Hello Little Miss

This all started because I was able to revive your mp3 player, which at this point is 18 years old now. Your mama, who you're still not very close with- but you have found some peace with (after years of tears and therapy and hard work) is fortunately just as nostalgic as you and kept it through 3 countries and countless moves and hidden boxes and conjured it for this moment of peace and self-reflection. You should thank her.

I love you, 

so, so much.

I know now how much you were hurting and how difficult it was and how close it came to being lost completely. It gets harder, actually! Then it gets easier, then harder again, and easier, still- then you realize that's just how life is, and you get a little bit better at dealing with it. And you find your people, and you find your love, and you find that the little joys in life is what will keep you here, and that's okay. Because that's the gift that you have been given, and you have so, impressively cultivated. 

I am so proud of you.

That's all you needed to hear.

You are now 31 years old. You have three beautiful cats, money in your bank account & a very impressive credit score. You have a stable, at this point, fulfilling career and experience that has surpassed the anxiety & struggle that usually comes with it. You own a gorgeous home thats curated exactly to your whims and tastes with a lot of effort. You have traveled all over the world, making connections to many loves & friends of your life, and you will continue to travel, still. Most importantly, you met a loving, caring, super attractive, talented & hilarious partner who you are beyond compatible with (through the internet, mind you.) He loves to eat your pussy. He loves to make you cum. You struggle and grow together. You learn to heal with each other. You learn to heal yourself.

Thank you for being so brave and doing it all for us. You deserve to know that it really will be okay. And even if it's not, you learn to make it okay. Life is really short actually and the meaning of it is something you gather and make up for yourself. Death is permanent and you learn this from your career and you make it a point to make that fact liberating instead of paralyzing. It's always there, so might as well make something out of it. 

Keep listening to music, it will save you and keep you.

Keep wanting to make people happy & wanting to help, it will give you meaning when you can't find one. 

Stay kind but learn to save some kindness for yourself.

It is okay to not be okay, it is okay to say no, it is okay to tell someone to fuck off.

Stay horny, stay safe.

Not everyone is good, not everyone is compassionate- this hurts you to realize but it will help in the end.

That's the best I got for you. 

Learning a bit more about these concepts earlier might help: neurodivergence, ADHD, colonialism, community,

Future me, I look forward to meeting you. 

pag suwat

Once upon a time I played with the idea of being a journalist.
I did dream of writing, one day.
Imagined myself in places filled with fear and violence. Giving light and life to those that needed it and those that didn't know.
I suppose this fascination of sadness and misery manifesting itself in true, easy, form has always been an excuse to hide my non-formulary demons.
Or perhaps a way for them to grasp onto something to be created and seen when it otherwise lives inside of me without a say.
This is a secret I keep with me, even from myself.
That I would like to try my hand at being a writer.
A writer.
In a sense, I've always been one.
Since I was 7 years old I've left myself notes, pages and pages of inner monologue written out for me to look over again one day. Or maybe not. Just to get out.
I've always had trouble expressing myself in voice, but when pen comes to paper.
Easy.
Done.
There's always a way.
But I never thought of the fact that maybe, perhaps it might help. As books once did with me.
I grew up in stories. I grew up loving characters I never laid eyes on other than inside of the eyes in my head.
Imagined scenarios where I would be taken and held.
Now I have been taken and held but I put myself outside of a book I would have loved to live inside of.


How to start.

You are a professional, with a real job, with a real home, and fur-babies, and cars, and student debt and credit card debt, and marriage anniversary plans.

Hello. It is 2017. Life is happier. Life is better. You are the same.

Life has been a wild ride. With all of the ups and downs, I'm still thankful for..........


^^^^
I don't think that's anything I would really start with. But Franklin wanted to give me a prompt because I was supposed to start writing 40 minutes ago. Se we have to start somewhere.. He is being the support I never thought I would get, and more.

It has been back. It has never gone away, but naturally, predictably, unescaping-ly, here you are again. Throughout my 5 week break, I was fooling myself. I always knew, throughout the year, never left alone, always busy, that when I was truly by myself, it was my companion- I was never really alone.

Easily overwhelmed everyday. So many things going that I am just tired of I'm just tired of I'm just tired of. On top of schoolwork which has me buried 10 feet deep already, there is also the reality of life. I don't know why I even bother writing it down, I've written down my responsibilities on a piece of paper hoping letting them out will reveal the secret to solving them or at least highlight my ridiculous and over-dramatic reactions. If I write them down here, does it make them that more real? And even so, what difference does it make? The feelings are the same, the tar stays in my chest, I can't suction and scoop it out because I am drawn to this world.

Depression is.
Depression is.
Depression has. no need for definition. or explanation. or analysis.

The more I have tried to figure it out, the more it digs in deeper. The more I have learned and taken the initiative to grow with experiences and interactions every single day, the more I am sucked into an alternative universe. There are so many fucking growing pains, I don't know how much more I can go on and on about how I truly don't think I can handle it anymore. I have been there before, I have gotten out of it before, I may very well most likely will get out of it again but......................................... how................................... who.. what when where........ how
What is the point.. truly of striving to grow everyday but finding resistance from my damn fucking self at every turn. I'm so angry. I'm so fucking angry that it's me and it's here. I want to help everyone, so much, but I can't get past my own fucking self.

I have stopped writing. I had hoped this would be better and the words that revealed themselves would be more introspective and inspiring and uplifting but unfortunately that doesn't seem to be happening today. Perhaps another hour.

Yearly update

We have been in our new home (the corner nestled next to the hill) for 10 months now.

It is filled with objects we have put hours into, wondering if it will fit in there just right. We've had sex in every corner of it, even the closet, even the washing machine, even the balcony. Things have gone wrong, like using the oven when it isn't clean and causing the whole house to be filled with smoke, but things have more importantly, gone right. Like being content with sleeping on the floor for 3 months because we were saving up for a bed because it's okay, we're together. The dining table we got for $90 from someone on craigslist this weekend might not be the best addition to our home, but that's okay, we resell it and keep going anyway.

Like everything else, building our home together is a process. It is putting things in and taking them away. It is watering the succulents and being baffled when they keep dying anyway. It is the stubbornness to keep watering them, almost drowning them, thinking that it will restore the greenness they once had, but being wrong. Maybe the solution is something else. Maybe you try something new.

Franklin and I will celebrate our 2 years together in a month. I feel like I have known him all of my life, and yet, we are still so clueless about each other. Our relationship is at the point where we think we know everything about each other but forgetting that people change. I have changed, I have grown so much, and he has too. We still have a long way to learn to grow together, and as hard as it may be, as frustrating as it can get, it's possible, I know it's worth it.

A year ago I did not know how to muster enough courage to get out of bed until 4 p.m. The leaves outside of our room in that sad, shared, apartment created a shadow that I knew was beautiful and let in enough light I was aware made me warm, but I couldn't process. Now the light is everywhere, I can let the worlds beauty seep in to me, I can feel warm. I have grown, I have yet to grow.

Franklin has become something impossible, someone even better than the person I met. It is such a gift to be able to see someone you consider the most amazing person in the world, a being you are baffled by, keep evolving. He trips, like everyone else, but he gets up, and that is where I get the inspiration to keep going from. I can be better, I can be better for him, the representation of everything I live for.

In 13 days, I turn 22. Time doesn't make any sense to me. I have made wonderful friends in the span of 4 weeks, I am in fucking nursing school. In less than 2 years from now, I will (hopefully) be a Registered Nurse, something I never thought I wanted but realized was the one of the only things I could be. I will directly be responsible for the care of those that need it the most. But in 13 days, I turn 22, and right now, I am sitting in a Starbucks (I don't even like Starbucks), writing, because I have not taken the time to just analyze my life in... maybe a year, and taking it all in. I want to spend days doing this, getting back to where I was, because I feel like parts of me have gone missing or have been forgotten. They are still there, they will come back, but I also cannot stagnate, I have goals to keep chasing. I can keep growing, I can keep learning, I will keep loving, I will stay grateful.

A 20 second unexpected conversation with my father has left me feeling like I've been pushed 5 months back into the past regarding my mental state. How is this possible?

Truly (living) together

Suddenly, out of no where and no time at all, I wake up every morning to the scent of his skin and the aching of my neck from our shitty pillows. I notice how we hold hands even in our sleep and with space in between us because last night it just wasn't possible to find the correct position where we could dream our owns dreams, being as close as possible to each other and still be able to breathe. I would solely breathe you in if my lungs would allow me.

Life is beautiful.
I know I'm not in the most prime place right now, compared to how I was a few months ago, but it would be greedy to receive happiness like that all the time.
Bliss isn't permanent but the radiance it gives from experiencing it is, and it's just as wonderful.
I cannot believe I got to be that happy. That I get to be this happy and for the rest of my life.

Written 3/8

Everything has evened out. The pulse is normal. 

It's been a few weeks like this but the happiness has stuck on. 

Wouldn't it be wonderful if this was the new permanent? 

I haven't been overwhelmed with disbelief because this is all so real now. 

I'm tired. 

I love him. 

Beach Day

The family filled that massive unlived-in beach house with animation. I imagined that before we trespassed with loud voices and being, the coastal wind was the only thing that passed through until the next group of people came to inhabit and breathe into it for a few days. It was remarkable how many greens and oranges we were surrounded by. No one wanted this room because of the toilet smell but I didn’t mind because I cleaned it and it aired out within the day and it only meant that we could have it.

The first night we slept here (and fucked) was a very hot one. We were cautious because of course there was the concern that people might hear. I was careful not to ride you too hard because I thought that maybe the sticky, sweaty noises our bodies made thanks to the heavy humidity would be more than audible. Although, looking back, I’m sure that being the only people staying on the first floor and your stepfathers booming snores drowned out most, if not all of the noises we (mostly I) made. 

The second night we got our hands on a very large and very noisy fan. It gave us courage enough to start groping and messing around with people still gossiping right outside the room. I remember not worrying about keeping the laughs you gave me quiet but any other noise caused by you that I made with my eyes closed and my mind somewhere static and satiating, I wanted only you to hear.