lazy love it was
as we for hours laid motionless
together
naked
naked of fear
naked of care
yet fully clothed in love
the only clothes I ever wanted to wear
were **yours

It's 545 in reality but in your dream you feel a mix of 12 and 21

You tip toe to hear screams and run as soon as you hear them

Up the back porch running RUNNING up your back porch

You see him beating on her

You're afraid he's ****** her but nothing is clear

You can't keep this in al

YOU NEED HELP

they're both dead. She's dead inside and he's dead to you

Get up its 642. You have to go to work.

Put that smile on and fake that you're okay

But you're strong cause you're still here

Sent from my iPhone

To my psychiatrist: I sit seated on one of the four chairs in the room…

I want to read you this, because every time I come in here, I can’t describe my dilemma, I feed you thoughts and words and all of it gets messy… so if you can listen to this for two minutes, maybe you can tell me what I need

I find that people enjoy me more when I’m outgoing, the life of the party, and a breath of fresh air
However who I really am is quiet, shy, a girl that pushes herself to go out, and awkwardly makes conversation in order to feel normal

I’ve had this inner challenge of wanting to be happy- however I won’t use the word happy here because I was never truly happy

It’s as though a band aid covered my scars and temporarily blind folded my memories

When your medication suppresses your words… all inner feelings of what we truly feel and what we truly believe in. It’s the medication, the therapy; the faking a smile around a group that I feel never truly gets it

It’s a cardboard box that on Christmas appears special, but every other day of the year isn’t much to look at

It’s the pretending that the action movie the love of your life is interested in, is any bit exciting to you

It’s wanting to be loved but finding that the only times you’ve ever found love are the times you weren’t you

The times that a guitar on it’s stand appears “nice” from far away, but when a brilliant musician comes by it brings it all to life

The book that on a shelf, dusty and not worth any bit of looking at is pages filled with letters. But when read by someone who appreciates it enters a different world, one of his or her own to make that book worth reading

Am I that book?
Only worth understanding if the story means anything to the person reading

I feel as though often times I’m that guitar
Only brought to life when someone strums by chords

Am I that cardboard box?
Only felt special dressed up and looked at on holidays
So what does it take to feel special on your own?

What does it take to be a dusty book and be content, a guitar that sits without someone to play it, and a box to be important sitting in an attic on its own

The medications, the therapy, the pushing yourself to get out, it provides temporary relief.

Yesterday driving home at 9:36 pm, my windows were blurred and I couldn’t see much

Heavy storms were rolling in, and words of a tornado were discussed
I thought about how easy it would be to drive into a medium
“911 we have an emergency… young girl, unconscious, car totaled, in what appears to be a hydroplaned accident"

A perfect escape, no one can be upset with you, it didn’t look like suicide, it was an accident, how could anyone be upset…it was nature, it was “meant to be”

But I didn’t

I want to learn how to live and find those small moments where everything is in place

I can’t explain to a happy person what it feels to never feel anything
I don’t want happy
I don’t want sad
I want both
But this …whatever it is isn’t either

Is it I?
Is it how I’m wired?
Am I the problem or am I making my own problems?

And every psychologist, professional, doctor, & psychiatrist will tell you
“It’s a mix of both…a combination”

Because every educated person in mental health often understands that nothing is often linked to one variable but often two, or three, or more. Given that life is not a controlled environment. One can never fully pinpoint the problem. So it is also impossible to pinpoint the solution?

Yet still I don’t know anything anymore, lost control, not completely yet
Because the 911 call was never made

Yet not recognizing yourself in the mirror any longer is one of the scariest feelings I believe I’ve ever had
Because it’s one thing to be alone, and it’s another to not even have you anymore

We can label this as depression, but I don’t want to fake who I am any longer… I need to know, should I be me…will that ultimately lead me to happiness

Or do I change who I am… in order to fit standards and not live miserably
To not hear, “You’re too emotional, cut yourself a break”,

But not changing who I am is slowly killing me; they say it gets harder before it gets easier. Yet they also tell you to reflect and perhaps change things up if you aren’t happy

I just need to know what path is better

Because - and I think- my hearts telling me to stay who I am, and my brains telling me get help…and if my brain is the one that is supposedly broken …how do I know which one to listen to?

Because even if my brain is the unhealthy part, my heart has taken a few too many bullets as well

And if only any of them knew, if I knew the right answer I would do what needs to be done








And after reading this several times, I feel guilty that I spent two hours sculpting a poem completely about myself.

So from an outside point of view….what do I do?

I feel you slippin away
maybe it's better that way
He says I'm coming too soon
I'm done waiting on you
And my heart is done
out run
With no where to go
                                            but up
                                                         up
                                                                    
from here...

Excuses? I've got tons of them. I have an average GPA, an average GRE score, and an average g . Yet I'll spend hours with a friend listening to her problems with her boyfriends alcoholic dad, or the roommate who's mom had cancer, or ill spend hours grocery shopping with a person I rarely get to see but that time means more to me than any amount of time spent with my nose in a book. Average ? Sure that's average- spending life doing what you love with the people you love. That's average. Or that's my excuse not to study. Ill let you be the judge. Ill spend hours on a Saturday driving home to pick up two cousins that have cracked out parents just to buy them rain boots for school. Average rain boots on an average Saturday. Another excuse not to study or have my nose in a book. Or the two internships and 2 jobs I hold because I find it more interesting to know people through their mannerisms and the nervous habits they pick up when they know they have a busy day ahead. You know the scrunch in their nose when they get an anxious feeling?Or the slight tap their right foot makes to distract rhemselves from their busy thoughts as they make coffee at 8 AM. No book nor research paper can show me that. Or maybe that's my excuse not to study. My average excuse not to study. You've never witnessed that? too busy with life right ? excuaes. Or what about the afternoons I come home with the honest intent to get ahead outlining my notes but my sister calls to explain her distraught news of troubles with paying bills and finding a job. Again the outline becomes less important. But maybe that's my excuse. I'll always have an excuse, but I always get the work done. As long as your okay with it being average.  My grades, my score, my g maybe average. But the life I devote to others is anything but. And so if my excuse of being average and okay with that is just an excuse than so be it. But at 21 I understand that relationships and people can not be average. My scores can be average, but no impact or influence can ever be average. If that's the job I want, than I'm not sure how could ever be denied for being average. Yet maybe this is just my excuse, my excuse to work harder alongside people than any statistic or fact combined. Average excuses ? I'm full of them. But people are what I'm good at, it's people that bring me above average. All excuses aside, when it comes to people I've never had an excuse to drop everything. And so I always drop everything. For the people.

What if I was what I wasn't
lying awake sweating
after waking up from a dream
one which actually maybe                                                 Reality
that's hard to swallow
because what if I was what I wasn't
what if I like what I'm not
meant
to like
What if I was me
liking what I'm not meant to be

I want to be a lesson to forgetting that love needs to be shown everyday.
I want to be a lesson for the men that beat their wives, and the children that grew up watching it. I want to be a lesson for the cheaters and the broken hearts.
I want to be a lesson for those that don’t understand, but more so don’t try to. I want to be a lesson for not taking everyday and making it another day worth living.
I want to be a lesson for the psychiatrists that give 5 diagnoses of different disorders and expect you to feel normal.
I want to be a lesson that a small cry for help is whether or not that person wakes up the next morning. I want to be a lesson that pain for some cuts deeper for others.
I want to be a lesson that people need people, but more importantly people need the right kind of people.
I want to be a lesson that love keeps the world running round. I want to be a lesson.

But most importantly, I want to be an example. I am an example that suicide doesn’t solve this lesson. Living solves this problem. I am that living lesson.

ears ring
throat sore
yet I'm pushing, you're pushing,
we're pushing
in hopes that someday
it'll be worth
the roar

Had a dream you were ugly
yet I wanted you just the same
saw you in a different light
further than ever
still so close
Had a dream you were ugly
yet I loved you just the same

look at you
complaining
angry about everything
yet everything you speak of
is what **you are

It's funny what happens
a second rejection
the reassured forgotten

so why do we sit around missing those that don't miss us?
we did
but I won't

they talked yesterday and for the first time in years
the conversation didn't end in a fight
instead they talked and walked away with
"that's all I'm asking for"
as to infer just give me something.
anything.

and while it's a start
when did we become so afraid to lose someone
that we have to ask for the bare minimum to keep it going?

so please remind yourselves that you don't have to me married
to start working on your marriage.
the time is now.