I’m still a child
playing a game
of musical chairs.

I’m just trying to
find a seat with
everyone else.

I’m still going
around and around
and around again,
searching for my
chance to fit in.

but every time
that I think
I’ve finally
found it,

as soon as
I go to sit down,

life pulls the chair
out from under me.

in ancient Greece,
there was once a belief that
humans were originally created
with four arms, four legs,
and two faces.

Zeus, the Greek god of the sky,
became afraid that these humans
would have too much power,

so he split them into two bodies
and separated them.

they were condemned
to spend their lives
searching for their other halves.

according to Greek mythology,
looking for your soulmate
is a punishment.


I don't believe in those stories,
but they make sense.

we punish ourselves
by spending our entire lives
in search of our soulmates.

we are on an endless journey
looking for love in
all of the wrong places,

and we never pause
to look at our own lives
along the way.

we are so blinded by
this need to keep moving
and to find someone,

that we miss everything
we could be enjoying
by ourselves.

I slept in a little too late
a few days that week.

when the pharmacist called
about my prescriptions,
I didn't refill them
for the next month.

I forgot to eat breakfast
and maybe lunch
and I didn't remember
whether or not I ate dinner.

I didn't buckle my seatbelt
when I got into my car.

I didn't show up
when we made plans,
and eventually I stopped
making plans altogether.

I stopped joking about suicide
and you thought that
was a good sign,

but you didn't realize
I stopped joking
because this time,
I was serious.

when I hung up the phone
I said "goodbye"
instead of "goodnight."

and no one tried to stop me
because no one knew

because all of these little changes
seemed to mean nothing.

you didn't see
that I was hurting
until the tiles on
our bathroom floor
turned red.

you didn't see
that I was bleeding
until I had already bled out.

but on that day,
my story did not end.
my funeral was not
that weekend.
my death was not
on that Wednesday.



and now,
when I end the call,
I don't say "goodbye."

I never say "goodbye"
because tomorrow,
I will still be here.

even when it hurts
to simply get out of bed,
I will be here.

I will be here
because I am still breathing.
I am still alive

and there are so many
beautiful Wednesdays
that I haven't seen yet.

before I met the man I love,
I had a bad history of
entering abusive relationships.

it might not make sense,
but a healthy relationship
used to be so much scarier
than an abusive one.

when my ex got angry,
he would hit me.

when my boyfriend gets angry,
he walks away until
he's calm enough to have
a rational conversation.

my ex was predictable.
I knew what was coming.
I could brace myself
for his punches.
I was never unprepared.

the first time that my boyfriend
walked away, my body
physically shook with fear.

because he didn't hit me,
and because violence
was all that I knew,

I was so afraid that
he would come back
with something much
worse than a punch.

he came back with a hug
and an "I love you."

now, I would be afraid
if a man tried to hit me.

it might sound strange,
but I am so happy
to be so scared

because that means
I've stopped wanting abuse.

it means I've finally realized
that I am deserving of love.