My Story Not Yet Complete

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.

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Part of That World Reprise

Look at this house. Isn’t it huge? Wouldn’t you say my life is complete? 

Wouldn’t you say I’m the girl, the girl who has everything. 

You’d think, sure, She’s got everything. 

But who cares? No big deal. I want more. 

I wanna be where the love is, I wanna see, wanna see it dancing, 

Walking around with those, what do you call them? Hearts.

Judging people, you don’t get too far. Forgiveness is required for happiness. 

Up where they laugh, up where they sing, up where they stay all day at the shelter, 

Out of the heat, out of the fire, wish I could be, part of your world. 

What would I give, if I could live out of these deep waters. 

What would I pay, to spend a day, warm and embraced. 

Betcha on campus, they understand, 

Bet they don’t, reprimand their students. 

Bright young women. Sick of drowning. Ready to stand…

And ready to know what the college kids know. 

Quit asking questions yet get some answers. 

When’s it my turn? Wouldn’t I love?

Love to explore that shore up above…

Out with the free. Wish I could be, part of that world.

Striking Out

There once was a little bird who was born in a nest. It was a nice nest, as far as nests go. The problem the little bird had with the nest was the fact that someone else had made the nest; she had not made it her own, therefore she simply could not call it home.

So the little bird walked to the edge of the nest and looked down, something you should never do. But even though the little bird saw all the limbs and branches in her way, she knew sometimes you’ve gotta fall before you fly.

The bird jumped and down she fell, hitting branch after branch. After a few more of such falls, she flew more and more. Even though she wouldn’t fly very far and she often fell, she was on her way to her own Great Perhaps.

Finally, she made it to her own tree, and built her own little nest. She met a young bird and fell in love. While she slept by his side one night, she looked around at the nest and realized how similar it was to her childhood home. This realization baffled her since she had worked so hard to find her own place.

The point, she concluded, was not that she had her own place, a home, or that she had been somewhere new, but that as she fought to get here she became a little fighter, and she became her.