Tag: nostalgic

I Was Wrong.

As a child, my parents would say hurtful things about my weight. They never flat-out said that I wasn’t beautiful or that I wasn’t worthy of love, but I took the words they did say and basically felt as if I heard them say I wasn’t beautiful and that I wasn’t worthy of love because of my size.

This became part of my identity at a very early age.

My entire identity wrapped itself around these false statements that I gave power to.

I imagine growing around these false statements like your body tissue forms and grows around a breast implant, or a bullet fragment, or a donated organ, or an injury.

They became a living, breathing, part of me.

They became true for me.

But, I was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

They were, and are, false statements.

There is no way that I am worth less than the person standing to my left and to my right anywhere on this earth. There is no way that I am not beautiful.

Today, I choose to give different statements power as I unwrap my identity around these false ideas I have carried about myself for over two decades.

I imagine the tissues dying off as their blood source is taken away.

Today, I made myself breakfast.

I packed my lunch for work. I did an entire skin-care routine.

I made my bed. I am going to go workout after a closing shift.

All this time I thought that I didn’t love myself, but I did.

I was just showing it with unhealthy coping mechanisms that didn’t look too much like love, but I think they did look like someone who was desperately trying to move forward while believing that they were less than.

It looked like a losing fight.

I did these things today as a healthy form of self-care and self-love.

I’m only able to do these things because I actively love myself and want to care for myself.

I am reinventing myself. I am leveling up.

Like a 2.0 version of myself.

I’m taking apart all of the false ideas and negative thoughts that I had about myself to find out who I really am.

I’m coming for all of the energies taken from me.

I’m focusing on turning all of the losses I took into wins.

I’m coming for all of the love I wasn’t given and giving it to myself.

As for weight-loss – I’m going with what feels good.

The idea of an ideal weight, I’m scrapping it.

When I was 16, 170 pounds was my happy space.

I have no fucking idea what my happy space is at 28.

I snatched my weight-loss board off of my closet door.

I ripped up the reward system that I wrote out for every 7.5 pounds down.

I’ll know my happy weight when I fucking get there.

I’m not rewarding myself for weight lost because I’m not going to tell myself that that’s the only reason I deserve to be rewarded.

I gave so much power to so many things that were so wrong.

I was so wrong about everything.

I realize that it is totally okay for an idea you had about yourself to not be true. It is okay for you to realize that it was total and utter bullshit. It’s okay to say you were wrong.

I feel

naked,

afraid,

nervous,

excited.

I’m having to step into who I really am now and it’s terrifying and it’s beautiful.

I could never truly be me because I was always carrying around the dead weight of the dead tissue with me. It weighed me down.

So much of me was wrapped up in lies.

Today, I am more me, than I ever was before.

Like – WILL THE REAL S PLEASE STAND UP?

I don’t know why the hardest person to forgive is yourself. Probably because you’re the only physical – living and breathing – entity on this earth who knows who you really are – you’re the only person who knows who you are at your core. You know every nook and cranny of your mind, heart, and spirit.

So, when you’ve let yourself down, it is like a million hearts breaking.

But the first step to get to the point of forgiving yourself – is to acknowledge the wrongdoing.

Cheryl Strayed wrote in the book Wild –

“What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I’d done something I shouldn’t have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I’d done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn’t do anything differently than I had done? What if I’d actually wanted to fuck every one of those men? What if heroin taught me something? What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn’t have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?”

This quote always stuck with me and I finally figured out why.

Because I was so very fucking wrong, but I could still be forgiven.

I did what I did out of survival.

Emotionally eating. Being hyper-critical of myself. The men I dated. The friends I kept. The money I spent.

I did what I did because it was the only thing I knew.

But I can still be forgiven.

So, I forgive myself today.

Because I didn’t know better than, but I do now.

I always loved myself, just not in the way that was best for me.

But it was the only way I knew how to love then.

Today, I know better.

Today, I am forgiven.

I imagine that flowers are now growing in the places where the tissue died off.

–S.

English Assignment circa 2019.

I believe in mothers as best friends. I believe in the healing power of a dog’s love. I believe that laughing with someone you love is one of the great joys of being alive. I believe that music is a constant companion. I believe that some of life’s greatest adventures can only be found in a book. I believe that traveling helps you not only uncover more of the world, but hidden parts of yourself. I believe in using painting as a form of therapy. I believe that there isn’t much a dinner filled with Italian and girl-talk cannot solve. I believe that the only real apology is changed behavior. I believe that there are many different forevers – some might last just for a second or two, but they still go on – forever. I believe in the power of words – not only as a form of self-expression, but to prove to you that you are not alone. I believe in sleeping in. I believe in contemporary art. I believe that you are the only one responsible for your own healing. I believe that a good sense of humor can get you through a lot of dark shit. I believe in sunrises. I believe in sunsets. I believe that there is beauty in the mundane. I believe in the magic of ghost towns. I believe in love. I believe in letting go. I believe in the Universe. I believe that cooking a meal from absolute scratch is a form of therapy. I believe in appetizers and dessert. I believe in the power of reinventing yourself. I believe in connecting with someone on a deeper level because you know them from a sister life. I believe that after each heartbreak, you must relearn who you are. Additionally, I believe that you are changed every time you have loved truly. I don’t believe in love at first sight anymore, but I believe in ‘oh, it feels like I’ve known you before’ at first sight. I believe that time is one of the great healers of life. I believe that the ocean is a profound place to bring your grief. I believe in the caress of a breeze or slight wind. I believe that rain should make you feel alive. I believe in deep conversations after midnight. I believe in car rides around the city with your playlist blasting. I believe in still purchasing your favorite movies on DVD. I believe that the emotions I feel when singing my favorite songs are unmatched by anything else. I believe in adding cheese, bacon, and avocado. I believe in squeezing a lemon or lime wedge into my coca-cola. I believe in the sense of unity attending a concert brings. I believe that my dad is the funniest person I know. I believe that I will always give my all to remain close to my baby brother. I believe that nature is a great healer. I believe that sometimes you have to get lost to be found again. I believe that unlearning a lot of the bullshit you thought was true brings you closer to who you really are. I believe that some things are unforgivable. I believe that I’ve never been kissed properly, thoroughly. I believe in the acoustic versions of songs. I believe in poetry slams. I believe that the truth will set you free, it might set some things on fire, but it will set you free.

–S.

XXV.

This year was the crazy one. THAT year.

The one that you want to tuck into a box, put in your closet, and forget. And then miraculously only that part of your closet catches on fire and only that box gets burned. But then I would have to forget that I have never cried, laughed, or loved more.

That I stand a completely different person exiting this year, than I did entering it.

That I stood in front of a boy and willed him to love me. Then I had to will myself to let him go. That I stayed on every dance floor until the music stopped. That I memorized the way this city shines at night and the soundtrack my car speakers provided. That I let myself feel. That I let myself feel vulnerable. That I learned that we have to love certain people from a distance because we love ourselves more. That I bought a new vehicle. That I explored forgotten areas of Texas and fell in love with the hues of blue and green that can only be found here. That I learned the magic of privacy. That I finally learned the song the Texas breeze sings. That I stood in a ghost town completely alone. That I discovered my love for adventure. That I had to rely totally on myself. That I embarrassed myself and lived to tell it. That I made mistakes and people loved me through them. That I was able to find the little silver linings of humor in the dark days. That I cussed too much. That I perfected my just rolled out of bed look. That I was pushed completely out of my comfort zone and each instance turned out to be nothing that I could have imagined. That I ate way too many crab rangoons. That I made people laugh when I didn’t feel like laughing. That I gave a few chances too many and it showed that I still dared to hope. That I wanted to believe the best of certain people and it taught me to believe the best of my self. That the love I share with my parents took these losses, wins, lessons, experiences, and observations – duct taped and gorilla glued them back together and sent me right back out into the world.

This life is like nothing that I ever imagined at 7 with my glasses, which I didn’t need and made me look like Harry Potter. Or at 13, with awful awful awful bangs that I thought made me look like Hilary Duff. Or at 17, with aqua rubber bands in my braces.

It’s never what you think it will be. Because all we are able to really do is steer the wheel. Choose a street blindly and hope for the best. There are no lights to shine the way. Only yourself. The flickering light in the driver’s seat. And then the street dead ends on you. Anyway, it’s always a hell of a ride.

I wrote this when I was twenty-five.

I was fired from a Texas-based grocery store for attendance at 24. I was on my last strike and I spent the entire night fighting and crying with my now ex-boyfriend. I missed my alarm. Last strike and I was out.

Several days later I turned 25. Three days after my birthday, I’d spent the day celebrating my birthday with my then boyfriend, and drunkenly told him to fuck off causing him to actually fuck off and leave the bar. I don’t really remember what caused me to get pulled over. I know I didn’t hit anything with my car. I might have been on the wrong side of the road. My memories of this night are in bits and pieces. One piece flashes and looks like I was in some type of alley way with my car, but I do remember my heart dropping into my stomach and the red and blue lights. I remember my then boyfriend was still texting me to continue arguing over the phone. And I wrote back, I have to go, I just got pulled over.

This was me fucking off.

I was arrested for Driving While Intoxicated. I bombed the Field Sobriety Test, I never watched it when my lawyer received a copy for the recording. I blew double the legal limit. I spent the night in jail drunk and crying. Calling the wrong people to bail me out. Dehydrated and with the worst hangover/headache of my life, my boyfriend picks me up. He hands me water as soon as I get into the car. It was like coming up for air. I scarf down my Wendy’s meal like I haven’t eaten in days. I spend the night in my boyfriend’s arms unable to recognize myself. I face my parents in the light of day.

I go with my boyfriend to get my car out of the tow yard and to hire a lawyer. The lawyer tells me, “you’ve made your defense for me very difficult.” All I felt was guilt and loss and like a major fuck-up. And I was guilty. All the evidence pointed to it because I was guilty. I had been driving drunkenly. So, although my whole life was about to change in a major way, in a way it felt like not being able to to get out of this, was the proper penance for myself. It felt heartbreaking and RIGHT.

Several days after this, the man I could’ve spent my whole life loving, breaks up with me because I’ve changed too much.

I loved him through his lowest, and at the time it just felt like he couldn’t reciprocate the same for me. I lost something in myself that night. Although, DWIs are so common whether personal or someone you know, it took something human out of me. The last blow in a series of unfortunate events.

I spent that summer following all of the court ordered classes, fees, victim panels, and community service. I spent that summer trying to get my ex back. Jobless and legally not being able to drive, focusing on the wrong things. I spent that summer laying in bed at night wonder, hoping, wishing, praying. I spent that summer watching entire seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and the Walking Dead in one day.

My mother told me I was unrecognizable. Like I said, all of it, took something human out of me. Not just the DWI – all of it. Loss after loss after loss. I took so many L’s and it felt like there were no W’s/Wins on the horizon.

I was convicted 8 months after the arrest.

It was like the ending of the saddest chapter in a heart-wrenching book.

I tell people to stand in their truth.

So –

That’s my truth.

I stood in it.

I am standing in it.

–S.

Even though we didn’t make it, I still feel the same.

From 2014.

I know that we usually say I love you after we play-fight or someone brings up a topic that is still too fresh to joke about, but in every moment, serious or comical, I love you with my whole heart.

The beginning of this summer, at least for now, will be the last we will spend together.

As the days near your departure, I am full and I am hollow.

I am full of inside jokes, laughter, snippets in time, late night adventures, songs, embarrassing moments, proud moments, drives around the city, dances downtown, all-nighters pulled for assignments, the million little pieces that comprise our friendship.

I am hollow because I won’t be able to look at you across from the table at a restaurant and speak to you solely using eye contact. I am hollow because in your presence I am home. I have found shelter. I have found comfort. Life seems scarier to take on without you being a ten minute drive away.

Although we have only known each other for two years, I feel that our friendship has weathered the test of time in lives before and after this one.

I see us deep in the country at the age of five, collecting lightening bugs in mason jars and counting how long their light will last one Mississippi two. I see us at the age of eleven trying to drive an old beat-up truck and running it into a creek. I see us at the age of fifteen running away and deciding that we would live out of the bed of that same truck. I see us at the age of eighty-two at the nursing home ogling the ass of the tall, dark, and handsome nurse.

I am forever changed because of our time together. I hope in the future that we do get that apartment or house together that we always talked about, and even if fate wants us to always be separated by miles as our lives head in different directions, I want you to find comfort in the fact that I always carry your heart with me and when I feel the breeze against my face on a hot Texas day, or see the lights of the city late at night, I see two girls in a truck, laughing and speeding away.

I’ll be seeing you,

–S.

When my brother turned 9.

2013.

I think even when you turn 36, or 82, or 117, I would still call you baby.

You were born the day before I started eighth grade.

I was worried about which of my best-friends were going to what high school, my whole life ruined and in shambles. How was I ever going to pick where to go?

Mom already told me that she wouldn’t fill out the transfer papers. Do you think I could have forged them?

And then there was you. Little, but big at the same time.

With a head full of brown hair. You peed on the nurse. That’s when I knew you were going to be trouble. You were so…so baby. And I was scared to hold you. What if I hurt you? Or if I didn’t hold you correctly? Or you started crying?

In time, you became my little, but big at the same time best friend.

I think the most important thing that I have learned from your nine years on this earth is just to breath. Life isn’t about marking up a calendar to next year and back of things that need to be done. Life isn’t about constantly making lists. Life is just about living.

Sometimes you take fifteen minutes to say something that could have been said in one sentence, and you remind me of our mother.

Sometimes you get frustrated really easily and shut down, and you remind me of our father.

Sometimes you nod your head to a song you don’t know the lyrics to and you close your eyes, and you remind me of myself.

I know that there will be a day when mom and dad won’t be on earth with us and it’ll just be the two of us. Life won’t always be fort building, ramen making at midnight with melted slices of cheese, waking up to Nerf guns, cannon balls in the pool, ice cold cokes on a summer day, Halo 4 campaigns before going to sleep, Teen Titans at 3 am, or scavenging the refrigerator for two items that are possibly edible together.

People move away. They have their own families. They stop talking. They start again. They love. They get hurt. They love again. They never stop loving. These are also parts of living.

These are things we don’t write on our list or our five-year plan.

I remember when we had to put Whoopie to sleep, I think that was your first real loss.

You lost your best friend. The dog that you’d known since birth. You were eight. For a long time we were worried because you were really sad, and you stopped telling jokes and laughing as often as you used to. Your spirit wasn’t as bright as it had always been.

And then we brought Ringo home a couple months ago, and you didn’t want to tell mom and dad, but you whispered in my ear that it made you sad although you really liked Ringo – he just wasn’t Whoopie.

My heart broke baby.

I want you to know that if I could somehow ensure that a part of you stays innocent forever, I would. That a part of you still cries when Sarah McLaughlin comes on and they show the commercial with the animals. If I could somehow make sure that your heart is always big and always full of love and that you never get tarnished, I would do that for you. Even if it meant sacrificing any amount of happiness of my own. I want you to never be afraid to be yourself. Even if kids laugh. I want you to wear clothes that don’t match, if you want to. I want you to do the robot to a song that the robot ‘shouldn’t’ be done to. I want you to mouth lyrics you don’t even know. I want you to still hug mom and dad and tell them that they are your best friends. I want you to keep laughing. Keep dancing. Keep dreaming. Keep loving. Keep smiling. Keep hoping. Keep wishing. Keep being goofy. Keep telling stories. Keep telling corny jokes. Keep living. It has been an honor to help raise you, to love you, and to take care of you.

I hope you always remember a time when we laughed and played together, and the world seemed a little simpler.

–S.

A Letter to my Dead Grandfather.

What if you never left?

I saw a picture of you holding me as a baby.

But I’ve never felt that.

My mom says that you talked to me as a baby.

But I’ve never heard that.

You’d have more than a little to drink every night.

But I’ve never smelled that.

Word on the street is that whatever needed fixing, you were the man.

But I’ve never seen that.

If you ever cooked,

I’ve never tasted it.

You died. I have no memories. How can I feel a connection to you?

When we visited grandma eleven years ago, I found a box of pictures in the room I was supposed to be sleeping in. As everyone slept, I lined the pictures up on the carpet. Some were of you when you were younger. Some were of grandma. Some were of you two together. They were all in black and white.

I wished that you could reach out to me. Say something. Anything.

Let me know you are here. I wonder what kind of life you imagined for me.

Life is confusing and complicated.

When grandma died, your daughters stopped speaking to one another. I wonder if my aunt even knows about the box full of pictures. I wonder if they are collecting dust underneath the bed. I wish she would have sent half of them to me. I know that I would’ve stared at them for hours. I would’ve wondered if your smile was real. I would have searched for clues. I would’ve run my fingers down every picture.

Mom sometimes tells me stories about you that she remembers.

I know what it is like to love a person you’ve never met.

I know what it is like to miss a person you’ve never known.

Grandpa.

Where are you?

–S.

I Hope You Get My Letter.

An excerpt from a letter that I wrote years ago to my then best-friend who went into the Air Force.

First and foremost, I am a writer. I think that my best writing comes from the darkest of places, and sometimes I have dry periods where I am not motivated to write any words. It has taken me a long while to share anything because rarely do people care about one another on that deep of a level.

Sometimes you don’t even want to heart your own voice. Not because I have been depressed or anything. I’m okay. I’m good. You just get tired of it – as with all things. The day is July 8th and the time is 1:31 am. Like the summer nights that have come before this one – I can never go to sleep before three or four in the morning.

My apologies. I feel that we left things in such an awkward place that sometimes I think – will we ever come back from that? I know that you have bigger things going on in your life and it doesn’t really compare to what friendships are going to survive or not. That’s how we are, I know. You’re with me or you’re not. But I also know that sometimes we have to swallow our pride, a million times over, and just speak.

So, here I am.

I’d like to tell you about myself. If you ever start feeling like you’re in a prison – I hope these words help you find a way out in your mind. I hope you find it in your heart to smile while reading my words and maybe even laugh.

Lord knows we need all the laughter we can get,

but I’ll probably be doing a lot of crying.

–S.