a1mosteverything

[a1mosteverything]

12 Minutes

12 minutes. It took about 12 minutes to completely remove you from my every day life. Every picture out of each frame, every letter, every photo booth picture, every inside joke is now sitting in a folder packed away in a box that will sit in the corner of my closet forever. 12 minutes was all it took to leave my walls barren, no trace of you left to see. Our bond, our adventures, our trips and concerts all have disappeared as if they never existed. As angry as I am, I couldn’t throw it away. I couldn’t toss five years worth of friendship in the trash, even if that is where it belongs. Doing so would only mean losing a piece of myself and I can’t lose that piece yet.

We may not have grown up together, but I grew up with you. You were there for some of the biggest life milestones I reached, the days and weeks and months and years of finding myself, learning who I was, and being okay with being different. You were there for my excitement, my sorrow, my grief and my pain; my laughter, my success, my failures and my tears. You knew me in ways no one else did and you truly had so much to do with the person I’ve become.

I wonder how long it will take before I stop thinking of sending you links about things we both like. I wonder how long it will take before I stop thinking about all the places we should travel to. I wonder how long it will take before I stop telling stories that start with “yeah, my best friend and I.” I wonder how long it will take before I stop thinking of you as the woman who would stand with me on my future wedding day as my maid of honor.

I imagine it doesn’t hurt you as much, as this seems like a decision you made long ago. You have plenty of best friends to fall back on, to fill my void, to help you forget that there was once a time where we were inseparable, when you didn’t see one of us without the other. You lost a best friend today but I lost much more. I lost the only thing that was constant in my life. I lost a sister. Want to know something? Mourning the loss of your family is bound to take a lot longer than 12 minutes.

[a1mosteverything]

You’re Writing Lines About Me; Romantic Poetry

Sometimes memories flood my brain: what it was like when you were here, holding my hand, looking at me with those killer brown eyes. You saw me, every part of me, in a way no one else could. I used to think it was because they never tried, but now I know it was because you understood why I obsessed over Dunkin Donuts coffee, why I ate my pizza with a fork and a knife, why I loved the lyrics of songs without ever really listening to the beat of the music, why I hated my hair up, why I drove with the heat cranked all the way up in the winter despite a body temperature of at least 100, and why my head never stopped racing at night. It wasn’t until after you were gone that I started drinking Starbucks. It wasn’t until after you left that I starting hearing the guitar in the songs I loved the most. It wasn’t until after I lost you that I wore my hair in a ponytail and drove with all the windows down in the middle of the winter. There was a time when you were all I thought about, all I dreamed about. You set my soul on fire; you showed me a version of myself I didn’t know existed and I learned to love each piece of her because you did. To this day, I haven’t been loved as fearlessly and recklessly.

I stopped considering you a piece of me this past December. You looked me in the eyes and set me free. You held my wrists as I held your face with my forehead on yours while we both said our hellos and ultimately, our goodbyes, the only way we knew how. You kissed me in a way that screamed desperation, apologies tangled in an uneasy mask of desire, and regret. I let you, although I knew it was wrong, because it was poetic. It only made sense that we go out the same way we came in: under the cloudless night sky, in the bitter cold of midwinter and in a bed of lies.

Today, you crossed my mind and I genuinely do not know why. I am sitting in a robe, with my laptop on my lap, listening to music that is in no way connected to you and I. I am in a place you haven’t tainted with your scent. I am in a place that does not even remind me of you. Yet here I am, writing about a person that has for so long been gone from the words I type under shaking fingertips. Here I am, thinking of you and wondering if I will ever actually be able to erase you from my life. The fact that I am where I am, that I have been through what I have been through, suggests to me that you will always be a piece of me. As much as I fight it, I know that your memory flows through me like a current I can’t swim out of. Your memory pushes me to find someone who loved me the way you loved me, and truthfully, someone who will never hurt me in the way you’ve hurt me.

You are you and I am me. Your world and my world couldn’t be more different and for that, I am thankful. I am sorry for the nights where they will intertwine. I am sorry for the moments we will make eye contact and dread looking away, for it could always be the last time we do so. All I can do is promise that in those moments, I will smile remembering the nights where the only thing we were wrapped up in was each other. I will be grateful that my soul was changed by knowing you. I will forget the hard times, the painful times. I will cherish only the good and the moments that genuinely did leave me breathless under your influence.

[a1mosteverything]

4.20.2016

Why is it that we still hang on to this notion that people with mental illness are not worthy of love, of understanding, of care, of encouragement? Why is it that we still whisper about people’s struggles, judge people’s hardships and laugh at people’s pain? Why is it that, even at 24 years old, I still get the same look when I tell someone that I struggled with depression for most of my life?

Mental health is no joke. It is as serious as, well, a heart attack. And for exactly that reason, it is so important for the world to stop the stigma, to end the judgment and to let love grow.

7 years ago, I made a decision that doesn’t come easily to others who battle depression. I made a decision to be stronger than my mental illness, to fight it every single day until I could smile without forcing it and wear short sleeves without being stared at. 7 years have gone by since the last time I put myself through pain with the hopes of “feeling better.” 7 years ago, I did what most people without mental illness have a hard time doing. I made a change.

My life had been encompassed by heartbreak and sadness, anger and embarrassment, hurt and shame. The only team I had was my family and not a day went by that I didn’t see the hurt in their eyes too. Only some people in this world are able to hurt the ones they love and feel as if they can’t stop. It is a compulsion, a war within yourself that is so hard to make peace with. It took me a long time to realize what I had in life was worth the fight. And damn, am I proud I finally did.

Every year, on this day, I reflect on what has been, what is, and what will be. I celebrate my anniversary, with the person I turned myself into after I got sick of darkness and defeat. It wasn’t at all easy, in fact it may have been the hardest thing I have ever done. There will never be a word that anyone ever says to me that will take my pride away.

The mental health stigma is bullshit. Mental illness does not prevent you from succeeding. It does not prevent you from living. In my case, it was a 18-story building that I was set on making it to the top of. It was the biggest obstacle, but never big enough to stop me from overcoming it. My mental illness was an addiction, a demon. But eventually I just got sick of the taste.

7 years. My life has changed so much in this time. I look in the mirror and I’ve never seen something so different. I look inside myself, and I am exactly the same. You can put me in a box with some asinine idea of the kind of person I should be because of my past. You can say to your friends, “did you know she used to hurt herself?” You can judge me for what I have been through, look down on me for owning the fact that I have lived this way. I can assure you that says much more about your character than it does mine. I am still, and forever will be, a warrior.

[a1mosteverything]

When it Rains

Sometimes, when it rains, I sit in complete silence. I don’t move. I don’t look at my phone. I just listen. I watch. When the thunder pounds, I lift my head slightly, close my eyes and let it fill me. I breathe it in. Flashes of lightening sneak in from behind my blinds and even with my eyes closed, I can feel how the light lands on my skin. I count the seconds between each roar and flash. One, two, three, four. When my eyes are closed, I am vulnerable. When my eyes are closed, I am lost. When my eyes are closed, my vision has never been more clear.

I imagine what it would be like if I were out there. I see myself spinning in circles, laughing wildly, running my shaking hands through my soaking wet hair. My eyelids dance with each puddle jump. My body crumbles with each hard step on the pavement. I turn around to look for you, for someone, for anyone, with rain soaking my eyelids and the sky becoming violent behind me. My chest rises and falls as the last few giggles emerge from behind my teeth until I notice no one is there. My mouth becomes a straight line, my eyes subtly turn downward, and I stand there. 

Feeling silly, I awaken from my day dream. I turn around and look for you, for someone, for anyone, but no one is there. “It’s just me,” I whisper to myself. It’s just me.

[a1mosteverything]

Nashville

As young girls, we are fed images beautiful princesses being united with their princes, in gowns that trail behind their anxious struts as they make their way to that very first kiss. We grow up thinking that this fairy tale, this impossibly perfect happy ending, can be ours. 

As I stood in front of the Nashville International Airport information desk with two suitcases, a camera bag draping across my front and a backpack, I felt dizzy with butterflies. I felt like the princess awaiting the prince. I felt like the fairy tale. I checked my phone about a dozen times. Messages that said “I am so nervous,” and “I am so excited,” and “I am waiting in front of the escalator at baggage claim,” were some of the most romantic messages I have ever exchanged. And when I felt this funny feeling over me, this little voice whispering in my ear “turn around,” I saw the first sight to ever truly take my breath away. He was tall and strikingly handsome. His smile struck me in the most brutally perfect way. My last name, hand-written on college-ruled lined paper, pulling me into him after what felt like a lifetime’s wait. And when I finally fell into his arms, I thought silently to myself “this has to be it.”

For three days I wrapped myself in lust and adventure with a man I had just met. My leap of faith, I called him. We held hands in a foreign city and talked about love and life and pain. I wrapped my hands around his neck with a beer in my hand as we sang our favorite country songs together. We laughed wildly into each other’s mouths and kissed passionately and fell in head first to some of the craziest, most memorable moments of our lives. We were standing in the street when he pulled me in close, told me how he could see a future with me and how he already felt so intensely for me. We shopped in old bookstores, drove around for hours with his hand on my leg. Each morning I was greeted with a forehead kiss and hands on my face and his skin on mine. I couldn’t imagine anything better, anyone better, or any reason not to completely lose myself in him. 

We followed the feelings home to Melbourne, or at least I did. I never felt a disconnect, I never felt an empty kiss. He still held me the same way, said my name the same way, touched my face the same way. But after a day of unanswered text messages and phone calls, I opened an email that ended my fairy tale. I read it over and over again, wishing it wasn’t true, wishing I read it wrong, desperately trying to understand how he could just take it all back. And so, I am left with this hole in my chest that simply does not make sense.

Some will tell me life goes on, some will tell me it will get better with time. Some say I’ll find true love when I’m not looking, when I am distracted, when I am ready. Some wonder why I am so upset when I’ve been heart broken before, some assume I’ve already forgotten. The truth is, you don’t forget something so powerful. You don’t forget taking a leap of faith and ending up falling. You don’t forget the man who stole your heart unexpectedly.

I wish I had a point. Yeah, I wish I had some overall meaning to this that would inspire and teach, as I typically try to do. I guess I am still learning myself. I am learning how to live without fear, learning how to forgive the ones that hurt us the most, and ultimately, learning how to find closure when you aren’t given any answers. I am learning how to wear my brave face well; I am learning how to heal. Maybe someone who reads this is learning how to just “be” as well. Whenever you are, know my heart is with you. Somehow, we will learn that even our biggest failures, even our biggest mistakes, even our biggest leaps, weren’t all for nothing. 

We need to just have faith.

[a1mosteverything]

Hates It When I Shout These Words, but I’ll Still Sing For You

Today was an ordinary Thursday, except it wasn’t really ordinary at all. I woke up alone again in my apartment, went outside for a few long drags of my never long enough cigarette, made myself breakfast, watched Netflix while I ate. I hopped into the shower, got dressed, blow dried my hair, put on some makeup, dropped some letters off at the post office and headed to class. I came home to cook my dinner for one. An ordinary Thursday, except it wasn’t meaningless. I thought about how I am one step closer to not waking up alone, one step closer to making breakfast for two, one step closer to getting myself ready for a day spent with you, one step closer for making dinner for two. All day I was excited, optimistic even, for today is one less day I have to spend without you. Being in love isn’t always easy, at least is wouldn’t be for us with states between us and scars on our hearts. But, that doesn’t make it any less possible, any less powerful, or any less true. I still have miles to go before I hear you speak those words back to me, the ones I dream about from time to time, the ones that undoubtably will give me butterflies deep within my belly. I know I have a lot of proving to do, not of my worthiness, but of the goodness of my intentions. I have to prove that I want to protect you and care for you, support you and understand you, be a better person for you; I must prove I will never say words that hurt you, never disappoint you and never betray you. I know there are days when you do not question it, but on the days that you do my heart aches. I will never stop proving to you that I am true and that my heart only beats for you. Some days, I bang my fists on imaginary walls and my soul shouts so loudly its displeasure with us not being the team I know we can be. My heart replies, “be patient. Love is patient. Give him time to feel it. Let him gain the knowledge on his own. Don’t force it, don’t pressure it. Let love grow.” Still, I wish I could kiss it into you; open my mouth slightly and breathe it into you and when you opened your eyes, you’d look at me like you’ve always known. For now, I’ll settle for my not-so-subtle comments, my “I adore you” or “you amaze me” instead of the words my body aches to say. I’ll call you the sweetest of names, talk to you until three in the morning, whispering how much I miss your presence, your mind, your body. And each time I lay my head down to sleep, I know I have conquered one more day that stands between me and you falling asleep together after a fit of laughter about how amazing it feels to be consumed with one another, rolling around on sheets like we are fourteen.

[a1mosteverything]

Can You Tell Me What You Meant By “OK?”

I think my biggest flaw is my desperate need for answers. Growing up, my least favorite answer to just about any question I ever asked my parents was “because.” This was almost always followed up with “but why?” The question is not what is relevant, for I could come up with a question for even the things I know the most. The answer, the explanation, the matter-of-fact reality of something is the only piece of information that will satisfy my cravings. I do not want to know, I need to know why some people choose to lie rather than tell the truth; why when you lose something you love, you suddenly have a indescribable pit in the base of your belly; what causes the feeling of “butterflies” when someone you find really, really attractive holds your face in their hands and kisses you softly; why some girls go into Forever 21 and leave with an entirely adorable and new wardrobe while I leave with a pair of black leggings to match my other eight pairs of black leggings and that is it. An answer like “because” just won’t do. I need to know the chemistry, the equations that make these things so. To most of these, I can come up with a decently satisfying answer to at least soothe the hunger for an understanding. Such as the following: some people lie because they are uncomfortable with their own truths; the pit in your belly is just another form of raging anxiety, except this type doesn’t cause sweaty palms, but a physical sickness for reality; butterflies is really your sex drive hoping and praying for both of you to get lucky (probably not true, but hey, I never claimed to be a biologist); the girls who leave with hundreds of dollars of clothes you wish you could wear but you seem to never find probably are avoiding the section with the mounds of leggings and sweatpants (maybe you should actually try looking at the clothes). However, there are some questions that either have answers so complicated they nearly do not exist, or the answer is so disheartening that it is impossible to accept. If we like each other, why aren’t we together? How can I trust someone if everyone I trust lies? If every relationship I have been in fails, why bother starting a new one? If he truly loved me, why would he leave? Why, no matter how hard I try, do I always have to ask questions there are simply no answers to? As you can probably see, I overthink everything. This is particularly problematic because I cause myself so much unnecessary stress by demanding to know why things are the way they are, why they can’t be different, and what makes them be. When trying to explain this to a new prospective lover, I usually use this analogy: I am always going to question why you step with your right foot first rather than the left. I am going to ask you eight times why you feel a certain way. When you tell me nothing is wrong, you can pretty much guarantee that I will not believe you and come up with my own explanation of why you haven't called me “babe” in 48 hours. I am going to ask you if you are sure you want to be with me. I will ask you if you really don’t mind having pizza for dinner (because I think you might have winced since we just had it yesterday). It is the way I am built, my chemical makeup, my need to know everything. Just recently I began talking to someone new. I made the bold choice to lay this all out for him in the car one day, to warn him of this piece of me that could be very well interpreted as annoying, bossy, or irrational. We joked about my need for control in a way that made the conversation end with us deciding that he would have 80% control and I would have the remaining 20%. This was comical, yet I can promise you that I probably have been using much more than my 20 with many of the questions listed above. When I started writing this piece, I had myself convinced that my need for explanations and the way that I dissect information was a flaw. As I wrap up, I realize that I would much rather have the hunger than go starved. My need for answers is so much more than having control; I have a need for knowledge, no matter how complicated that knowledge might be. I love new information, I love clarification, I love philosophical conversations that leave me full. I love feeling and understanding those feelings and figuring out if the excitement I have in my bones is the same that he has in his. Does love move us the same way? Does fear frighten us the same way? Do my butterflies feel like your butterflies? Or is life ultimately about perception? I’ll write you when I find the answers.

[a1mosteverything]

See Why They Call This Bullshit a Relationship, Ships Sink. And You Know It's Love As Soon As You Fall In It Cause Shit Stinks

I was in love with a wonderful man, you see. He drove a stick and still managed to hold my hand because he knew I couldn’t go a minute without touching him. He would lean in for a kiss, but miss my lips; plant one on my cheek instead because he knew it gave me butterflies. He would sing to me in the car while I laughed wildly. He spoke the word “baby” so smoothly and always at just the right time. He was loving and careful and when he touched my skin, I felt it; I felt the roughness of overworked hands and the softness of a touch so needed, and so willing to be given. His hands would work slowly over my body, just to make absolutely sure that he gave each piece of me the attention I deserved. He was romantic, but not in a flashy way; in a way that sent shivers up my spine from the way his eyes fell on me and spoke the words I needed not hear him say. He was the quiet in my life, the easy, the simple. He was my racing heart when he stepped out of the shower still wrapped in a towel. When he held me at night, he saved me from nightmares and allowed me to live in my dreamland when I woke. He was my supporter, my protector, my adventure. He was the voice in my head telling me I was beautiful when I woke up in the morning still looking like messy sheets, whispered wants, breathless needs. He was the one I could count on when all else failed. He was the man I had searched for, the one I had always known was there.

I was in love with a horrible man, you see. He held me at a distance, just far enough away that I could never wrap my arms around his neck or rest my body against his. He kept me hidden for his eyes and his eyes only, with the exception of a few rather drunk nights out or behind the safe and secure doors of his own home. When he would call me “baby,” the term lost its meaning. When he touched me, it felt more like ownership than protection. I was his; I would obey and do as I am told. If I ever stepped out of line, he would not try to understand my intentions, but rather curse and spew hate from behind his teeth in a way that would leave splatters of it against my face. I had to watch my step and be sure never to step on his toes, for doing so would land me in a cage of resentment from which I would never be freed. He lied, and not about how many drinks he had last night but about the woman who had his attention behind my back or about the reasons why he was incapable of loving me the way we both knew I deserved. He wouldn’t answer his phone for hours and would always have the best of excuses. He would tell me I am his world, then drop off the face of it. He didn’t hold me like I wanted to be held, didn’t show enthusiasm for my dreams. He was my most horrifying nightmare that kept me strangled both day and night.

The worst part, you may ask? I only loved one man.

[a1mosteverything]

I Should've Known You'd Bring Me Heartache, Almost Lovers Always Do

Is it time yet? Am I ready yet? Is he here yet? I can’t breathe yet. He pulls up now. Heart races now. He steps out now. I can do this now. I see that smile again. It all happens again. There’s that feeling again. Can I do this again?

Is it time yet? Am I ready yet? Is he here yet? I can’t see him yet. He pulls up now. Heart races now. I walk out now. It’s our time now. He kisses me again. It all happens again. There’s that feeling again. Is he mine again?

Is it time yet? Am I there yet? How many miles left? I can’t breathe yet. I pull up now. Heart races now. I see him now. I’m really here now. He holds me again. It all happens again. There’s that feeling again. Am I in love again?

Is it time yet? Am I prepared yet? Is he home yet? I can’t trust him yet. He texts me now. Three hours too late now. I’m too mad now. I can’t do this now. He’s lying again. It all happens again. There’s that feeling again. Can he do this again?

Is it time yet? Am I done yet? Is it over yet? I can’t breathe yet. He comes clean now. Says those words now. Watch love perish now. Our time is over now. He betrays me again. It all happens again. There’s that feeling again. Will I survive again?

Is it time yet? Am I healed yet? Have I forgotten yet? I can’t tell yet. He’s with her now. Worships her now. I’m alone now. But somehow strong now. I can be whole again. It will happen again. Not with him again. I won’t let it again.

[a1mosteverything]

Four, Twenty, Two Thousand and Fifteen

Four, twenty, two thousand and nine. Six. Seventeen. Two. Last.

Month, day, year. The number of years I was living with depression. The number of years I was alive. The number of hospital stays. The last hospital stay.

Four, twenty, two thousand and fifteen. Six. Twenty-three. Five. Zero.

Month, day, year. The number of years since I decided I would break free from depression, from self harm. The number of years I have been alive. The number of years of school I have to complete a doctorate degree in clinical psychology. The number of times I have cut, the number of times I have sunk into depression, the number of times I have gone into the dark place since this day, six years ago.

A series of meaningless numbers, but to me, these numbers are everything. They remind me of my successes, but also remind me of the difficulties that pushed me to become the person I am today. They give me pride, never embarrassment. They give me hope, never shame. They prove to me that life gets better; that life, in its simplistic and contradicting chaos and beauty, is worth the fight.

Six years ago, I didn’t think I would survive in a world where there is light. My body and my brain got so used to black, dark, and pain. I could barely keep my head above water. Six years ago, I didn’t believe I would have friendships, or love, or self-confidence. I didn’t think I would smile at my past, thank it even for enabling a fight in me that I never thought I had. It was there, all along, hidden between the hurt and the fear.

Today, I am happy. I am healthy. I have some of the best friends I wished for all those years. I am headed for an amazing career and some of the best years of my life. I look in the mirror in the morning and admire the girl standing in front of me. I smile knowing that I am me. I own my past, I appreciate my struggles.

Sometimes life happens the way you plan. Other times, you are put on a rollercoaster, with no seatbelt, and you are expected to live. Hold on for dear life. You have it in you to survive.

Four, twenty, two thousand and fifteen. Life is sweet today.

[a1mosteverything]

The Unsuspecting Victim of Darkness in the Valley

There will be a day that I will not be hidden; for my passion and my heart are both too big to be kept behind closed doors. There will be a day that I need not kiss; for my kiss will be craved and taken by surprise. There will be a day where I need not ache; for each pain will be drawn away by the touch of his lips on mine. There will be a day that I need not cry; for my smile will be too wide for my eyes to fall sorrow. There will be a day that my love will not be borrowed; for it is too great to leased but rather be held onto. There will be a day that my effort will not be overlooked; for he will be busy with appreciation rather than resentment. There will be a day that my hands will not grow cold; for the intertwining of his fingers will bring warmth to each one. There will be a day where my heart will not be broken; for it will be his mission to keep it whole.

[a1mosteverything]

In Silent Screams, In Wildest Dreams, I Never Dreamed of This

At any given moment, on any given day, my mind is racing; ideas for the memoir I'll never finish, plans for my next meal, thoughts on who I should text, reminders of who I never called back, doctors appointments that need to be made, random thoughts about how weird life can be. Absurdities run through my mind at lightening speed to the point where I always feel like I am on edge. I am the textbook definition of scatterbrained. It's almost impossible to keep my attention for more than a few minutes without me thinking of the errands I should run or the outfit I will wear tomorrow night. Or how about that dress I wore three months ago? That one is good too. With the attention span of a toddler, and the anxiety issues of a twenty-two year old girl, I can be extremely difficult to be around at times because my mind just does not stop thinking. I could not possibly count the amount of times a friend has asked me "did you even hear what I said?" or the amount of times that I have had to say "wait, what?" after a friend has been going on for half an hour about what that guy said to her at the bar last night. I think its funny when people tell me how relaxed they are at night, like come on. That's actually comical. When I put my head to the pillow at night, I most often replay the events from that day, cringing at the embarassing things I did or said, or obsessing over the moments that made me smile or laugh or cry. I overthink every experience I have. I dissect every second into the smallest pieces, and then continue to pick them apart even more. Even when I am alone, I never get one moment of peace inside my own head. So imagine my surprise when I suddenly have deafening silence, the one that almost makes you uncomfortable but you bask in it like a bath of foreign sun. Imagine my surprise when a mind that never stops literally stops thinking, stops obsessing, and just sits. No thoughts about the day, no panic, no anxiety. Just pure, uneasy, unwavering, incredible, unimaginable calm. This is the best goddamn feeling in the world for someone who is plagued with anxiety on a daily basis.  What is even more incomprehensible is how I get myself to that moment of quiet bliss. Or rather, how someone else can bring me from the tip of an anxiety meltdown to the happy place of silence. Your lips touch mine and my world stops. My body goes numb, my head turns off. The silence in my head is both painful and exhilarating. In that fraction of a second when we touch, there is quiet all around me. A mind that is at best chaotic suddenly enters this comatose state. If it were not for the pounding of my heart, I do not think I would even realize that I am awake in real time. For that moment, there is quiet all around me, within me. For that moment, I am free.   Some would say I am damaged; broken by the selfish hearts of past lovers, chipped away by the weapons of enemies and bound by waking nightmares. "She has demons," some may say. I may be lying if I tried to stray from those stereotypes or if I insisted they were not true. But there is a moment between kisses and his hands on my face and the trembling of my own fingertips as they graze his neck that my demons disappear. It is the best goddamn feeling in the world.  "I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons." -Christopher Poindexter 

[a1mosteverything]

When the Flowers That We'd Grown Together Died of Thirst

In life, there are moments that take your breath away so fiercely, you whisper to yourself “I will never forget this.” Most often, these moments take the form of major life events, like the moment you had your very first kiss or even an incredible view on an amazing vacation. Sometimes the moment is laughing too hard with your very best friend about something that happened over two years ago; while for some, it’s your wedding day or the birth of your first child. Rarely, and I mean very, very rarely, these moments take another form. Instead of being major events that you could not possibly forget, the most memorable moments are the smallest, silliest of happenings that cause you to feel something so out of the ordinary. Instead of your first kiss, its your three thousandth kiss with the same man that gives you such intense butterflies that you can barely breathe. Rather than some mind-blowing vacation, its the simplistic view of snow flakes falling gently on a street you’ve walked more times than you could possibly count that makes you believe in miracles. It is the blissful numbness you feel looking at a man and realizing, in that moment, you are falling madly in love. You whisper to yourself, ” I will never, ever, forget this feeling.” In time I have learned that, as much as we try to hold on to those feelings, we eventually do forget them. You try to remember what that kiss felt like on your lips and maybe you can see the moment playing in your head on a film reel, but you cannot quite remember what it actually felt like. You can no longer remember the specific way the electricity moved through your veins when he first held your face in his hands, and even though you do remember standing on your tippy toes to lean in for that kiss, you can’t remember anything after the moment his lips brushed yours. You remember the exact moment you fell in love, but you no longer remember the feeling in the pit of your stomach that told you it was so. It’s a fact of life. Time heals wounds, but it also steals from us the memories we want to keep forever. Maybe this is so we have more room for new memories with new people who we will grow to love and cherish more so than those from our past. Maybe it is to protect the mind and heart from staying hung up on moments that are no longer pertinent to the life we live right now.  Some may find this reality disheartening, depressing even. It is important to remember that nothing is ever taken from us without purpose. The memories of the things you felt with a man you used to love will no longer bring you joy when you fall in love the next time. And in those moments, you will feel, even more so intensely, so much more than the feelings you get from remembering moments that no longer serve you well. So do not lose hope. Look for the light in the moments that have yet to happen, and cherish them all while you still have the chance. For the greatest moments, the ones that truly leave you breathless and in a sort of beautiful, passionate pain, will never leave your soul feeling hungry. This I can promise you. Never forget it. 

[a1mosteverything]

I Woke Up Pretty This Morning

As I open my eyes each and every morning, I pretend there is no light peeping out from behind my blinds and imagine sleeping for just five more minutes. My alarm has already gone off and the reality that I have responsibilities sets in and makes me curl up in a ball and hide under my blankets. When my body finally bribes me to get up with a cigarette, I throw back the covers, throw my legs over the side of my too-big-for-one bed and stand up. I turn around to grab my phone and there it is: the mascara stained pillow case that seems to be a metaphor of my smeared dreams, the love I lost, the confidence I do not have, the panic about my future. I recall shedding a few tears before falling asleep, just as I do most nights. I walk over to the mirror and look at the black smudges on my cheeks that span from my eyes to the edges of my lips. There is a puffiness around my eyes that makes it look like I haven’t slept in weeks. Have I? I think to myself “what a sad sight, what an ugly image.” And with that, I quickly wipe them gone, the thoughts and smudges, and walk out of my room looking as normal as possible to head for my cigarette and start my day. This morning, however, I woke up pretty. My makeup was still intact from my night out, my lips perfectly pink. My hair still bounced from the curls I worked hard on and looked effortless and slightly messier than before. My eyes did not look tired or worn from crying. In fact, they sparkled in the sun slowly inhabiting my room. I smiled at this new version of my morning self and I even allowed myself to think “this is beautiful.” I felt free. I felt unstoppable. For a moment, I even felt like a new person, like I had been searching for this girl for months and I finally found her. I was her. I headed out for my cigarette like I do every single morning. There’s peace is goodbyes and in closure. There really is a calm after the storm and I am thankful to be living in that calm after months and months of stormy weather in my heart. Some say that when they fell in love, their heart and mind kind of said “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Well this morning, I said those very words to myself and enjoyed it. I finally looked into the mirror and loved what I was looking at. I loved the way my eyes seemed to be happier, that I looked younger than I’ve felt in months. I loved how genuine my smile was and how when I stood there, my head was quiet and there was silence. I loved how much I transformed overnight, simply because I finally had the courage to let go of whatever was holding my heart in firm grip. I woke up pretty this morning, inside and out, with no stains on my pillow case and bandaids on my heart. I put myself back together, and I felt beautiful. All the heartache was worth it. I was finally me again.

[a1mosteverything]

Memories of Me Will Seem More Like Bad Dreams; Just a Series of Blurs Like I Never Occurred

I am everything I had hoped I would be after a traumatic broken heart experience. I can smile again, I can laugh again. I can have a great time with my friends and focus on the important things in life like my family, my school work, my job. I can go out to a bar and flirt with the alcohol that seeps into my lips and makes my head fuzzy. I can fight back tears as the memories flood my brain. I can accept and even welcome the idea of being independent, moving away, being alone.  I can listen to the music that once meant so much to me. I can blast the songs and sing on the top of my lungs, smiling at the parts where I remember you kissing me softly or the lyrics you once recited via text to reassure me, soothe me. I can remember silly things we used to do that defined who we were together and the path we chose to walk along, hand in hand. I can do all of this without shedding one tear, without feeling heartbroken even for a minute, without missing the disaster of a relationship we found ourselves in. I can do this without being in love with you anymore. I can have another man touch me, kiss me, hold me. I can look into his eyes and see hope, see my capability to love and see my potential glowing in my own reflection. I can be silly, I can be casual, I can be myself again. I do not have to be in love. I do not have to be his backbone, his shoulder to cry on, his confidant, his conscious, or his ego. I can act my age, be whatever I want to be in the moment with whoever is there. But on the days where I chose not to be so strong, I can be sad. I can cry until my eyes burn and my hands ache from clenched fists. I can listen to a song and be brought back right to the very moments that caused me to fall in love with you. I can feel empty, like so much heartbreak in my life has chipped away the most important parts of my fragile heart and there is nothing left to give. I can dream of better days, revel in the memories of constant smiles and butterflies. I can hurt and be hurt and hurt others and still simultaneously feel numb and discourgaged from the idea that I could ever love again. I can feel as if my dreams were stolen from me by a man who never cared deeply for anyone, only enough to rope people in and destroy them bit by bit. I can do all this without missing you, but instead being amazed at how I was trapped in the downward spiral of your life and couldn’t see the wreck before it hit me head on.  But in the end, if I put my mind to it, I remind myself that even when we think we have been given God’s greatest gift, it can be taken away from you if it isn’t what is best for you. There is good in goodbye and whether that is obvious now or not, at least I can take comfort in knowing that most days, I am happy you left. I am happy you are gone. Because the life we had planned together could never be as good as the life I am living now. You did me a favor and although you may never have meant for this to be good for me, I hope you know it is. It is the best thing for me. Only after you have been destroyed completely, can you grow into the person you always wanted to be. Only after you have been destroyed completely can you find yourself. I found me at the darkest corner of the crossroads between depression and liberation. And I have your selfish nature and infidelity to thank for that. But really, thank you.

[a1mosteverything]

I Just Want to Save You While There's Still Something Left to Save

I watch the film reel play on

All the times I’ve watched you leave

Sit back, reverse, repeat.

I’ve seen you staring at me,

Eyes too big,

Unsure of whether to blink

And lose the image of tears washing my cheeks

Or keep your focus on me

And be plagued of that very image

Forever.

All too familiar clips of your hand

On the door handle,

Fingers clenched around the last hope

Of our dreams,

And yet, you still leave.

My eyes follow you to your car parked beside mine,

Watch you step inside,

Abandon me behind,

Even when you shoot your eyes at me

Again,

Our world gets lost in a goodbye

That never really happened anyway.

And although I gave you permission

To open and close my door

For the last time,

My heart still stops beating when you do.

And for just that moment

I pray you turn around as you are walking away

And run to me to hold my small frame

In your arms

One last time.

And let me nuzzle my nose into the kinks in your neck

And hold my soaked face in your rough hands

And kiss my salty lips

And let our love travel from your mouth

To mine

One last time.

How I pray you change your mind.

How I pray the deepest part of you that only my soul knew

Will overpower and win over the identity you now own

And you’ll be there

When I open my eyes

Tomorrow morning.

There will always be more

Tomorrow mornings to wake

Up to.

I pray I only have one more tomorrow

Before it is the last time

I wake up without you.

[a1mosteverything]

She'll Always Be The Girl From Yesterday

Every night is the same routine:

Get undressed, brush my teeth,

Lay in bed; how could this happen to me?

Praying I close my eyes and fall fast asleep

And in the morning I'll wake up and find it all was a dream.

It is more like a nightmare, shaking me to the core,

Screaming and begging and pleading for more of

The man I once yearned for, the man I adored.

Take a long, hard sip of my bitter-sweet wine

And I wipe that final tear from my blood-shot eye.

He won't hurt me, can't bruise me again;

Won't listen to a word, won't hear what I've said.

My head is foggy, my heart skipped town

With nothing left to be said, no pieces to be found.

Grit my teeth, suck in air, feel it sink into my damaged lungs;

No love left for the man I once loved.

It's an old love song, one you must have heard:

Girl crossed the line that was surely blurred.

Man lured her in, kept her bound in his selfish grip,

Held no arms out when she started to slip.

It's a battle to be lost, no hope left to bare,

No more reason to fight, no more reason to care.

But watch her, she will do it, will stand tall and proud.

She will make her voice heard and scream strength aloud.

She may trip, she may falter, she may relapse to him.

But watch her, I tell you, for one day she will win.

It's the song you have heard for it plays on repeat;

It is all about triumph.

It does not speak of defeat.