i saw a picture from where i used to live and i couldn’t help but think, don’t get me wrong i am so grateful to be where i am and to have met the people i have, but i can’t help but think what it would be like if my mom never got re-married.
what if i still lived half with my dad and half with my mom? if i never came here at all?
i’ve never thought about the house since we moved out, but now that i am, i miss it.
i miss the holes in the walls separating the living room and the hallway where the old buddha statue sat on the ground.
i miss the CD player in my sister’s room and i miss when she would make me dance in front of her cool high-school friends.
i miss when my siblings would get along and when my grandma would still cook for us during the holidays.
i miss the little cabinet in the hallway across from my dad’s room that held all my shitty clothes he would find for me.
i miss the trampoline and my brothers old drum set that was in the garage.
i miss when my dad would take me to blockbuster, when he would let me ride my sisters’ electric scooters, and when we would sneak into the elementary school down the street to play handball.
i even miss the pasta he would make every single night, the scratchy popcorn ceiling, and being forced to sit on the floor in the living room and watch avatar with my dad.
i miss my family, i miss my old neighbors.
i miss my family, my sisters, my brother, my dad, my grandma and her boyfriend (rest in paradise by the way, marvin). like i said, feeling a little extra-reminiscent tonight.
i miss being young. shit! one day soon, i’m going to miss being the age i am now.
I used to think it was all behind me. I truly thought that, but something recently has been telling me that maybe it’s not.
I’m no longer skinny. I’m no longer underweight. I don’t weigh eighty-something pounds anymore. My heart isn’t in critical condition like it was. I no longer refuse to eat. I no longer have an eating disorder. The physical parts are gone, but some of the mental parts have stayed. No, I no longer cry before every meal, have multiple panic attacks daily, or slit my wrists. I no longer do any of those things, but sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in the days that I did.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m so much better than I was. So, so, so much better than I was. I guess what I’m trying to say is: yes I’m better, but no, I’m not perfect.
I’ve been stressed studying for finals lately, so I decided that skipping lunch would give me more time to study. There’s nothing wrong with this; its normal to skip meals time to time. What made me know something was up came later. I wasn’t skipping meals to lose weight or get skinner, it was for another reason.When I would skip lunch, my stomach would begin to gnaw and churn after a while. I like the feeling because it tells me that nothing is in my stomach, that my stomach is empty… I like it because the feeling of hunger distracts me from the emptiness I feel almost every single day.
Certain things give me flashbacks of what I went through, almost like PTSD in a way. For example, when my father buys a certain brand of sliced turkey. One day, my father had gone to the store. I asked him to buy a specific type of turkey, the turkey with 50 calories per two ounces. When he came back, he had bought a type which had 52 calories. I began to cry, my frail and bony body collapsed and my mother lunged to the floor where I lay, just as scared as I was, and tried to get me up. I wouldn’t move. I just stayed there. I just stayed on the floor sobbing and mumbling the words “I don’t want to live anymore” over and over again. My mom held her thirteen-year-old and dying daughter in her hands. She picked me up carefully and carried me to my bed, where she laid with me and we cried in unison… all of this over turkey. Now, whenever I see this brand of turkey in the fridge, its like that day fills my mind, takes over me, and haunts me. It’s different though, I’m not the girl on the floor anymore. I am a ghost watching in the corner, unable to do anything as I watch my mom and I suffer. As much as I try to reach out to myself and say “i’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” I can’t. As much as I try to get the memory to stop looping in my mind, it continues to replay and replay with more and more detail every loop. Just like the turkey, there are many more symbols equated with awful memories from my eating disorder. Natural Cafe,the white tank top on the bottom of my dresser,Pressed Juicery, my birthday, King’s Hawaiian Rolls, string cheese, buzz-cuts, and safety pins are just some of the items tied with memories even worse than the one above. Memories that I try to keep locked away for a reason.
I like to pretend like it’s behind me, but deep down I know it’s not. I honestly don’t think it will ever be. I’m not saying that I am in danger in any way shape or form if going back to how I used to be. All I am saying is (in honor of mental health awareness month) it’s okay to not be 100% okay.
I’m in a really good mood right now, but there are honestly so many things that makes life feel so much better. So, here’s a few things that never fail to make me happy.
The tiredness after being at the beach in the sun all day
Driving down PCH with the windows down during sunset
The lights turning off at a concert and knowing the show’s about to begin
When the singer stops singing and everyone in the crowd continues belting the lyrics on the top of their lungs
Listening to ocean waves before falling asleep
Having the air conditioning on while sleeping, but being wrapped up in warm blankets
My horse coming up to me
Hugging my favorite celebrities
Having dance parties alone in my room
Waking up and having a good hair day
Wearing a cute outfit and feeling confident in it
Good conversations with friends at dinner
Waking up early and having energy to take on the day
Sitting outside when it’s hot, but a perfect breeze keeps you cool
Hot chocolate after snowboarding all day
Being spontaneous
Being carefree
Blasting 2000’s throwbacks and singing along to them while driving
Reuniting with friends I haven’t seen in a while
Dancing
Singing with my friends without caring about what my voice sounds like
Having motivation to clean my room
Being told my writing is good
Swimming in the ocean for hours
Running
Hanging out at the fair in the summer
Finding out I did better on a test than I thought I would
Jumping into a freezing pool on a hot day
Listening to a song for the first time in years and still knowing all the lyrics
Mastering a verse in a rap song
Wearing oversized sweatshirts
Going to the movies while it’s raining outside
Getting invested in a new book and forgetting about everything else around me while reading it
Being around a camp fire
Opening gifts
Giving a good gift
Having a breakthrough while horseback riding
Writing freely without writer’s block getting in the way
Talking with my friends on the phone for hours, and though I rarely see them in person anymore, still having our friendship be stronger than ever
Loving life for the way it is and currently not wanting to change anything about it
You build me up, take me, and use me then leave me to fall apart. But, the saddest part is that I let you do it time and time again.
Deep down, I think you know that I love you. I think you deny it though, thinking that I don’t love you makes it easier for you.
Easier to text me and tell me you want to spend time with me, then completely shut me out once you’re satisfied.
Sometimes you don’t even go, though. You text me again to bail out and it hurts more than being played, because, at least when you play me, I get to spend time with you. I get to be close to you and I get to feel like you might actually care about me.
You’re not the only guy that does this. I reach out to others to try and forget you. They play me too, but it’s different than what you do. They tell me I’m beautiful, pretend to actually care, send me hearts over text, tell me they love me, then they shut me out.
You just shut me out after you use me, you don’t pretend to genuinely like me. That should make it easier, but it makes its harder.
I see you around school five days a week. Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible to you, sometimes you talk to me and we act as close friends, than somedays I feel like you purposely avoid me. I’m probably overthinking this though, I doubt I matter enough to you for you to even ignore me.
I know this is bad, but its gotten to the point that I’ve been hurt so much that I talk to multiple people at once, so that when one guy bails, there is still another one that I think cares about me.
Every time another guy plays me, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I cry… I cry for hours. Every time I think someone might genuinely like me, but then they tear me apart and cast me out, just like you do.
Every time another guy plays me, it hurts. It hurts a lot, but at least I’m not thinking about you. Thinking about you hurts even more. I know I’ll get over the other guy in a couple weeks or months depending on how much I cared, but I know no matter how many days, weeks months, years, I’ll never get over you.
I’m not an object. I’m not disposable. You cant just throw me away when you’re done. I’m not a piece of paper you can crumple up and throw away when you’re finished.
I hate what you do to me. I hate even more that I let you. And I hate the most that I’m standing here waiting, hoping, yearning for you to text me again.
I like space and planets and the stars. It amazes me and it’s its nice to know that there are some things that no one understands. I think it’s humbling in a way.
I get caught up in my own life; my problems seem so big and overwhelming. When I’m trapped focusing on my life, I forget that I am one person out of eight billion. I forget how small I really am.
It bothers me so much seeing people who think they are better than everyone: better than other people, better than animals, better than everything. People destroy nature, kill animals, and hurt others all because they think they can. They think that they’re above everything.
I wish I could tell them. I wish they could just understand that they are just one letter in a thousand page essay, one raindrop in a ten hour storm, one frame in a five hour documentary, one out of 8 billion tiny insignificant people.
The stars are a good reminder. As big as you think you are, as big as you think your problems are, there is always something bigger.
you told me about your grandma and it made me sad for you and her.
wow my heart is beating quickly… get up!! quick!!
i put new posters up in my room and they’re supposed to be empowering, but now my room looks like a stranger’s room and that’s just not right.
the shirt with the strawberry on it makes my arms look weird.
photo credit: pinterest.com
what you think sounds like art, i think it sounds like garage punk which is art, but the type i wanted to think you liked.
champagne supernova?? what does that even mean Oasis? what does it mean?! is it a collection of two different words or is it a phrase or a something only someone at NASA would understand or none of those?? what does it mean good? god, what does it mean?
i have a lot to do that i put off until 9 pm, but if i do it all i won’t get enough sleep which means tomorrow at around 9 pm i will start feeling anxious, which just won’t do tomorrow.
“how many special people change? how many lives were lived estranged?”
i shouldn’t have done that and i knew i shouldn’t do it before i did it, but then, i did it and it wasn’t worth it, i shouldn’t have done it.
it’s 10:45 pm, so it’s inevitable that tomorrow no matter what, at around 9 pm, i will start feeling anxious; i’m pretty much screwed.
it’s ok that you’re not around very much anymore, but i miss you and that makes it feel like it’s not okay. but i would never want to make you feel bad, therefore, it’s all okay.
i slept for 30 minutes today in the middle of the day, which was weird because i don’t sleep during the day but i wished i could have slept for longer at the time, but i couldn’t because i had to practice speaking spanish that doesn’t even help because i forget how to say grass every single time no matter how many times i write it down.
at this point, i’ll just stay up all night because it’s inevitable that tomorrow, no matter what, at around 9 pm i will start feeling anxious.
I’ve gotten myself in the habit of writing down my feelings.
Photo Credit: Pinterest.com
I’m not sure that habit is the proper term, though. I’ve found it’s actually quite therapeutic at times to be able to physically sort out my emotions into something that is easier for me to understand.
When I feel angry or sad or happy, my first reaction is to analyze and explain it and then eventually sort it out into something that is comprehensible or maybe even beautiful to some people, sometimes I try to feel things simply in the way they are.
There are times when I can write for an hour, without stopping, and the result will be something I’m proud of. But when I find myself struggling to choose the right words, I know it’s time to put down my pen and just feel it for a while.
I’m constantly analyzing experiences, people, feelings. I guess maybe it’s because I don’t like to be confused, so when I don’t understand how I feel or why I’m feeling it, I won’t stop thinking it over and over until I reach a resolution.
I like to understand how I’m feeling. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
But just like with my favorite books and songs, most of the time I just appreciate them for what they mean to me, even if I can’t fully explain why. And I think there’s something special about that too.
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