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[purposefullypassionate-blog]

Kintsugi

I remember the day I started to heal, or at least wanted to start healing. It was humid, with a cool breeze, a little more than halfway through summer, just after dinner, while clearing the table with my mom. She asked me to take the garbage out. The air had the same feeling you have after a long road trip home from the beach, and the sun is still trapped just beneath your skin, Your lungs feel filled with sea salt and sand, and your hair: a tangled romantic mess. But we hadn’t gone anywhere, and my body felt like it’d been ravaged by a hurricane. But I took the garbage out, and I realized how long it’d been since I’d looked anywhere else than at my feet when walking. So I looked up, and the sky stole the air from my lungs. A full, blooming pink, streaked with purple and white clouds as the sun set fire to the horizon in brilliant oranges. All this just because I did one simple chore.

It wasn’t some big moment. I didn’t drop the bag and spill trash everywhere, or stretch my arms up to the sky, or scream “I will heal!”

It wasn’t a whispered promise to myself. It wasn’t any sort of movie moment. 

Instead, it was more like a breath in. Like suddenly my heart nodded and said to itself “It’s time to realize everything might turn out ok.”

And even then, it didn’t just happen. It was a change as in my heart and head knew it was ready to start healing, that it was time to brush some cobwebs away, a big decision made after months of building up to that point. There wasn’t a fantastic start by waking up early and going to the gym first thing in the morning and being insanely productive the next day. Actually, I think I slept in. Instead, it was a waiting game. Trust had been knocked down, walls tumbling into ruins. They needed to be preserved and rebuilt, as others needed to be torn down. I had to learn to breathe again. Water slowly drained, drip by drip, from my lungs over a series of months. The cuts and bruises on my heart slowly healed themselves, ugly scars baring over them to show the most tender parts of me. Of course this time didn't come without days when water felt like it was seeping back in to the point of overflowing, and new cracks formed in places I never thought could break. It was a process, and it wasn't romantic. It was a corpse slowly coming back to life.

But still, I was healing. And at times I was ashamed. I was pissed at myself on the days when I knew I was slipping backwards, beating myself up over the fact that I had to heal at all. I hid that I was healing, painting a bright yellow energy over the fading gray walls that actually made up the state I was in. That made it even more difficult, I was spiraling. It is exhausting to show this happiness that is absolutely not always genuine, which made my predicament worse. If you have to hide that you’re healing from those around you for their comfort, you can’t accept that you really are trying to heal, so you aren’t really healing. You have to start by accepting that you need to heal, that you are healing, or that you aren’t yet healing. Emphasis on the word “yet.” 

When you plant a seed, you’re not going to see immediate results, and you might even forget that results will happen. Things are happening under the soil, under the dark brown and black earth, life is happening. The same goes for your heart. It’s ok if you haven’t started healing and you need to. Ya, I’m serious. Just like that tiny little bit of almost-living hope, your heart has things happening inside it, so it’s ok if you’re not seeing those little green sprouts of healing, they’re just getting ready. It takes a grieving period to purge all those heartbreaks from your body, it takes staring at your feet for a few days and the ground underneath them. Don’t force yourself to start healing when you’re not ready, because it’s ok to take that time and accept whatever forced you to have to heal in the first place. You can’t force a plant to grow, just like you can’t force a seed to grow. But don’t avoid it either. 

If you’re ignoring that you need to heal, and you refuse to mend yourself, or accept that you need mending at all, it’s going to be harder to feel sunlight on your heart. Trust me when I say I’ve had days where sitting in the sunshine felt like a dead night in January because I was ignoring the suffocating pressure on my heart. You need that sunlight, you need to know you’re growing something so you can water it, take care of it, make sure it grows correctly beneath the surface before anything else can happen. If you ignore it, it’s going to die. You can’t deny that you need to heal, and needing to heal doesn’t mean you’re broken. 

I couldn’t have been more ashamed of being broken and needing to some how be fixed. But the thing was, I did not need to be fixed because I was not broken. Yes, there were cracks in me, but I filled those cracks with gold, becoming more beautiful and stronger than I was before anything tried to break me. Plants sit out in storms and hail, and while their leaves may be torn or fall, they’ll stretch back up again. You should never be embarrassed of how long it takes you to heal. Everyone is different, but you shouldn’t be focusing on everyone when healing is a you thing. The galaxies in you are the only things that matter for right now, and being selfish to heal is perfectly ok. 

So, when you’re ready, look up from the ground. Look at the sky just after the sun has set and see the way it’s rays are leaking into the dark night, and the way the stars and the moon are suddenly becoming visible. Notice the way the sunshine feels on your skin when it’s a little colder out, a gentle reminder there’s warmth inside you, too. Remind yourself you’re alive, and when you’re ready, allow yourself to be vulnerable to being ok again. 

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

A Brief History of Being Enough

I ruin things. I routinely compare myself to a natural disaster because there is nothing I connect more with than a hurricane. I am the destructive force and the body being destroyed at the same time. If that’s not confusing enough, try being this overwhelming force while also hearing whispers in your ear of “You’re not enough.” How can I be so much and not enough at the same time? One fun word that packs this into one nice little check box is: anxiety

This sounds like a simple word that might appear when you’re nervous for a test or have to publicly speak when you’re not used to it. But for me, this word means an entire universe is compacted into every inch of my body. People throw away this word, because they “feel so anxious omg,” and while there is some validity to having anxiety without a chemical imbalance, I don’t think they understand what it’s like to have every atom belonging to you exploding simultaneously. This happens every time I feel any sort of emotion. It’s an undefinable experience, except to say there are stars super-nova-ing inside me. I become consumed by my heart, and I physically feel it come in waves, like a sea is eager to escape me. Some days, I can’t even get out of bed. It has placed itself under my skin, in my chest, whispering my worst fears, making it hard to breathe. 

Breathing is the equivalent of swimming. I know if I stop treading, I’ll start to sink, but my body becomes so overwhelmed by the water it’s surrounded in that I forget to tread and eventually slip into a numb, unconscious state of drowning. Isn’t that stupid? I have to periodically remind myself to perform an involuntary bodily function. (It’s also incredibly ironic because I believe I am a hurricane, and how can a hurricane drown?) There are times when I realize I haven’t been breathing at all. I’ve just been standing there holding my breath because the thought of existing makes me want to stay under the covers while the morning sun creeps through the slits of my shades, reminding me I need to brush off the dust of sleep. I become so careful and apologetic in every aspect, including physical, due to the fear of becoming the hurricane to another person. While I want to be enough, I don’t want to be too much. It’s exhausting, and at the end of the day I use what little energy I have to collapse into a ball on my bed because I am out of breath. 

This can only happen after I eat, of course, because usually I eat like a bird the entire day because of the nausea. Crackers and La Croix are two of my best friends. I have one pack of saltines I keep in my desk, and there’s always a mango La Croix in the fridge right next to me; I don’t notice it until I get home and sit at my desk and realize I’m starving, but can’t eat anything because I feel like it will only want to escape my body. It’s that fun word back in my life: anxiety. It makes me sick to my stomach. My mom, AKA my anchor, noticed this the week I had to spend about 3 hours a day in the guidance counselor’s office because of issues with a high school stalker. I wouldn’t eat dinner, and my usual after-school-craving for Nutella had vanished. She knew something was wrong, and immediately connected this phenomenon to my disorder. It preys on my empty thoughts, a little voice that for some reason sounds like Bill Murray, continuously reminding “You can’t even eat? Or normally breathe? What’s wrong with you?” (No offense to Bill Murray, of course, I’m a huge Groundhog Day fan.) 

So, if I can’t complete these most basic human instincts, am I enough? That’s not all I think about, though, when being enough crosses my mind. I think of how no boy I’ve loved has stayed in my life longer than three months. If I can’t be enough for the people in my life, am I worth anything at all? This concept of being enough consumes my every waking moment. There have been the very rare occasions, nights where too many of my closest friends cram into a jeep with no roof, and I stand on the seat doing a poor imitation of Leonardo DiCaprio’s classic pose, and everyone’s laughing too hard, that I forget for a moment that I don’t believe I’m enough. In that moment, I am enough for the laughter I’ve created, I am enough for the music I keep messing up the lyrics to, I am enough for the moon that you can see when it peeks out between the trees. We get out of the car and don’t want to part. And when I feel like I’m the only person existing when I get back to my room after a long day of not breathing, I remember my other anxiety-ridden friend hugging me saying that night was the “perfect goodbye” for me before I left for college.  Little did I know that a week later from that night, I would begin to realize more about my anxiety because of a boy.

I hate when things happen because of boys. Not that there’s anything wrong with boys, but I want to know myself because of something internal. I thought I knew everything there was to know about my anxiety, sure it was confusing, but I know myself well. Alas, I arrived at college and met my plot twist. He’s a foot taller than me, grows Bonsai trees, and has severe ADHD. I understand how it feels to have a disorder, but I had never been in love with someone who has one. Unfortunately, his made him interrupt me, forget to kiss me goodbye, say the exact wrong things, and struggle to communicate. All the things that make my anxiety unfold from the ball I tightly pack it in and expand like a gas to fill its container. I had to repeatedly remind myself that it was not him, it was not me, it was the chemical imbalance he tries to exhaustingly keep together. It’s like the universe made both of us and said “Everything will go against their togetherness.” And we said screw it. But that fight against the universe hit me in the face and fought me saying “no, it’s not anything other than you just not being enough.” The mountain of not being enough has always been my steepest climb, so he climbed it for me. At midnight on a Friday that was hotter than it should have been in September, he ended things between us. It was not because I was not enough for him, it was not because the love he had for me disappeared, and it was not because I had done something wrong, and I have always wondered what I’ve done wrong. It was simply because he was not ready to take on anything like the relationship we wanted. It sounds like the most basic, bullshit answer a college boy can give you, but I believe him. He was stressed, overwhelmed, and simply not ready, and he did what was best for himself. Sometimes, timing doesn’t work, or relationships don’t mix with a person even if the people in it do. That is ok. Maybe it was because of my anxiety that makes me terribly empathetic, or the hours of research I did on ADHD to try to know him better, but I understood. And even though we stood there holding on to each other while I cried for what seemed like years, because neither of us wanted to let go for the last time, we eventually did. I shut the door after he reminded me I was more than enough for him. 

I’ve only ever completely felt enough for myself once. I was driving into Colorado at three in the morning, five days after my grandpa had been accepted into heaven, because of course he was. He was my best friend so that practically makes him a saint. My nose was pressed up against the glass because there were more stars in the sky than I realized were up there, and in that moment, I was enough for the stars. They serve as a reminder to the ones exploding inside me. I try and go back to that brief glimpse of infinity every single time I feel the not enough-ness in my heart. I adventure back in my mind to that mountain I was on when I saw my stars for the first time. I felt lost, without a compass or map, but then it turned, as all things do, to wandering. I hiked back paths of my heart, long-forgotten, traveled-across plains. Through forests taller than I remembered, and under a painted, desert sky I missed the beauty of. Over mountains I never realized I climbed, to find what I lost, or why I am lost at all. I have an addiction of traveling although there is no moving involved, since it’s only the emotional and physical journeys I’ve already experienced. This is one addiction I would never medicate, though.

Medication is a scary word to use. I am not medicated, and I get a puzzled look of “why?” every time I say this. I am terrified. I believe I am a coward, I am so frightened to my core of becoming reliant upon something that is not me. I am an actress, and I empathize well with people and have no problem accessing any emotion when I need to perform it. I am terrified of losing these parts of me that I actually like. If I medicate myself, I change my brain. My brain is the part of me that understands that although there are more stars in the sky than we’ll ever know, the night sky isn’t as bright as the sun because our line of sight doesn’t end on stars. This is because there was a point in time when those stars didn’t shine, even though we do live in an infinitely expanding, static universe. While I don’t necessarily need to know this information, it forces an understanding of myself. I know there are times when the stars under my skin aren’t imploding, times when I don’t feel too much, and I can take a deep breath and focus on clearer night skies. This allows me moments where my anxiety doesn’t consume me, just like the stars don’t consume the night sky. We both have a balancing act, which makes it easier to be friends with the stars. I don’t want some outside force changing this composition of my brain, which I actually can fall in love with at moments I know it is enough. 

Now, I am learning how to be enough for myself. That’s step one. I write out all my feelings, remind myself to wash off the day, and focus on every inch of me that is exactly enough, even if Bill Murray is telling me I’m wrong. It’s not easy, and it always circles back to that need to be enough. For boys, for my family, for the people I love, but especially for myself. I want so badly to just breathe without a reminder, and not tell myself that my body, my voice, my love, is simply not enough for anyone. If I were enough, I wouldn’t have had to worry about the days my person was having a rough time communicating. I wouldn’t have to worry about the secret phobia I have of the people I love and who love me waking up and saying “Never mind.” I wouldn’t have to worry during every unfilled moment to show that I can be more. Or less if that’s what you want. But for now, I do worry, and I am afraid. The undertow of anxiety pulls me back out to the ocean of not being enough, and that’s when the hurricane hits, or I become one. Sometimes, in the eye of my hurricane, I catch glimpses of my stars above me, and they whisper to me that there is a world without any hurricanes. So eventually, and I truly believe this, I will be enough. Maybe it won’t be tonight, or even a year from now, but someday I will be satisfied with the acceptance that every imperfect, frizzy curl, every frayed thought, every small moment I forget to breathe is all perfectly ok, because it is just me. I will be enough for me. I will stop seeking imperfection, and see the beauty of being imperfectly enough.

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

So Long, Farewell

All children grow up. You always know after high school. High school is the beginning of the end. And for the past few months I’ve been feeling very similar to almost every Disney-fanatic’s first crush, Peter Pan. I don’t want to grow up.

Growing up means leaving home. Leaving your mom who was a best friend when it seemed like you didn’t have anyone. It means leaving surroundings so familiar you could navigate through them blind-folded. It holds the possibilities of new paths un-hiked and unguided, filled with heartbreak and adventure. It’s terrifying, as all new things are. But it’s inevitable. It’s a journey every person must go on, whether we want to or not.

It seems we spend our entire childhoods waiting to grow up, become adults, drive cars and have real free will without total parental control. But the next thing we know we have to drive everywhere and we desperately wish our parents would tell us how to live the rest of our lives, because it’s absolute madness, total confusion, and 11 months of “Oh ya, I’m a legal adult,” after your 18th birthday. What is comforting, though, is that it is a universal truth that in newborn adulthood, no one has really figured anything out, and probably won’t for a while. If you have, props to you, but for the rest of us, we’re all in this together, right? (Thank you, Troy Bolton.)

But it’s ok if you don’t have things figured out. It’s ok if you regret the major you chose, or if you don’t know what major you want yet, or if you aren’t going to the college you want. You don’t have to figure that out yet, and not everything has to be perfect. You’re going to end up where you’re meant to be, doing what you’re meant to be, and you have the rest of your life to figure that out. How can anyone expect you to figure it out now when three months ago we still had to ask permission to use the bathroom? (Now I don’t know if I’m writing this to comfort the reader or me.)

Another goodbye forced on us, besides the ones to our homes come fall, is of high school. For most this is a relief, but if you’re like me, you cried the last day of school knowing the halls would be a quarter emptier the next day without the seniors. I know I’m blessed when I say high school was a wonderful time for me, because I know for many people, that’s not the case. Yes, there were millions of tribulations, but there were a million and one laughs, hugs, and seconds you wish would stretch as long as possible. There were happy moments mixed in with those desperate ones. And even then those darkest moments are imperative to the high school experience, because those are moments of learning.

Those are the moments we understand what it means to be flexible, and what it means to break. But dispersed between those moments are unforgettable movie-like memories, whether it’s just driving somewhere with your friends piled in a car and the weather is finally happy, or it’s dancing at prom surrounded by people you know love you. Those are moments we understand what living is. So I guess I really want to say thank you. Thank you, Marist, for becoming my home, showing me a new family, introducing me to the first people I loved. Thank you to my teachers who challenged us and pushed us and drove us to be the intelligent young men and women we are becoming.

But most of all, thank you to the people I met. Thank you to my forever-family, the people who held my hand when I broke down crying, who laughed with me during “boat-time,” (srry I had to include a theatre joke) and who reminded me everyday above all else: that I am loved and deserving of love. I know each of you are going to conquer the world.

And this isn’t goodbye, this is just until our paths cross again.

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

Perfect Timing

In this second, for the past and next million seconds, you are one person out of 7.442 billion people, on one 4.543 billion year old planet out of 100 billion planets, in one galaxy out of 100 billion galaxies, in an ever-expanding universe. And somehow you managed to be where you are at this exact moment with the exact people who surround you in your life.

These people come and go for various reasons, and no matter what you do, sometimes people just can’t stay. Sometimes the push and pull of the universe’s tide has other ideas than allowing this person a few more chapters in our lives, and no supernova force can make them stay. We think finally, things have lined up the way they’re meant to be, the universe just needed time to tie up a few loose ends before everything could fall into place. But then before you even have time to grasp what you’ve realized is suddenly in front of you, it’s gone.

But that’s what’s supposed to happen, people come into our lives to build up the pieces of our hearts, or take away other pieces, that they need to. When they’re purpose has been served and we’ve done for them what they’ve needed, it’s goodbye. And it’s bittersweet. It means new room for others, it means a new chapter can begin, a new soul can teach us something more, but it means losing someone who was once a brace for new construction happening on our existence. Sometimes we don’t think we’ll hold it together as well as we had when they once so beautifully helped us, but if there was a time before them, there will be a time after them.

It’s all about the timing. It’s the way our timelines line up, but also don’t. One day someone may re-enter your life after being gone for so long, and things may seem to finally fit into place, and then the world laughs in your face and changes her mind and sends this person down a path that takes them almost an entire day away by car. Hopefully by the time they leave, they’ve done what was intended. If not, maybe they’re meant to reappear when things can line up perfectly again, for good.

Either way, no matter how long someone stays, or who you meet in life, somehow, with all the time and space the universe contains, you were placed in exactly the place you are in right now. Out of the millions upon millions of possible lives you could have led, you were meant to live this one because the people you’ve surrounded yourself need you just as much as you need them. They need you to teach them something new, whether they’re your enemy or the love of your life. So think, when you’re feeling unimportant or irrelevant, this ever expanding sea of stars needs you right where you are. Thank you for being there.

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

Game Over

Why do people play games? Not video games, board games, or sports, but games in the feelings and emotions area. Think: when someone waits before replying to a text so they don’t seem eager, these kinds of games.

So, why do people play games?

I’ve asked myself this a million times; when my friend is crying over a boy who seemed to love her, or when a friend won’t let me respond instantly to a text. To me these games are so dumb, we’re not in 6th grade anymore (even though players of these games give me Call Me Maybe and Ke$ha flashbacks). But what’s so wrong with just letting someone know you care about them? Maybe it’s because we’re scared.

It’s scary, letting someone know what we actually feel about them. It makes you more vulnerable, more susceptible to damage. That person could take how you feel and use that against you. Somehow you could end up hurt just by speaking what’s actually on your mind rather than what you decided to say after having an imaginary conversation in your head with this person in a dramatic situation which definitely made you seem really cool. So by playing these games, we seem disinterested, and if we seem disinterested to someone we’re interested in, it makes them want you more somehow, because the chase is fun. Or it can protect you in case they aren’t interested at all.

But you know what’s really nice? What people don’t really hear a lot because of all the fear happening? That they’re loved. That they’re appreciated and cared for. Because if we don’t let them know these feelings actually exist, there’s no chance of hurting. It’s almost like we’re convincing ourselves these feelings aren’t there in case something doesn’t work out.

(a text from my friend who reminds me everyday that I’m loved and appreciated, and reminds me there’s sunshine and a reason to get out of bed, even on my worst days)

So, you’ve heard it a million times, and here it is for the one millionth and first time, life is really really short. It’s too short to play games, mess with people’s emotions, not tell someone you love them. Almost a year ago on July 22nd, 2017, my grandpa passed away. As I’m writing this I realized July 22nd is 20 days away. A year ago today I only had 20 days lefts with him, and I had absolutely no idea. I would have filled every one of those 20 days with talking and laughing and appreciating him while I still had time. We can’t tell the future, we aren’t able to see when we only have 20 days left with someone forever.

So why hold back? Why not tell someone how you feel? Yes, you’ll be vulnerable. But, the games can end. A weight will be lifted off your chest, and even if this person doesn’t feel the same way, it’s still nice to hear you’re loved, or at least strongly liked. So do it, hold that guy’s hand the next time you’re walking next to him if it feels right, kiss that girl you’ve been in love with for how long now, reply to that text as soon as you see it instead of waiting 2 minutes in order to seem more mysterious. It’s ok to show you’re excited when their name pops up on your phone. Enough with the games, because it’s ok to share what you’re actually thinking.

Don’t let time slip by without the people in your life knowing what you feel about them. There’s no point in playing games, life isn’t meant to be played as a game, it’s meant to be lived. You start living this life once you stop playing games and start being vulnerable. Maybe just this once, “Game Over” means something good. It doesn’t mean something’s over, but that something has started.

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

How to Break a Heart: A Guide

This year, I experienced my first real love (or at least I think I did) and then of course, my first real heart break. To be blunt, it sucked. What was so confusing, thought, is how it all happened. What led up to this breakup, what did I do? Well, I guess it started how it ended, slowly and then suddenly.

In the moment, it’s a whirlwind. You’re swept up and off your feet, and suddenly every past crying session during a Jane Austen movie marathon with your mom, every person disappointed and frowning on the two of you, every lonely night with only the moon to keep you company, it all seems worth it for this one person. Every moment, hand hold, laugh all seems to overpower any minor inconvenience and the only thing that seems to make sense is this other person’s laughter. Suddenly, Romeo and Juliet’s decisions seem a little more understandable, because that’s what love does to a person. It turns you upside down and confuses you and makes you just a little bit crazy. You want to be with that person every second, introduce them to the people you love, you wish they were there every time you smile and every time you cry. 

They say in a song that when you’re in love, smoke can get in your eyes. It makes you cloudy and light-headed, you don’t always see exactly where you are or where you’re going. You love this person, so you don’t care. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never cared about someone so much that you re-imagine the plans you laid out so carefully for the rest of your life, all your dreams and hopes. You want them there with you for the ride, and you’ll redo everything if that seems possible. It’s new and different and slightly terrifying, but a good terrifying. And you let them learn everything about you. They know all your idiosyncrasies and learn how to love them if they don’t already. And this all seems so good, because of the smoke. It blocks the end from your sight, because you can’t even imagine it. 

And then a month blows beautifully by, late night movie sessions and adventurous dates to lakes to appreciate sunsets. After a month of rough days made better at the end by a thoughtful twix bar and tight hug, this person has made a hectic month seem easier. Because that’s what that special person is supposed to do, make life a little easier, bearable. And then the anxiety begins to grow a little bit. 1 month and 2 days. The days start to seem a little longer from unanswered texts and excuses to miss planned dates. Small reminders of the girls falling in love with him left and right which before reminded you you’re lucky to have him, but now increases your nervousness. It was the smoke. And suddenly he stops holding your hand a little more each day until one day he picks you up and there’s no effort, no more random kisses at red lights. But you keep trying, because that’s what you do when you make a commitment, you wait for them and you try to make their life a little easier. Care packages when they seem too close to the edge and sacrifices made because you’ve grown to care about this person more than your own sanity. 

These changes, these sudden cutoffs, it seems doable as they become a dull pain in the back of your heart throughout the day. You tell yourself when you wake up in the morning with nothing promising that you both just have to get through that day. Then you say it the next day. And then it turns into “we just have to get through this week.” Because after that week, after all the business and drama, things can get normal again. But then you just have to get through the next week. You keep telling yourself this because the smoke is there. But it’s clearing up a little more with every feeling off loss caused by some inexplainable yet undeniable distance. 

So 2 months. 2 months have gone by, 61 times saying “we just have to get through this week.” But it’s starting to become too much. Unsure of when you’ll see this person again, when you'll actually have a conversation about things that matter again. Wondering when you'll feel cared for and loved again. For 2 months you haven't been yourself because you felt you were partly missing because this person is gone somehow. 

2 months and 3 days and it's finally become enough. You don't care anymore, because while you hope for just 10 minutes with this person, they'd rather see anyone else. You haven't realized this yet, because the smoke hasn't completely cleared, but you're close. Until finally one day you crack. It's midnight after another night out without him and you break and you text him how he hurt you (which he promised never to do) and for some reason his response. His long winded way of saying "we aren't anything anymore" hurts worse than anything else in the past 2 months and 3 days have. And you find yourself sitting in bed at 1 am telling him you'll always care about him, that you wish him nothing but happiness, but that he also wrecked you as you cry under a pile of kleenex. It's a new pain. You've never felt this before. This is what heartbreak is. And now Maria's heartbreak feels much more real, losing someone you love. You don't want to ever leave the bed, you can't stop watching Must Love Dogs, and everything seems unreal. Because it feels like he took you on a beautiful boat ride to abandon you on an island with no explanation and not even a life preserver. It hurts. It fucking sucks. Your friends try and distract you, make you happy, but it only works until you're home, alone.

You don't know what to feel. You're mad because how could he be so careless with something as delicate as your heart. You're sad because you loved him. You don't want him back, but you're unsure of if you want to move forward. Mostly, you're confused. Did he ever love me? Is he hurting as badly as I am? Will I never see him again? And you don't know what you want those answers to be. You just hurt. 

2 months and 1 and a half weeks. It's a dull pain now, it still exists and sometimes it becomes unbearable, but it's lessened from being a constantly unendurable ache. It's strange. This person who once knew everything about you, knew all your secrets and what made you happy, is now a stranger. You no longer wish for their happiness when blowing away dandelion puffs, and their name no longer makes your heart jump in a good way. 

2 months and 3 weeks. They mean almost nothing to you now. You've rid their existence from your phone and you'd rather go out than stay home. Some days it's harder to be motivated to leave your bed, and there's still sadness. For how it ended, and everything you now want. 

You crave to be loved again, but you're terrified. If someone like him, who you thought would never break you so badly, actually did, what could someone else do? Someone could hurt you that much more. You want that love though, you want to meet your soulmate, you want to travel, you want to be motivated again to get up earlier than 10 when you don't have to. You want to be motivated to love yourself. You want to become yourself again, because you lost yourself in the last 2 months and 3 weeks.

So do it. Let it take how long it takes, it'll subside soon enough. But let winter fall from your bones and let summer take over every inch of you. Fill yourself with so much sunlight that it pours from your fingertips. Don't waste more tears over him. You aren't what he needed, and he was not what you needed, so don't grieve over a loss. There was no loss. There was a gain. A gain of new opportunities, new happiness, a chance to find who you are and what you want. Look for life, don't look for love. Because once you find life, life will bring you the love you need.

[purposefullypassionate-blog]

Dear Younger Me,

There’s still this little girl inside of me who won’t let go of what happened to me, whether I know it or not. She still wonders why all those bad things happened to her, why the people she trusted let those things happen to her, and why she can’t seem to get it out of the back of her mind. She still cries over it sometimes, she still has days where any form of touch makes her cringe and anxiety overcomes her and cripples her. She still needs to let all of this go.

I’m doing this for her now. I’m writing this so she can read it, so she knows it will get better, that not everyone will hate her or hurt her.

So, younger me, firstly I want to say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you more, but I’m sorry the people in your life let you fall when you trusted them to keep you up. I’m sorry they ruined love for you, and any intimacy you experienced or will experience. But it gets easier, I promise.

What happened to you was not your fault, it never will be. You were not “asking for it.” You were only 7 years old, how could you have been? You were scared, and confused, and you still are in a way, but that time has passed, as raw as it feels. You are safe now and the threat is gone.

He ruined any form of intimacy for you, he smashed it and with it he shredded your trust of anyone you would ever meet. You constantly are checking the people around you, looking for dangerous signs, you’re paranoid.

But you are also constantly checking yourself. The way you walk, how you look when you’re sitting in your seat, or standing in front of the class, you analyze it all. There’s always someone constantly judging you and criticizing you; it’s you. Maybe it’s because of the abuse you suffered, I’m not sure, but it’s time to let that go, however you look is completely fine. Stop bullying yourself, my darling.

There is so much inside of you. Fear, hatred, sadness, but there are also so many great things inside of you. Some happiness, and passion, so much passion. There is so much potential inside of you, too. Use it.

When you first realize exactly what happened to you, you’re confused, alone, scared out of your mind, and a terrible feeling of guilt overcomes you. I don’t say any of this to scare you, I just want you to know it is okay (for now) to feel these things. But the guilt part? The part where you feel disgusting and used? Never ever should you feel these things. They are the opposite of what you should feel. Feel anger instead, and use this to drive you, but never feel guilty. It is not your fault.

It’s not your fault you tense up when boys put their arms around you, it’s not your fault when you shrug and say it’s no big deal. You don’t owe them any explanation. You don’t have to keep their arm around you. You don’t have to tell anyone anything if you don’t want to, you don’t have to explain yourself to people that might not understand and treat you differently. But you must know it is okay to tell the ones you love and trust, don’t carry this burden around inside of you, it only gets heavier.

You’re going to tell your mom eventually. It won’t be for years, but you do. She’s not going to take it well and you have to calm her down while also calming yourself down and holding back the tears. (This is because you have to be strong for her, you always have to be strong for other people. But sometimes it’s okay not to be, though, it’s not weakness, it’s called being human.) She’s going to ask too many questions and become angry when you can’t answer them. She’s not mad at you, she’s mad at him. Your relationship gets better, and talking about it becomes easier, I promise.

There are going to be constant reminders of the horrible thing that happened to you. You’re going to freak out and most of the time you really hold it together. I’m so proud of you for that. You also meet a dear friend that lived through something similar as well. You have your ups and downs, but they get you through one of the hardest times of your life.

So now? Now you need to let go. You need to realize that you are not that 7 year old little girl anymore. You are not alone in this, and you never will be again. You’ve grown so much and are so amazingly strong, in ways you weren’t at the age of 7. He is gone. Release the constant pain you feel, it is only holding you back more than you know. You must also forgive, not yourself, but the people who did this to you. This is is going to be the biggest challenge you face for an incredibly long time. Forgiveness is something everyone learns, and now you must use that lesson to forgive the person who has hurt you most in the world. Forgive, but never, ever forget. Your days of crying over this and over the innocence you lost all those years ago are over.

Now you must learn how to re-love yourself and your body. You must, again, learn to trust those close to you, not everyone will hurt you. Now, your life changes. I know you’re afraid of change, but this is a good change. You are stronger than you believe, and I know you will conquer this.

Dear, confused, lost, younger me, I love you. I owed this to you, but now it is time to finally let go and move on.