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.




A long time ago after a trip to the mall with Memaw, I came home to my mommy crying.
“I lost.”
Oh mommy it’s just a game. Everybody loses sometimes.
“No baby. I lost you. You are going away.” Sobs escape through chilling words.
Where? I don’t want to go anywhere mommy. Please stop crying.
I began to cry as well. Even at the young age of 6 I had an unfortunate talent at absorbing others misery.
“You are going to live with your dad.”
Fast forward.
“No Jaid. We always loved you. We didn’t take you away from your mom. She manipulated you. Can’t you see the truth through all the lies? Look at all we bought for you. Look at all we’ve done for you”
I’m sorry. You must be right.
Fast forward.
Mom how could you lie?
Mom. I loved you first.
Please. Please realize you are lying.
“Baby I’m sorry. I am trying to tell try truth. I am telling the truth.”
Wait a second.
Fast forward.
Fast forward.
Can I…?
No. No. No.
No. No. No.
But why?
Disrespectful. Liar.
Ungrateful. Fake.
“Don’t do that..
Can’t do this..
Geez. You are just like your mom. I will not have that done to my kids. Stop.”
Hey. No I am not.
“You see Jaid, you don’t even know what you want. You don’t know. We do know. You’ve never lived it. We have. You have no idea what you are talking about.”
But, I do though?
This is my decision.
“If you can’t make the right decision on your own, we’ll make it for you”
What?! No way!
“Disrespectful, rude, ungrateful brat”
No, but really I..
“Jaid your dad didn’t want you. He had another girl he dated. He wanted me to get rid of you…”
“Lies, liar, fake”
Wait! Please this is me. I’m telling the truth. This is me…?

When do the lies end?
When did the truth begin?

Please just stop. Stop it.

Love? Truth? Trust? Right? Wrong?

What the hell is the difference?

No one ever asked me.

Only Love.

The idea of love is sometimes manipulated into command and dominion over another human being. The idea of submission in a relationship is to do what the other person says with no hesitation-to bow down to them. The definition of submission is to give over to the power or authority of another. If that’s what submission is, I wouldn’t dare. I was once told a story about a girl who loved this boy. Whatever he said, she’d do because of a three word promise manipulated into a life time imprissonment.

“If you love me, you’ll do this.”

So she always did. He ended up robbing a bank, and the cops were chasing them, and she told him to stop and he told her to take the wheel, and then he shot himself so that he wouldn’t have to go to jail. She screamed and cried, and while he rested in peace, she served in jail for him. All because he said he loved her.


I find it funny that we once were best friends. That you said forever and always, and I said that I didn’t believe you. But I lied because I believed every string of fallacy you threw my way and grasped onto that idea of Us, forever best friends, Us against the world. But little Us couldn’t make it over the hill of your problems. Us would have to take the fall for you, make the sacrifice, be crucified all in the name of your undying desire for affection. I tried. I tried to be enough for you, not once but twice. How can it be that whatever I, not her, not the other girls who hurt you, but me, the one who was there for you and comforted you, is the one who gets left behind? I loved you. Not in a romantic sense, but in a I’ll be your rock, and I expect you to be the same sense. A friendship you claimed to believe in. You turned your back on me and your belief and now your nothing but a hypocrite and a user. You burned me up and used me for firewood on your alter of girls who weren’t what you wanted. I may say it’s funny, and I may say I don’t care. But I expect you to know the truth. I don’t want anything from you. I just need you to know that it’s not funny. You aren’t cool, righteous, or capable of a shred of loyalty or truth. You’re a loser who used me and left me twice. I’m stupid for letting it happen twice, but your the jerk who did it, claimed he wouldn’t again, and did. I don’t need anything except your grasp of the fact that I hope you one day meet a girl who doesn’t take that kind of treatment, who sees through all of your false statements, and tells you just how much of a jerk you are.

I wish I could be her, but I don’t care enough to.

Trust Issues

And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everybody else does too.

It was hard to be honest, to open up, and reveal something that sounded crazy. Because once you told someone the truth, that person had a piece of you-and they could belittle it, destroy it. They could turn your confession into a wound that never healed.

“What’s depression like?” he whispered. “It’s like drowning. Except you can see everyone around you breathing.”

Silly girl. What made you think the boy who doesn’t care about anything would care about you?

I think I am just one of those people no one thinks twice about leaving behind.

Life is too short to live with regrets; love the people who treat you right and forget the ones who don’t.

The best thing about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people do.

She was like the moon-part of her was always hidden away.

Sometimes you have to accept that some people only enter your life as a temporary happiness.

All of these quotes or sayings talk about trust or lack of it in some way. I have always been explicit in my talk-not cussing necissarily, but honest and too truthful no matter who it is. I realize the lack of self control and the greatness of my folly… I should keep certain things to myself, and I should limit who I trust. A secret is a piece of me, and when I tell that to more then one person, that gives them power and stretches me out. Maybe someday I will tell someone all my secrets, wishes, and dreams and have them hold them in their heart like easter eggs in a basket, fragile and protected by grass. But until then, I’m going to work on myself and keeping things to myself. I have trust issues now, and I want them.