Words.

There's still oceans worth of you here, in the world you left behind. It's like a haunting. This is why I sometimes still feel stuck. 
I look at myself and I know and accept that I am here, and you are far gone from the one existence I've known my entire life. But sometimes there's a fear that ignites within me. As if you're never going to let me "fully recover". And other times there is comfort instead. Like there's a part of you still in this world. A song, a letter, a story. And it doesn't have to be with me, not anymore anyway, it just is..somewhere out there, and all is well again. It's probably a psychosomatic manifestation; a fear, and guilt on my behalf. And that's even worse. I want to put you in a very special place and remember everything about you, but I don't want this to be the one moment in my life that defines me. That keeps me from moving forward and makes me miss out on the good and the beautiful of this world. Self sabotaging was always something I could do exceptionally well.


You..this, needs to be put in its place. 

I need these words to work. To be what they need to be. To communicate my confusion and lack of direction at times. Because as of lately, it seems that I'm just running my mouth. I might've just run out of new ways to express what's going on inside of me. Maybe I'll come back when that changes.

I used to talk to anyone that would listen and write unedited thoughts out...self disclosure was second nature. As time continues to pass, I'm finding it harder to do this. I wanted to write here because I wanted to help myself and others along the way. This, I know, is a lifelong journey, but maybe I'm reaching a point where it's time to stop talking about all of it and just apply it as I go. Maybe then I will be able to put you where it is that you'll be for the rest of my life. 

You've written my story backwards. You've taken your chapter out of my book. Now you're just a prologue. A dedication.

For you.

Acute vs Chronic.

It's a physiological thing. 

But that's how it is. 

Things eventually get better. And so they have. But I'm entering this new stage where it's this dull and constant ache. Something I'm getting used to, you kind of forget that it's there sometimes. But I can't decide which one is worse. The acute pain, the kind that made each minute drag by. The one that was unbelievably intense I had no idea how I was going to survive it. Or this kind...the one I know I will have to live with for the rest of my life. I would like to think it will subside, that it will be something I will look back on years from now and see how much I learned and healed. That I am thriving...I already am, but that I will be able to shed so much of this skin. Things just seem to be taking longer than I thought

I used to feel every single minute of your absence; now, time is flying by so fast. This is the third time I haven't noticed the 6th of each month and that's kind of bizarre.

But one of the most amazing things I've come to learn about human beings is how resilient we are. As fragile as our bodies are in the grand scheme of things, our minds and cores can survive anything. It just takes a while. I knew this from before, but experiencing it first hand is nothing short of amazing. 

Wooden Heart

We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living 
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given 
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts 
and it's not only when these eyes are closed 
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach, 
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather 
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north, 
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better 
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will... 
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship, 
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. 
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes 
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors 
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors 
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board 
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores 
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember 

I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it 
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts 
we all have the same holes in our hearts... 
everything falls apart at the exact same time 
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step 
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck 
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right 
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight 
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship 
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks 
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam 
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea 
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember 

My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water 
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea 
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together 
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep 
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric 
shocking each other back to life 
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected 
our bones grown together inside 
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided 
our spines grown stronger in time 
because our church is made out of shipwrecks 
from every hull these rocks have claimed 
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change 
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief 
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach 
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever 
we only have what we remember

October 27.

I write, because I can't stay quiet. I share, because it needs to matter. It needs to help and make a difference. Something like this can't just happen and be forgotten. Sometimes it feels like it has...the world keeps turning as it should, but it needs to carry these experiences with it. Do I think that if I help at least one person, the guilt and loss of it all will simmer down in my being? No; there's no substitution for that. But things like these shouldn't happen and they shouldn't continue to happen all around us. We live in a society where this is becoming a trend and there's so much apathy...a mentality that we're better off without people who don't want to be here in the first place...that is mighty ignorant. Death is already inevitable without us having to rush the process.

x

Today, my sister would've been 16 years old. I wonder who she would've been and how we would've spent celebrating this special day. It never goes away, that heartache just transforms into something else, something you can live with. But when days like these arrive, you can't help but go down memory lane, and ask yourself infinite questions, but mostly, you wish for an instant that things weren't the way they are. With all the time that's passed, it's near impossible for me to picture a world with her in it. She's a part of me in the way I see the world, but she's not a part of the world itself. She taught me the most about innocent love, mainly because she never got to be old enough to be corrupted by anything, and every little beautiful lesson she taught me is the only legacy I have left of her. I'd like to say that after all this time days like these aren't painful in the least, but that would be a lie. But I think there's something really beautiful in that; time may take us further and further away from those we lost, but we never forget or stop loving them. With that comes the weight of their absence, and I for one, am perfectly okay with carrying that around. Our love is never free.
Happy Birthday sweet girl, love you to infinity.

On keeping on.

Recently, I lost many of my material possessions due to complicated circumstances. Things that are very dear to me. All my books. Memory boxes. My journals. A chess set I've had since I was 7. My sketchbook and paintings. Things that are only important to me and irreplaceable due to their sentimental value. Things Chantz gave me, stuff I bought in Spain, gifts from my father and mother, and things I've collected since I was a little girl. It was a tough blow, and made me feel like I only seem to keep losing what I care about and that in a way all those experiences were erased from existence. I allowed myself to react to this loss,  feeling like I was doomed to keep losing what I loved for the rest of my life, but a day later I picked myself up and realized there are some things you can't do anything about except keep keeping on. One of the hardest lessons I've learned this year...accepting the unchangeable. I find myself remembering new things that were lost and I'm sure that will keep happening for a while, but it's a little funny to me that I'm not as upset as I feel I should be. I know it's mostly in part because of everything that's happened this year; our memories are not attached to what's tangible. Granted, the material can be a reminder of something wonderful that you otherwise wouldn't remember, because the memories are buried so deep in your mind, but in the end, they are simply things. And in a world that tries to teach us that this is the stuff that makes up a meaningful life, it is important to not buy into that lie. Why do people cherish that more than the people around them? More than love, compassion, happiness, life, and humanity as a whole? The material can improve one's quality of life, but without any of those non-tangible things where is our humanity and meaning?

It's not like I'm starting with a clean slate, but it was a wonderful reminder, although quite harsh, that those things don't define who I was, or who I am now. And that they are definitely not what matters the most in the world. What matters is still with me. And as cliche as that is, it's astoundingly true, and knowing that frees you from the meaningless owning you.

It's been a really rough few weeks, but there have been days that have been exceptionally wonderful. I find myself holding on to those moments more than everything else. They trump those days by a long shot. The more time passes, the more beauty I experience. One can't really stop going when shit hits the fan, and when you stumble upon beautiful and significant people, moments, and things that just enrich your life in extraordinary ways, you are so thankful you kept going.

Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside -- remembering all the times you've felt that way.

Abjection

That feeling you get when you realize that the only thing separating you from being dead is almost nothing. Understanding the weight of that sentence is something most don't even come close to...except maybe when they're near the end of their lives. When they have a need to feel like their lives had some purpose in this grand universe of ours. But what if it doesn't? Does it change the fact that you lived? No...living for the sake of living is something I wish I saw more of. Life is intrinsic and there is no need to justify why we are here.

It is also fragile, yet we are so careless with it, and disregard it much too often.We act as if we have some control over our own beating hearts.
I thought realizing this was going to make me feel like a helpless child but instead I've gained a greater appreciation for life...an understanding, and perhaps a fear, that life can disappear in an instant and it is in fact the more precious for it. With a full grasp of that reality, everything else is irrelevant. But you learn to love more. And live more.




I feel like I've come to a standstill in this process though. I keep running myself into a wall. It's a rough transition. It's as if there was a time limit on all of this and I'm now "expected" to be over it. Supposed to move on with this new life. What about the parts I'm not ready for? The things I haven't worked out?...I even pressure myself to be over it, as if it's losing its importance with the passing of time. I find myself apologizing when I fall apart, or when something triggers me; it's almost as if I'm losing the confidence I had in owning this entire process. As if I'm not allowed to feel it anymore. Like continuing to write about it and share is completely unnecessary now.

I just want you to know that I know you from after, after all this is over. And there are some parts of you that cannot be touched, no matter how they touch you.

You're okay when I know you. Everything's okay.