My almost.

The alcohol courses through my veins and suddenly things feel more… clear. But I want you to know that sometimes it’s the “almosts” that hurt the most. I wonder how you sleep in your bed all alone at night. I wonder how you feel. You found me and you captured me and I felt like for a short period of time we were one in the same. We connected on some sort of strange frequency only I could feel. I live once and I do so freely. And when I find something that I feel content with I want to run with it. I wanted to run with you. And to this day I’m not sure why. What did you want? Did you even know? Why am I so fucked up about all of this months later? Like I said, it is the almosts that cant hurt the most.

You were my almost lover with the sinful body. You were my almost love with the crystal blue eyes. But we are apart and we always were.

Will I ever find someone to complement me?

My ghost story.

You were beautiful. It felt like a secret I couldn’t bear to keep, so I told you. And you smiled, just a halfway smile, like you didn’t quite believe me. But I meant it, with everything I had. And when I told you this deep secret there was more behind it than just words. The statement was fueled by admiration and lust. As you knelt above me, as you kissed me gently, I had the overpowering urge to touch every inch of your body. Your milky soft skin. The little parts of your chest that were growing stubble, your strong legs that were long and lean, that carried you into my life. I can still taste the saltiness of your skin and I can still smell you. Sometimes at the grocery store a scent will hit my nostrils, and I’ll follow it or look for it like a dog searching for something. And I scan each face hoping to see yours but instead i’m met by strangers staring back at me.

And you’re so close yet so far. And I now I have simple memories, so complex in their simplicity I struggle not to let them haunt me. And sometimes when I lie in bed at night I think of you and I. Together. Laying in your bed in your quiet room and I can still hear your heartbeat, quick and nervous. I made you nervous. Do I still?

Like a ghost you came into my life and then you left. And for years I’ll keep telling myself our little ghost story, perhaps around a campfire late at night when I’m all alone and want to feel something other than loneliness.

I want to tell you something.

“I want to tell you about your heart— you’ve probably been neglecting your heart—and you don’t know.”

― F. Scott Fitzgerald

I think one of the most fascinating things about authors from the early 19th century and before is that the things they wrote about were so old, yet so new. Sylvia Plath wrote about depression and feelings of hopelessness. These were issues many people were facing and so reading her work brought people together, made them feel less alone. She was a pioneer of her amazing, although short lived, time on this earth. And leave it to F. Scott Fitzgerald to write a line that reverberates through time. He told us and we listened – we’ve been neglecting our hearts. And it can take a break-up, a death or even just a slightly traumatic life experience to realize the extent of neglect we’ve been putting unto ourselves.

The beautiful thing about realization is the ability to do something about it. I’ve put into action a new plan.

  • I won’t beg anyone to stay in my life, even if I love them. If they wanted to stay, they would. Simple.
  • I will give myself positive affirmations daily.
  • When I look in the mirror, even if I want to say something terrible about myself, I will smile instead and find something positive to say.
  • I won’t be so hard on myself. Seriously.
  • I am going to be more mindful. Stressing about the future is pointless. I will set a goal and work every day for it, but I won’t overwhelm myself.
  • I am going to stop fighting my brain and just accept thoughts as they come. Yes, he’s still on my mind a lot, but I’ve just been letting the thoughts of him come and go and accepting it. Peace

There’s more, but those are the main ones I am working on. Nothing like cramming your life with full-time school, full-time work, going to the gym and trying to keep your shit together. My mental break was what I needed and I am grateful for it. My feelings of hopelessness have dwindled away and I feel better than ever.

I’m back baby.

To the almosts.

This is to the almosts. The almost love, the almost made it, the almost could have beens.

These are the most heartbreaking sometimes. The lack of closure, the incessant thoughts, the wondering, “what did I do wrong?”

My sweet love, it isn’t you that did anything wrong. You loved with your whole being, you were afraid but you did it anyways. You walked off a cliff hoping for an ocean of love below you, but instead you hit rock bottom. And this is nothing to be ashamed of.

So here’s to the almosts. You’ve just got to remember you are not an almost, you are just enough and then some. xoxo

Raining.

It’s been raining all day in Oklahoma. It hasn’t let up. Not even once. It feels like a cleansing, of sorts. The past few months have been extremely difficult for me, and my futile attempts of maintaining my sanity failed miserably. I suppose the fact that I made it to the age of 30 without having a mental breakdown was a feat in itself. I should be proud. Instead, I remain doubtful. I feel great. Thanks to the anti-depressants? My mind feels clear. I didn’t know that my “normal” was not normal. I didn’t realize that not everyone’s mind raced constantly. I didn’t realize that my level of overthinking every situation was something otherwise known as anxiety. I wonder, would the way my mind worked before be enough to drive someone else mad? It drove me mad. I broke. I am fixing myself though. Meditation. Working out (which I’ve been consistent with all year). I am bettering myself. And my self love has grown immensely. Like Selena Gomez said, “I needed to lose you to find me.”

Rain, rain…please don’t go away.

A good idea.

It’s crazy to think about it. The fact that she’s probably over at his house right now. I bet if I drove by, her car would be parked outside. Or maybe she drives a truck. Parked in the same spot in the driveway that mine sat in so many times. While I was inside with him. Sitting on the couch, laid out across him watching movies on his TV. And I bet he’s feeding her the same lines. Calling her babe and kissing her at randoms times. Rubbing her back with his strong hands, putting his arm around her. And I wonder, is she falling for it like I did? Is she falling for him the same way?

I fell in love with the idea of you because you made me believe you were a good idea.

I finally broke.

My mental health had apparently been declining over the past few months. Something I was vaguely aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge. I was trying to stay strong, finish with school, work full-time, feel less lonely, make new friends. I was trying. And then I met Greg* and my world lit up a little bit. I felt loved and wanted and desired. And that loneliness subsided a little bit. And I fell, hard. Because that’s what all the poems and books say to do. To love like you’ve never been hurt. So that’s what I did. I went into it with opens arms, my heart on my sleeve, free for the taking. And he did. He took it and he held onto it and then he stepped on it. And I went through a downward spiral. The saddest part is, looking at it now, his actions made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t attractive enough, interesting enough, that I wasn’t desirable. And that’s truly the most heartbreaking thing about it all. I am all of those things and more, and how many women out there feel this way because of the actions of a man who cannot love? Or because of one that refuses to? There are so many people out there that have no idea the repercussions their actions can have on someones mental health and general state of being.

So I finally broke. And after an intense panic attack, a trip to the doctors office and some talking with a good friend, I am now taking anti-depressants which is something I was against for a long time. But the truth is, for a highly sensitive and empathetic person, the world can be treacherous. And after 30 years of being stepped on, treated poorly and taken advantage of, I needed help. I was depressed and anxious, and it finally caught up to me. And it took a heartbreak to make me realize how under water I truly was. I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t cope. And I don’t want to be on these pills forever, but for right now they’re helping and it’s such a nice reprieve from being anxious and depressed to feeling…smoothed out. Stable.

I finally broke and it was probably the best thing that could have happened. Time to rebuild.

The night I drove to his house.

I don’t know if I really want to document this…decision I just finished making. It’s 8pm. I’m sitting on the couch, dwelling, just like I normally do. It’s been weeks and I’m as tore up inside as I was the first day. I can’t move on, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Something in this crazy, ridiculous universe keeps bringing me back to him. So at 8:30 I got up off my couch, put some decent clothes on and marched down to my car. I got in, turned the ignition and started driving. The quarter mile to his house. “It’s fine.” I said. “I’ll just drive by. I’m not crazy.” And that’s what I did. I drove by. And then I did a u-turn and I parked. Outside of his house. And I walked up to his door and I knocked. And the lights were on and I knew he was home. And I knocked again. He asked who it was, and I said “Please, just give me 5 minutes. 5 minutes to talk.” And he opened up and let me in. And we talked. I professed my feelings for him. And it felt great. I got it out. He didn’t know what to say. So I kept talking. And he hugged me. And he held me, and I missed the smell of him and the feel of him. And I missed his big stupid house and his stupid face.

And he walked me out after I said my peace and we stood in his driveway and I said, “I only get one chance to live and if I never say this I will regret it so I am going to say it. My feelings for you are real and they aren’t going away. The way I feel about you isn’t abating at all and I feel a connection with you. I want you. In my life. And I want a future with you. And I never want to lose you again. Please just take that as you will and do with it what you want. But there it is, my heart and soul. I had to hate you for a little while, but I can’t anymore. I just can’t take it” And he took me by the hands and he hugged me and then he looked me in the eyes and he kissed me. Passionately, deeply.

And I’d have died for that one moment. I think heaven is feeling wanted.

I don’t have expectations. I might never hear from him again. One day at a time.

I feel better. No regrets. I can’t keep things bottled up. They’re out there now.

I vow to never hate again. It’s a poison that simmers in your bones and pours out of your very being. From this day forward I will never harness hate again.

Let me be honest.

I wanted to tell you the truth. It’s just how I am. I told the truth from the beginning and I will until the end. And it isn’t the end yet. For you, perhaps it might be. But for me, it’s not the end until I don’t think about you everyday. Until you’re not the last thought on my mind before I fall asleep, or the first when I wake up. Until I don’t crave your body with every ounce of my being late at night, while I cry myself to sleep.

I wanted to tell you that I still hope I see you. One day. And my breath will catch in my throat and my heart will skip a beat. I can imagine this moment and I wonder, will I still find you beautiful? Perhaps more beautiful than before? Or will all the pain you’ve caused me change my view of you? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other. It seems so much easier for you. Meanwhile I have to talk myself out of walking to your house. Or driving by it. I just wanted to tell you the truth.

I wonder, do you think of me? In the shower? Or the way it felt to lay next to me in your bed. Do you get lonely and wish I was there? My laugh filling your house with sound. Do you wish I would ring your doorbell and my face would be there when you opened your door? Do you wish things had gone differently? And lastly, do you feel bad that you broke me?

I wish it was different, truthfully I do.

Cleanse.

Sometimes I cry because of the possibilities. The wasted ones. The ones that could have been. Soft, quiet tears that gently roll down my cheek to a new destination where they’ll soak in, disappear, never happened. Yes, occasionally I cry for what could have been. For the what if’s. For the cancelled plans and the let downs.

It’s a cleansing cry. The salty drops of warm water help to cleanse my soul and they water the seeds that will blossom into new flowers of hope.