All These Words

All these words I wish I could say to you. I can’t force them to reach you. And all of these nights I wish I had apologized. I waited until it was too late. All of these times where you were by my side, although I turned away. I wish that these words could reach you in a way that I had never said. I wish that I could prove to you how sorry I was, and that I didn’t mean anything bad. But still, I wasn’t in a good place, and I was unbearably sad.

Mental illness is nothing to mess with. It’s nothing to be entirely proud of; at least, not in my eyes. Of course, I will always be honest about my mental challenges, and I’ll be grateful for the strength they give me in the long run. I’m just not one of those people that can say I’m proud of the illnesses. To me…illness is not something to be proud of, though survival is.

I made it. I survived. And it’s been so many years, I wish I could see your eyes so that I could know what you thought as I thanked you for all you did for me. Trying to help me in my darkest moments, and I regret turning the other way. I resented it all, and that’s something I can never take away.

However, it’s in the past, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. Perhaps I can just find a way to move past it and live in the present. Maybe there’s a way that I can let go of all these little scrapes and bruises. These small wounds that have neglected to heal over the past eight years.

Still, I wish there was a way to say thank you, for everything you did. And if I could do it again, I know I would.

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Writing

I write to satiate these feelings inside of me; the desire to soar up into the sky and never come down. The desire to fly into the clouds and enjoy their ever-lasting presence.

It can be very hard day-to-day, and sometimes I wonder how I’ll go on. I struggle with writing in the first place because I struggle with staying focused. But somehow writing has begun to be my solace. The place where I can come to rest, to relax, and to be truly me. I’ve never felt this world would ever truly accept me for who I am.

I have struggled all my life with being different. Perhaps that’s okay. Maybe it’s fine to be different than everyone else, and maybe it’s okay to use writing to fill up that empty feeling in my chest. But something happened that I never expected: not only does the empty feeling become filled upon writing, but it disappears completely.

When I was younger I never thought that anything could ever help me. The depression I felt, the anxiety I felt with simply walking outside because I was afraid of being criticized for everything and anything I was. I wondered if there was ever a way out, and later, I found there was. Through my words I can find a way out.

To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m writing this. But this has satiated that need within me; filled that empty space. And if someone ends up liking this and relating to it, then good. That’s something I’ll be very happy about. But I’ve come to realize that nobody has to relate to or like my writing for me to be happy with it. Writing is language that comes from your soul, and if that’s not one of the most sacred things in the world…I don’t know what is.

Hallow’s Eve

Here on Hallow’s Eve, I find myself daring to leave. Something deep inside of me; something that now brings me peace.

On this once frightening day, I see children out to play. On this once frightening spirit, I know now how to clear it.

Oh Hallow’s Eve, how beautiful you are, with every mark and every scar. I watch you from afar. Envious of all that you are. I find myself drawn to the darkness, the frightening faces and creatures. There’s something about it that my mind needs to feature. Something deep within that calls my name; the name I bore in another life I lived. I feel as though it’s calling out to me, rattling against my own ribs. Trying to get to my heart, to the very core and the very start. As I find that perhaps only the darkness understands me, you are here to simply let me be.

 

Happy Halloween everybody!

Paid All My Dues

Sometimes it seems that life goes on without meaning to. It goes on, relentlessly and ruthlessly. That’s what I’ve learned, at least.

At night, I dream of a little house in the sky. Somewhere I can go to call home. It has wooden floors and herbs in planters. It has sunshine all the time and fresh air and the smell of lavender and ladders to climb up to a little bunk with books, blankets, and pillows so that I can read as I fall asleep with the sun shining on my face.

I’m always in a beautiful dress, imagining myself as a fairy. Something that – to me – means innocence. It’s an innocence that I would do anything to get back. And every time I have this dream, there’s chaos that I’m escaping from in the dream. The chaos always comes from a reflection of my real life. I escape to my Sky House, and everything will be okay.

What I wonder is if one day, I could realistically build such a house? Could I realistically build such a little sanctuary? Because even as I sit in my room, something that used to be my sanctuary, I cannot find the peace I once had. Now, all I feel is the pain as yelling and screaming permeates the entire house and I seek to find a home as I realize that the word ‘home’ has seeped out of where I now live.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I do love where I live. I do love family. But toxicity is toxicity, and it can be terrifying. Of course, if I ever make it that far – as to find my own home – I will always keep the relationships intact. However, even as I cut and bleed, cry and bitterly fall asleep at midnight – or sometimes not at all – there’s this inkling that there’s something right around the corner. Something better that’s coming my way. There’s always this thing in my heart that whispers: You’ve paid your dues. 

I will make it through anything, for I am as strong as diamond. However, right now, I don’t shine as bright. I remember someone once telling me that diamonds needed to be cut down – their rough edges taken off before they shined and glimmered like they do on TV.

Now, I realize that I am that diamond, and I’m simply having those rough edges taken off. And someday I hope to be fitted into the most beautiful ring in the world, to find the happiness I’ve always sought, and the peace that I once knew.

All I Can Rely On

It seems that I’ll never truly understand this world, and perhaps that’s the way it’s meant to be. I never knew that it would be so hard, but I’d rather have a challenge than know that I’ve accomplished little to nothing.

It was never something that I regretted, however. Fighting for the things that I desired and the things that I knew I needed. And perhaps those things would fill the empty holes in my heart. Perhaps they would heal the wounds in my soul, and extract the poison that ravages my being.

But maybe not.

It’s all yet to be seen, how this all turns out. It’s something so simple yet so complicated. Nothing I ever would have expected. The ghosts watching me with a judgmental stare and the demons leaking out of the woodworks. I’ve seen from the people that I used to look up to that I should never crumble; I should never allow myself to flatten like they did. I will never allow myself to be destroyed in that way.

At some point I wish that I could have done it all different. I look back at the memories before, and wish that I could walk backwards within time to relive them again. But when I remember the struggles I faced during those moments, I find myself wanting to stay in the present. I find myself wishing for the future, and that’s something I’ve grown accustomed to. Something that I’ve found solace in, because as these things that I used to love and used to need no longer bring comfort to me. I struggle with that fake smile on my face everyday, but it’s exactly what I said in the beginning.

I’d rather fight for what I desire and fill the holes that are in my heart than allow myself to crumble like the people that I used to put so much trust in. Perhaps I’ve learned that sometimes, all you can rely on is yourself.

Trust

Trust is stained on my lips, my hands, my heart. I can’t help but allow it to depart. Now in these single days and hours that feel so long, perhaps there will be a time when trust won’t feel so wrong.

In everything I’m meant to be, writing will be solace for me. Something comfortable and clean. It won’t ever be mean.

In the absence of cruelty and the essence of confusion, I don’t understand this particular intrusion. My fingers on my pulse and my hair up in a bun, maybe this day I’ve won.

My heart beats steady, just like it should. Beating to the rhythm of the melody within my own head, perhaps it could. And in these darkening nights and haunting curtains, perhaps to be comfortable, I would.

In this silence that encompasses reality, there’s just something that can’t touch this simplicity. It should be complicated, but caught within I know I was wrong. Indeed; I did write this song. And now in every direction I turn, for you it is that I yearn.