, and faces.
I want to travel.
I want to pack up my car and my boyfriend and my little life and leave.
Yet..
That is not what I am to do.
I am to live the American life right now. I can begin making connections slowly, and leave eventually.
For now I am called to stay.
And that existentially, experientially, sucks.
But I must believe it is better.
There are times when my chest and lungs and heart are so full of love and longing and song lyrics that it feels hard to breathe or function or live.
It is in these precious moments that I most need a hug, a kiss, or a cuddle session.
Long distance is my current enemy, at the top of my hit list, my cosmic opposite.
I am in love with you.
Come home.
The Muse 