personal stories

High For This.

I’ve stared at a dozen ceilings in my lifetime. Studying the lights, the vents, the outline of the spaces between the moldings and the walls. Every nook and cranny. Every inch that distance between four walls could take you. It becomes an obsession to finding sanity. An obsession to hide behind the scenes to find a sense of piece of mind.

I’ve written a thousand love letters that flow along the texture from the sky from which I look upon. To thousands of boys that never mattered to the hundreds of boys that never knew. Questions unanswered by the fears of my conscious state and paralyzing present. I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I don’t know how much longer this can go on. I find sanity in secrets and hiding behind these four walls and looking high above where I can see. Maybe I should keep fucking up, feeling fucked up, and just let it all go. Maybe then I’ll find a purpose for these feelings instead of hiding where no one can see me. Or maybe I’ll just keep fucking up with my fucked up way of feeling.

I watch the morning light turn to moonlight, from the rays of light that illuminate the room. I am right here but I am miles away from here. I’ve memorized the ceilings from every place I’ve been too. Every place I’ve laid my head down. The feeling remains the same. A thousand unspoken words spread across the sky, hidden in the dark overlooking these four walls. Words unsaid in the fear of being too honest, too sincere, too fucking fucked up to really say exactly how I feel. This is my crown of thorns, my kingdom of doom in secrets held above the ceilings behind these four walls.

But you are who you are behind these four walls and high ceilings. Not someone you pretend to be outside in the crippling universe where no one understands you. I’ve fucked up so many times. I just can’t help myself. I am fucking up and I have myself to blame. These four walls and high ceilings keep me safe even when all I have is myself to blame.

7/7/2015

His name starts with a…

Patience is a virtue.

So I’ve heard.

Everyone is in a rush to get their lives started that they often forget to live in the moment. We rush to grow up that we forget to have a childhood. We rush to jump start a career and forget to live our lives. We jump through hoops, take shortcuts, all for this impatience to see what the future holds for us. I know how that goes all too well. I find myself fixated with this idea of who I am going to be 5 years from now, that I forget to focus on this person in my present. I am looking toward the future instead of focusing on my present. Looking ahead and not seeing whats in front of me. I am guilty, I am aware of that. Every once in a while I like to poke fun at myself and my impatience. I start looking toward the universe to give me a sign of whats to come. I look into superstitions. I look into signs. I basically look into every aspect of the supernatural to get a tiny glimpse of what is coming toward me in the near future. Deja vu is real people! Coincidences don’t just happen! There’s a meaning and explanation behind everything. Because of my impatience toward the future, I tend to put my amusement and sometimes trust into things I normally shouldn’t. Whats the harm that can happen right?

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I have always been fascinated by people’s ability to sense emotions. This unseen way to read people. I know it sounds crazy but stories have to come from some aspect of truth. Which is what drew me to the allure of seeing a Psychic. That and Pee Wee’s Big Adventure (even though she was bogus). Sure a lot of what they say is just things you want to hear. Personal growth, moving from the past, and finding the trigger that makes you feel something. I am not saying that all of it is bogus. If you go into it all in good fun, you leave just with what you needed. Psychics/Spiritual Advisors/Readers/Prophets, whatever they are calling themselves these days, I’ve seen them all. The first psychic I saw was in a fair the summer of 2000. No big deal, $5 dollars for a palm reading. Whats the worst that can happen? I went into it all in good fun. To humor myself, it can’t be that bad. The reading produced a lot of the same generic answers: “You will move to a big city”, “you will make lots of money”, “you will meet the man of your dreams”, etc.  Of course at 17, I was extremely gullible. I was moving to a big city. I wanted to make lots of money and of course I wanted to meet the man of my dreams! After paying $5 dollars for a palm reading and another $20 dollars for a crystal (that would attract the man of my dreams), I was hooked. It’s all in good fun right? Just an entertainment to cure my nerves of the upcoming future. Months passed and I was hooked. I started believing in signs. Believing things were coming to me, I just had to be patient. The future showed all the great things to come, I just have to wait for it.

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For the next 15 years, I’ve had my palm, cards, shells, and aura read. Always going into the situation with a grain of salt. I shouldn’t believe these things. I shouldn’t put any power behind what I am looking into. Then a crazy coincidence would happen, that I would count as a sign. A silver lining development into what I have heard. Maybe it was the positivity they give you after a reading. This rush you feel, that you could do anything. Every reading comes with a disclaimer good or bad, its what the stars have in-store for you. How does someone not feel suckered into that? Its what I took away from the readings, good or bad. For better or worse. Whether it was something that I needed to hear or something that I needed clarification on. Sometimes we need a little push to get our gears in motion. Sometimes we need a little clarification on things that are troubling in our heart. So I went against my better judgement and looked to signs, the universe, and waiting for things to happen. I knew what I was getting into. I knew with every reading a piece of myself stayed there. That I would move to bigger cities. Live by elements of water. Find everything I was looking for once I started looking for it. Then in 6 months life would change once I started living it. That a few years from now, my situation would change and I would ease into my new transitions. Truth is I loved hearing about the future. I loved it so much that I dragged my feet in my present because I knew my future was gonna be amazing. 15 years later, I am 30 and broke, still waiting on these signs that the future its going to be swell. I wanted this reassurance of the future. This pat on the back that everything was going to be okay. I needed a complete stranger that I paid to tell me things about myself that I already knew. I needed someone to save me from this feeling of failure and tell me that good things were just around the corner.

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Truth of the matter is life changes in 6 months. Good or bad. People have the capacity of change from days to weeks from where we started. While I loved humoring myself with this supernatural hocus pocus, none of it was really real. The signs are everywhere, you just have to give everything a shot and do things yourself. You’re not the same person you were 6 months ago and 5 years from today who knows where you’ll be. I was so fixated on the idea that I needed to know who I am going to be, instead of preparing myself for who I wanted to be. It’s all in good fun and what I have learned from seeing all these different types of people is to remain positive about the future, good or bad. Go into life like you go into the psychic, all in good fun and with an open mind. Life isn’t suppose to be perfect, it isn’t suppose to be easy. While I don’t know where I’ll be 5 years from now, I just have to focus on the person I can be tomorrow. The last psychic I saw told me that 3 months from now my life was going to change. She was right. 3 months from now, my life will change. And like all the others I won’t be the same person I was yesterday or 3 months from now. But I don’t need a psychic to tell me things I already know about myself.

In the event any psychic are wondering, his name doesn’t start with a “J”.

I’m single. Thank you.

Closer.

Don’t come any closer.

Don’t treat me like the others. I know all the things you only tell girls in the dark. I know every single one of your deep dark secrets and everything you want us to believe. You’ll deny it. Tell me, I am the crazy one. I know you never mean it. Everything you say is just actions from your reactions. You never mean all the nasty things you say. A sorry from you are just words wasting space in my memory. “I’m sorry” sounds like a tragic song that has no ending. I want to believe you, believe me I do, because deep down you mean it. Its what you tell all the other girls. All the other girls that believe you when you cry and mean every word you say.

Don’t say another word.

I could recite your lines, word for word. These never ending monologues of right and wrong, saint and savior. Every single thing you tell girls in the dark. It would only be fair if I told everyone how you felt. Told them all your secrets and spilled out all your lies. All those things you only tell girls in the dark. Hurting you would show that maybe for once you could feel something other than nothing.  Something other than the hatred that you bring out of everyone.

Don’t touch me.

You crave the warmth of a body to lay beside you. It doesn’t matter who it is. Someone to fill the void of being alone with your thoughts and your cold black heart. You can never be alone. It paralyzes you to think of spending all these waking days alone. Keeping us under lock and key and heavy retainer. Break in case of emergency. Have I said too much? Or should I just keep going.

Telling all these secrets to people that think they know you. They’ll be next and what follows is someone after. There’s always someone else. Brighter, better, and stronger. Always someone else. A line of pretty girls that you only like in the dark. I won’t be one of them. Not tonight, not ever.

2/11/2007

 

Left and Leaving.

I am afraid of Goodbyes, which has made it hard for me to let go. Holding on to things long after the after glow. It should be easy to be done and over with it all, but I keep coming back for more. Waiting for people to change, waiting for everything and the in-between. I can change everything else in my life but I can’t change the feeling of letting someone go. Holding on to the nostalgia of different times when things really mattered, realizing it never really mattered at all.

Why does it always happen to me? Am I not enough? Don’t you care enough to stay?

People are so self consumed in there own misery to notice you. I am no stranger to that. But when you need something you call on me, I always listen. It’s only when you need me around that you can find me. It’s been months since communication stopped and still you need me around. It’s hard letting go to the people that only need you sometimes. The flood of memories surrounding you don’t out weigh the outcome. If I bleed, would you even notice? If I said I needed you, would you bother to be there? We are all in the market to use someone. We make friends to legions and flocks of people, just to use from them all their resources. Needing something from everybody. Occupy our time with the expectations of a good time. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt when people forget me. I can’t pretend that no matter how many times I try, It’s just not enough. Who am I to compete with the beautiful and damned? Who am I to say that feeling alone is never really lonely?

If I was perfect, people would want me. If I had everything you needed, people would need me. If I hadn’t said all the things I said, people would care enough to listen to my story. People can go into silence and pretend that memories are just ghost stories of the past. Maybe that’s all I am, a funny story of the past. Something you tell yourself to feel better about the past. When you’ve dried up your last resource is when people come back. I wish I could be that person for you. That I didn’t feel like just another photograph that you filter out the imperfections. Some days it hurts and some days its easier to forget people. Thats all I am trying to do, have the courage to forget people. Making the goodbyes, easier to say.

For the first time I didn’t feel like inviting you out. I stopped including you in my stories. I stopped planning adventures and asking you to go. If I pretend you don’t exist, it makes it hurt less. Maybe all silence ever is, is a softer way of leaving and letting go.  I watched the memories turn to dust and replaced them with something shiny and new. It’s after you are left alone that the leaving becomes easier. If it wasn’t for me to reach out, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. All we need is to be alone with our thoughts to finally grow up and let go. I find myself becoming a grown up. I am growing up, as much as I wish I wasn’t. We all are, even you. I just wish I could see it all through.

2/4/2015

 

 

Skin and bones.

If I was who you wanted me to be, would you still love me?
If I had been exactly who you wanted me to be, would you still want me?
If I had listened to every word you said, would you still hear me?

I wonder about the silliest of things. Like how a person could disappear and leave their ghost behind. Still haunting when their corpse has long been buried. I am suppose to move on and forget, but I can’t help but reflect and remember. If I had been a fraction of those expectations, would you still give me a chance?

I changed my ways to accommodate your wishes. I changed every aspect of myself to make yourself better and still you wanted more. I wasn’t the change you expected. I wasn’t who you expected me to be. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if I had been exactly what you wanted me to be, would you still want me. I would have bled myself dry, if it meant that this would work. I would have stopped the madness hurting inside, if it meant you would stay just one more day.

How you flocked to the girls with their skin stretched over their bones. How you loved the illusion of this skeleton of a body and fixated on the ideas of that perfection. The countless nights, I counted meals and accounted for every last calorie. Would that be enough? How the extra calories could be slept away or purged until the obsession starts all over again. The illusion of being perfect and the risk of losing it all. I couldn’t control the monster of madness inside. I couldn’t control the obsession of hurting, all for being exactly what you wanted me to be. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, and still you stood so tall. Ordering your demands and I couldn’t help but want to do everything, just to make you stay. It was never enough. Your words flew out like venomous rage, still here to haunt me. I was never your perception of perfection. No matter what I did, I was never enough. You liked me, but you loved her. You cut me down but raved about everyone else’s perfections. I purged every last bit of my insides and you stood tall counting on my imperfections. It wasn’t enough that scratching the surface never deepen the cut. How foolish to believe that if I had been every word of what you wanted, I would have you.

Skin heals, cuts fade and eventually all the bricks you threw at me, will rebuild the little foundation of life I see. You disappeared and buried every last bit of who we used to be. You didn’t count on your ghost being left behind to haunt the remains of a memory. I loved you and all you ever did was bring me down. Took my sadness and devoured it into madness. Maybe we are all just a little mad, but some worse off than others.

You liked me but you loved her. How I always thought otherwise. If I were skin and bones would you love me in the end? If I purged ever last bit of you out of me, would I finally let go of you? If you hadn’t met her, would you still want the same from me?

Would you?

7/12/2007

All the pretty girls.

He was a master of taking hearts but no hearts were ever broken. I never cried for him, I don’t believe anyone else did either. Not that I was aware of, not that I even cared. But the girls like moths flocked to his light. Always all the pretty girls with broken prides and promises. A master of disguise and a gentleman with charming words that entrances even the darkest of hearts. The light that over shadows the illusion of right from wrong. Speaking the words they longed to hear, always there for the taking. Never giving much of anything, but paid no mind taking the countless of hearts that graced his path. A heart lined path that were prized like trophies.

He was so fucking cool.

It was the impression that he gave that made us all wonder. The talking salesman that spoke the words but never cared enough about what the words would mean. His appearance was nothing more than smoke and mirrors, an illusion everyone wanted but nobody could ever attain. The girls knew in the end they were lies but couldn’t help but be wooed in the play. It was always just a play. Just another game that no one ever bothered to win. He won, he lost, most times he just broke even. At least in his mind. The lies out weighed the words and sometimes people would get hurt. Sometimes, but not all the time. He failed to mention certain aspects of his life and in the end everything would come tumbling down. At least that’s what we all wanted. We waited for the demise of the smooth talking man with the cool demeanor. His smooth talking ways would save the world if it could, instead it saved his performance and again he went on his way.

You are so cool.

We all had our part to play. We all had our purpose. All the pretty girls knew to imagine it was over. Don’t believe the gentleman in the sharp suit and the cool talking ways. She knew it all but as silly as girls are believed every lie to be truth. Silly girls believe anything if there’s a feeling involved. Silly girls would drop everything before they fall. Silly girls are silly to believe in the charms of a salesman feeding them lies. We knew it. We all knew it. But we couldn’t help but be silly and foolish in the webs of these lies. We wanted to be the cool girls. The cool girls that could play their part. The cool girls that could match wits with the cool gentleman in the sharp suit. Instead we were all stupid silly girls. Stupid, stupid girls. It wasn’t love, it was lust. It wasn’t fun, it was funny. It was nothing more than a game that we were all sure to lose. No hearts were broken, no hearts were lost. Still he carried our hearts like trophies through paths. The path of victory to the path of our own foolish sorrow. We were all stupid in falling again. Why does this keep happening? Who is the next victim in this play? The play that’s a game and it ends with a loss. What did we lose in the end if it wasn’t our hearts? Just our pride with our dignity in the shameful deceit.

Stupid, silly, girl.

The games are over on my part but I know he still plays. I can’t help but wonder about him from time to time. He liked to talk to all the pretty girls. All the pretty girls at the bar. Sometimes, I want to ask him “Do you still talk to all the pretty girls and lie about all the other girls?”. Is the game still worth the thousands of hearts in your path? Does she know your lies better than the bed you can’t make? I already know all the answers. She makes your bed better than the words that you say. She knows all your lies and still plays all your games. She’s the cool girl in the wave of all the silly stupid girls. But you can’t help but talk to all the pretty girls.

It was always all the pretty girls.

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In this whole journey of purging unnecessary things, I never realized how many things I kept. OKAY LIES. I have realized how many things I’ve kept, my closet and room are true testaments of that notion.  Materialistically, I keep everything. Anything you can see with the naked eye. However upon going through some old email accounts (yes I have various email accounts), I never realized how much crap I keep electronically. It’s amazing what you can do with unlimited storage space! It’s one thing to go through 1908 emails of junk mail but 2000 emails of the past? It’s time to move on.

They say to move on you have to reevaluate why you kept these things to begin with. It’s easy to put an emotion behind an article of clothing, or a lifetime of moments. Its the memories that wrap around the items, but what emotion can you bring forth with an email? After going through my email accounts the past year, I realized I was holding on to everything. I don’t just mean old Who What Wear emails, I literally mean everything. I’ve kept mean emails, sad emails, photos that I didn’t have the heart to show anyone let alone delete, receipts for just about anything you can think of. I’ve used my email as a scrapbook of bullshit. If my closets were a scrapbook of my debts, my emails were a scrapbook of my life on the web. I could just easily delete everything. Delete every malicious thing I have ever read about myself but something keeps me holding on to it. It’s like the constant emails I get from every store I’ve shopped at. Some of these stores I haven’t set foot in for years but their emails still fill my inbox. I don’t shop there. I can’t remember the last item of whatever clothing I wore from there but something keeps me subscribed. This weird psychological bullshit feeling that I need this. Holding on to these things will make me stronger.

We all know how that ends.

I didn’t need the clothes to make me happy. I didn’t need the debts that accumulated after all those purchases. I sure as hell don’t need an email from a person telling me what a fuck up I am. Besides, I am awesome, I don’t need an old email to tell me differently.

With that stated. Goodbye old emails. Goodbye old chats. Goodbye old photographs that only make me more upset. Goodbye old stores I haven’t shopped at since the early 2000. Goodbye to you for wasting all my time. Goodbye to all that.

Hit unsubscribe.

Then send.

 

#Recovery

re·cov·er·y  :

1. The act, process, duration, or an instance of recovering.
2. A return to a normal condition.
3. Something gained or restored in recovering.
4. The act of obtaining usable substances from unusable sources

 

Recovery.

One word.

4 syllables.

8 letters.

Recovery is one of those tricky words. Where no matter how many times I see the word, I can’t feel it. It doesn’t matter how many times I say the word out loud, or write it down, it just seems unreal to me. It’s just a word. Just a word made up of 4 syllables and 8 letters. Just one word that has so many meanings and I am still trying to grasp it.

Ten years ago if you would have told me I’d be in recovery for an eating disorder, I would have told you, you were crazy. Even just writing that down, is absolutely weird. Ten years ago I couldn’t have even imagined how my life would just fall apart. That who I am today is a fraction of the person I was in the past. I’m not the same person I was a year ago. I’m not the same person I was since I started this bullshit mess. That’s what it is to me. It’s bullshit. A waste of my time. My time that I could have spent enjoying life instead of obsessing over every calorie and wondering how much longer it would take to purge everything out. I know parts of me still harbor a monster inside, I’ve just learned how to tame it. Some days I wish I could just start over. New person, new body, just someone different from who I am.

Recovery isn’t easy. Even at my 2 year mark of being eating disorder free, it hasn’t come easily. I still have a hard time with food. I still obsess about the outcome of everything I put into my body. While I am healthy it’s still hard for me to come to terms with the body I see before me. I look back at photographs of when I was sick and couldn’t understand why I was so hard on myself. Why I treated myself so poorly and hurt myself so many times. Its hard to look at the scale and see the numbers increase instead of decrease. It’s hard to see people work toward their fitness goals and I’m just slowly coming to terms with my body. A part of me tries to look on the bright side but reality is it’s hard. It’s hard to hold back the urge to be my expectation of perfection. It’s hard to see my body change and be okay with it. This is reality and most of the time I am not okay with what I see.

Recovery is a process. Its this work in progress motion that brings us to where we need to be. Every day I struggle with the balance of feeling okay and feeling miserable. Just as with emotions some days are good and some days are complete nightmares. Even at two years, I still have so much to work on. I need to find that balance of letting go and being okay. To find that realization that being healthy is better than being perfect. It still gives me severe anxiety to hear people talk about their bodies. Somewhere in my twisted mind, I start to think that about myself. I snap out of it but the struggle starts all over again. This never ending struggle of being okay and being perfect.  I wish that with recovery you can just erase the past years and be completely healed. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much to hide this pain. The reality is you have to let that notion go. Let all those negative feelings leave and look at the positive things. I am healthy now. I am getting better. With each year, I find strength through the struggle. I will never be my expectation of perfect. I will always struggle with how I look. I have to be able to come to terms with being healthy is better then dying.

Recovery is my salvation. Recovery is what will eventually set me free from this bullshit feeling. Getting rid of a lifetime of negativity won’t happen in a day. As much as I wish for this feeling to disappear instantly, I know that every day is a process. I am always going to be a work in progress, I just have to finally be okay with the imperfections. I am not and nor will I ever be perfect, I just have to accept that. Only then will I truly be free.

Here’s to healing and all it’s glory.

 

The Wolves.

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Emptiness is a vacant feeling. Exhaustingly numbing. Taking more than a change of course to fill the void. Drinking the oceans dry but still feeling the pain of nothing. The pain that suffocates your insides and allowing just the gasps you desperately breathe in. No matter how hopeless the feeling it still catches up to you. Excepting things to change never happens. Only accepting the words instead of seeing the actions. All you’re asking for is a chance to change it all around, instead getting a list of excuses that lead to nothing. You breathe heavily into the night, hoping for a way out. All you want to do is escape and disappear. Only then will you find some sort of peace of mind. Only then will you find the peace you desperately crave.

Someday my pain will mark you.

Everything is a blur. One big fucking blur. You can’t describe it. The rain falls freely from your face and you can’t explain it. Delicately it tries to wash away all the sentiment that you’re feeling. It doesn’t. No matter how many times you form the words, nothing comes out. Its this pain in the pit of your stomach that reaches to your throat causing you to say nothing. What’s the use? What’s the purpose? You can’t help but think that anywhere is better then here. Anywhere far away is better then your current surroundings. Leaving into the night is your only option. Disappearing completely until you’re well enough to come to terms with reality again. Weighing out all the options and finding yourself with nothing.

You could run. Run as fast as you can but they’ll find you. The deeper you want to hide, they’ll catch you.  The wolves seek out the fear and desperation you carry around you. You keep running. Deep into the forest. Faster and further into the woods, hiding amongst the trees. The trees that fall gracefully like giants. The dark consumed by the fog that swallows us whole. The cold only masks what you’re hiding from. Scared to move, frozen to the touch. Your heart races with every step you take. Beating harder it pierces your chest, you can’t help but place your hands across your heart to feel it. Feel anything. Anything that isn’t the pain, that isn’t the numbing feeling of nothing. Something that once made you feel alive, is the very thing you’re running away from. All you want is a silence from the pain. You settle for the sweating fear that beads down from you. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. You wish for it to stop.

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The forest welcomes your pain. The cold air that sends shivers down your spine is the only thing that reminds you, you’re alive. Blanket your sorrow with mist of the night. Come morning you’ll be left with just the regret of your mistakes while the light shines through. Until then you race faster to stay close to the darkness. Race to the darkest parts of the woods, to the darkest parts of your soul that still have an ounce of feeling left. Everything that you raced to soon disappears. Just as the fog lifts, so does the sadness that surrounds you. Only when you’re alone with your grief that you truly see the stars. Even stars need the darkness to shine.

Through the darkest nights comes a sparkle of light. Giving you hope that eventually this failing dissolution of sadness will disappear. Until then you continue this race towards the darkness. Further into the fog. Further into woods. Its there that no one will find you. Its there that you finally find your peace.

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I am like the dead sea.

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There are moments in your life where you want to forgive. Forgive just for the sake of finally forgetting. Good times, bad times, and even the ugliest of times. Maybe that’s where I find myself categorizing you. I want to forgive you. I want to forgive every hopeless thing you ever did to me. Forgive every time you said the words and never took them back. Forgive the times you made me believe in fairytales and the hope that things would get better. Instead, I find myself forgetting you without forgiving you. Forgetting you in favor of letting go. Letting go would mean that it would finally be over and I’d have nothing left to hold on to. This tainted memory of an unbiased image of you and the regret you left me with.

I can’t forgive you. The more I try to say the words, I can’t bring myself to do it. How could I forgive someone that has never said “I’m sorry”?  How do you become the bigger person in a situation that left you beyond repair? I can’t keep playing the victim. I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt, when it does. When my heart can’t open up the way it used to. When my soul still searches for an ounce of goodness in a vile person like you. You always said I was the better person. Lately, I just don’t feel like myself. I stopped believing in so many things that I’ve forgotten what my purpose is. I’ve continued to wipe my slate clean, but I never start over. Forgiving to forget you, when all I want is to forgive the things I can’t forget.

In a year, you said I would find my way to hate you. In reality it took me too long to come to terms with hating you. I can’t hate anybody. As much as I have the ammo to hate you, I can’t. Maybe deep down I am trying to be the good person you once saw in me. I just get so clouded with memories that its hard to remember who I used to be. I used to be so many things. I used to be a person in love and now I have nothing to show for it. I used to believe in lot of things and lately I just can’t begin to start. Forgiving is easy, forgiving is being free of all the hurt that the past has dealt you. The more I start to forgive, the angry I become with myself. The person I was in the past still with the mistakes of yesterday. No matter how many steps I take forward, I find myself running back. Back to the familiar, back to the stupid nonsense bullshit I should be over with.

You told me not to trust you, and that’s just what I did. You told me not to love you, and that’s just what I did.

Believing every word that I’ve tried so desperately to forget. Putting my trust in a person far to broken to ever understand the meaning of love. I know to love a person is to fully let go of yourself and put the trust in someone else’s hands. But I want it back. All of it. Everything that you put me through, every vile bullshit thing you said to me. I didn’t deserve it. I deserved better and you always knew that.  Finally, I know that now. I want it back. All of it. Every tear, every smile, every time I brought you up that you didn’t hesitate to bring me back down. I want the tiny broken fragments of my heart back. The heart you so carelessly tossed aside and I without hesitation gave to you. It’s the only thing I desperately want back. The one thing I find myself missing in the end. It’s only when I have everything back that I can fully forgive you.

I have to be the bigger person to forgive you. Forgive every word that brought me to tears. Every frightening word that cut through me worse than any knife could. To allow my soul to rest and my heart heal, I have to forgive you. Only then will I be truly able to forget you and finally let you go. I know I’ll never get the apology, I’ve wanted from you. To be honest I don’t want anything from you anymore. Even the heart that I’ve lost, will not return to me. Eventually I’ll get a version of my heart back, maybe not in the way it was before. Stronger, better, who knows. I am okay with that because in the end, I have to forgive. Forgive the past, forgive you and more importantly forgive myself.  I know, I deserve better. Next time I won’t be so careless with my heart. Next time I’ll know that I have to love myself before ever trusting a mirror image of you. When I can forgive myself is when I can forgive you. Until then I have a long ways to go.

dead sea

 

 

**This post was written a few months ago in my journal. While I do not harbor the same feelings I once did, I just wanted to revisit this and write it down publicly. Putting this post out is finally coming to terms and getting a sense of closure on this previous chapter of my life. I’m okay now, I promise. **