Sunday, February 1, 2015

Last night, I finally cried. Tears actually pooled at the corners of my eyes and streamed down my reddened cheeks. But even then...not even that soothed me.

I'm so tired. I'm worn out, worn down, and 100% ready to quit.
Where am I supposed to go, when anything I try to do either backfires or doesn't even bother to move in either direction? How am I supposed to get back to where I was, the place I was the happiest and felt the best.

What's happened to me to cause me to even consider taking whatever evil steps to return to this?

I didn't know my own weaknesses, and took all my previous strengths for granted.'s like I don't have the time to really put the effort into it. I know it's an excuse, but currently it feels like the only one I can use without feeling like the scum I used to judge.

Friday, January 30, 2015

I've been wasting away in an exponentially enlarging rate.

I see old photos of me, when I was small and light as a feather--when I had no energy, felt my bones jabbing through my skin, and my clothes starting to fall off my body. But I was happy. I was miserable, but happy.

I want to be miserably happy again.
I want it almost more than anything else in the world.
I've been trying, goodness. But something always seems to get in the way, or arrive at just the right time to screw any progress I make up.

It's the final straw, though. I'm so sick and tired of letting me control me.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Since September...

I've been slowly, unwillingly, and despairingly watching myself let my own self go.

I always knew it was too good to be true; sure, my body and fierce energy stuck around for a while. But the truth was that I never really learned to take care of and maintain it--once school started and I got stressed out and had to give up a lot of the free time/mental energy I had to put into getting in shape and carefully fueling myself with the proper all just sort of circled the drain.


Spring break is approximately 6.5 weeks away. (Click the link to see a countdown!)

And I just can't bear to stay like this. It's affecting my emotional stability, my physical well-being (I want to be hot again), and my academic performance because all I can focus on is the fact my legs don't quite lay right anymore. That my skin feels too small, and that I'm about to molt out of it at any moment
This is how physical and mental disorders start and persist.

But persist no more.

  • I will be good to myself, even during darker times. 
  • I will take  a few deep breaths.
  • I will find new ways to calm myself and release stress and anxiety. 
  • I will make an effort to fit in at least 30 minutes of exercise 5 times a week. 
AND speaking of that...I found a really cool website this morning:
It's a website you can register with and then access a ton of fitness videos all customized to your own preferences based on equipment, time, target areas, intensity, etc.. There are a lot of free ones, but I have a feeling that the really best ones are also the ones that you have to pay for.

You can add the videos to your "Favorites" and/or add them to your "Calendar" so you can keep track of what you're doing on a certain day. 

Try it out and let me know what you think!

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Yesterday morning, I was jolted from another night of restless sleep by a nightmare that had hit me out of nowhere, and all I could do was watch it tumble out of control.

I'm happy, relatively peaceful, and for ease with myself.
So why are you still haunting me?

I don't long to see you in the crowd, to bump into you in the outside world.
I can't remember what your voice sounds like, that sparkle in your eye, or your laugh.
I don't feel much in regard to you, except an empty, wasted gap of time spanning from the moment I met you to the moment my heart stopped loving you.

So why do you continue to follow me? Is it to remind me of what I didn't have then, or to reassure me of what I do have now?

Last night, the silence was once again broken--after months and months and "It" fading into the past where it writhes and screams silently in desperation. I felt it coming, but was still caught off guard. And in a single second, what I wished I had, what I thought I wanted, and what I ended up with are three entirely different things.

And the latter is the one I'm happiest having.

It's not a fact of just "having" it, either. It's the way You treat me, the way You speak to me and the way I can connect to you. The way we seem to get one another, even if we're on different pages. We're in this together, we build one another up and hold each other.

It's just funny that both the past and the "past" showed their ugly faces in the same 24-hour window, starting it and ending it like gentle reminders that sometimes the best things in life end up being the things you never expected to go anywhere.

Saturday, January 17, 2015


But I thought I knew enough,
to know myself and do what's right for me.
And these wall I'm building now,
you used to bring 'em down.
And the tears I'm crying out,

you used to wipe away.
I thought you said it was easy

listening to your heart;
I thought you said I'd be okay...
So why am I breaking apart?

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Its seems like things
are getting worse
and getting better
all at the same time

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Sound Sleeping

Yesterday (Friday, January 9) I went over at 5pm to hangout with The Beau at his house. Originally the plan was to have steak, then it was to have bacon tacos (lol!), then, it got changed last-minute to The Beau & me going out to Mulligan’s while his dad went to hangout with his own friends after work. I got a club sandwich with French fries; we hung out and waited for the band that was supposed to be playing, but we got bored lingering and decided to leave.

We played cards (spades) for a while—The Beau destroyed me. Then we cuddled and watched Mean Girls; during, I got the first taste of what it’s like to feel the pull of physical temptation, the mysterious “desire” that I’ve always heard being thrown around in whispers between gossiping friends. The Beau cuddled me, holding me close as his hair-smelling seamlessly phased into his lips pressing against the skin of my neck.

I had seen this happen in movies, observed it on the streets on Valentine’s Day, but I had no idea what to expect it to feel like, what to expect to happen. But in a drugged-like state of time having suddenly stopped, I wanted to find out; I wanted to continue feeling The Beau’s lips sweetly kissing me, his mouth opening just barely to taste whatever it is about me that he finds so irresistible, and his tongue sliding across the thousands of screaming nerves buried within my skin. I wanted to continue feeling it all, and then experience more. Within those moments, I was more aware of everything around me, and aware of nothing at all. Every sense was heightened, and time stood completely still.
And then as quickly as it started, it was finished. And it left me breathless and hungry for more. But I said nothing, and rather giggled words I couldn’t say.

As the evening turned into night, The Beau’s dad came home and sat with us for a few minutes as we watched a comedian on TV. Eventually, as we all became aware of the time, he just said “Either you should leave before it gets too late and the drunks get out on the roads, or you’re more than welcome to stay here. It’s up to you.”
Instantly, The Beau suggested I stay.

I was nervous, and sort of worried of what to expect. But a part of me, perhaps the same part of me that had emerged earlier that evening, wanted desperately to find out. So I agreed to sleep over, and shortly after I found myself following The Beau through his house, down the short hallway, and into his room where the dogs were pushed out, the TV turned on, volume lowered, light circuit cut, and sheets pulled down.

It was strange. I’ve been under blankets with The Beau before, but I had never gotten anywhere near any sort of long-term sleeping furniture. As I pulled myself—still dressed in my jeans and t-shirt—awkwardly onto his bed and settled in beside him, previous thoughts and judgments of my friends who’ve shared innocent stories of themselves sharing beds with their significant others, sleeping side-by-side and daring to submit those private actions into public words…and suddenly I couldn’t remember a single logical piece of evidence I had against them.
What’s so wrong about innocently sleeping beside someone?
What’s so wrong about feeling the warmth of someone you care about, and the pressure of their weight against you as you fall asleep?
What’s so wrong about experiencing companionship and compassion, the feeling of being held and adored and cherished?

I couldn’t remember.
There were a thousand thoughts seamlessly whooshing through my head; I was looking, but not seeing, I was hearing, but not really listening. I was thinking, but all I could seem to focus on was The Beau—how he moved, carried himself, and the way he pulled me against him. All I could feel was his body heat spreading from his skin to mine, warming what would’ve otherwise been cold and empty space beside me. His breathing was even, matching mine as we breathed in and out.

It was peaceful.

We talked in the darkness, dragging up old memories of sharing a bedroom with Ali.
It was like holding conversation with the best friend I never imagined I would be capable of having—it’s what The Beau has become to me. Someone to share just about everything—save the stuff he really won’t care about—with, to confide in, to spend time with, to enjoy one another’s company. We talk about the most off-the-wall things, we occasionally talk seriously, but mostly…we just have fun, while simultaneously feeling something very solid take roots within our hearts and pit of our stomachs.

In all honesty, I didn’t sleep that well—I knew I wouldn’t from the moment I agreed to sleep over. Occasionally I would wake up to the TV playing softly, or sometimes to The Beau gently tightening his arms around me. I tried to pay attention to his breathing, how he would switch between holding me and giving me space. He sighed in contentment, snored softly, and chuckled once in a while whenever I did something he found adorable.

But despite my low quantity of sleep, I slept soundly whenever I managed to stop thinking. In fact, it may have been the deepest sleep I’ve had in a while. I felt calm and secure, I felt complete and cared for. I didn’t have to sleep alone with my thoughts or worries--with the sensation of my skin expanding and jelly filling in the empty spaces.

And when we woke up after sunrise, getting to talk with The Beau the first thing in the morning was…pacifying. For once I didn’t wake up to stressful thoughts of my dull day ahead, the burdening strangulation of my own shortcomings. Instead I woke up to smiles and jokes, to silly musings and conversations that would otherwise seem pointless to outsiders but meant everything to us.

After his dogs “officially” woke us up, we got out of bed and went into the kitchen where The Beau’s dad kindly made us coffee, bacon, and biscuits. I would’ve felt weird, had he not been the one to offer I stay the night, but The Beau and his dad both share an inexplicable ability to bring about me peace and tranquility.

After breakfast, we walked the dogs, and then it was time for The Beau to get ready for his day and me to drive my way back to mine. He walked me out to my car, where I carried my purse, the t-shirt he gave me under the condition I would keep it permanently, and the same day-old clothes I woke up in. We kissed, and for the first time it didn’t feel weird when my own partially parted lips met his—he was gentle and passionate all at the same time, softly reminding me that he loves me before we reluctantly pulled ourselves away from one another.

And that was that. The story of my first time ever sleeping over at someone’s house who wasn’t female and wasn’t “just a friend”.