Bottom of the Ninth

I'm addicted. To the way you move, the way you speak, the way you make me laugh. Nobody told me you were dangerous. I should have known. You're poison injected into my veins. I fell into the trap you set for me and there's no way out. Not even she can save me. I find my ground only for you to take it out from under me. It's a cruel game you're playing.

And there's no way I can win.

Hero

When I was in 7th grade we had to write a paper about what a hero is. My paper apparently was well received by my English teacher. He asked me if he could read it to his classes. In particular on parent shadow day. It made people cry and was then published in the newspaper. I never understood the hype. How can something I wrote in less than 20 minutes without much effort be something of impact? I still don't know.

The point of the paper was to highlight humanity's potential. To show that our potential is limitless. Heroism isn't meant for a select few but an attainable goal for everyone. In fact it went further to say that living was heroic in itself. That kind of heroism I struggle with. Because what does living even mean? A heart beat and breathing doesnt seem to cut it. We, myself included, were meant for more.

There's something else though. A type of heroics that I want to be. For everyone. But especially for you. I want to make that difference. I want to make you smile when all you feel like doing is crying. I want to shelter you from the storm. I want to be the one that saves you. But maybe I can't. Maybe you'll never let me. And that just sucks.

Maybe I need to try to save myself..

"My past won't stop haunting me. In this prison there's a fight between who I am and who I used to be"

I defend you more than I should have to. Not because you aren't worth it, but because there is way too much misunderstanding. You're not who they see. You're not how you make me feel. And even if I myself find certain selfish tendencies apparent, I understand. I understand too much. So there is never distaste or unpleasant feelings toward you. Nor will there ever be. But sometimes I wonder if they're right. Or if I'm not as crazy as I think I am.

But in the end, does it matter? Because this isn't about you. It isn't about anyone. It's about my misshapen self image. It's about those who hurt me before. Hurt wouldn't even be the word. They destroyed me. Filled me with the worst kind of fear. And because of it I'll never feel good enough. There's a past that I'm constantly running from. But you can only run for so long. Everything catches up at some point. I have to face it. I have to reopen every wound and deal with it. Try to find a way to make myself stop blaming myself for everything.

Nearly everyone in my life makes it worse. They feed my insecurities. My sister just says I'm too sensitive. And I probably am. I can spin the smallest thing and make it seem like you said something hurtful. The problem is I don't do it on purpose. And the pain I feel over it isn't faked. I can't stop it, and when all I need is reassurance everyone gives me frustrated responses. I don't blame them either. I'm hard to deal with. But nothing gets accomplished other than me apologizing and stuffing in my emotions for another day.

Maybe if I ran away to a place where no one knew me I could survive. Redefine everything. Make up a new past. I would just prefer to not care about what you, and you, and you think. Keep anticipating the moment when enough is enough and you walk away. I don't want to hurt anymore.

Lost in the Pattern

Moving out was a very good decision. For most individuals however, moving out tends to overwhelm you with new responsibilities. I'm not in the least overwhelmed by responsibility. My responsibilities haven't changed. They simply cost more. Living in this apartment has allowed me to breathe. It has given me my necessary space and a sense of ownership that was seriously lacking in my life. But moving out has made me realize something as well. It has brought forth certain demons that for years I battled against. Loneliness consumes me. Nearly constantly.

I have this fear of being alone. Of being abandoned and having no one to turn to. I have this fear of crying so loud yet no one hearing me. I have this fear of being in pain, of being sick and dying and having no one there to hold my hand. Moments of solitude are inevitable. Often they're even necessary for our well being. But my senses are heightened and I feel more than I usually do. And maybe it's in my head but I feel like something is coming. A moment when everything changes. And I'll have to fight it alone and I won't survive.

Let's go back to 7th grade. A poem I wrote, keeps going through my mind. How I hate my memory. But what I hate more is how the emotions, after 8 years, are still the same.


Painted to the wall;
Lost in the pattern of the bricks.
Tears streaming down my heart;
My face an impassive mess

Dark pools of brown;
Looking on at a world which we all not know;
Failing to find any happiness

Silently screaming;
At lost for verbal words;
Filled with a pain too deep

Fitful nights, unwanted thoughts;
Haunting, terrifying, powerful;
Not being able to sleep

The darkness of day,
Seeping into my soul;
Overshadowing its sorrow and its gloom

A weapon of choice;
A dark piercing mind;
Left to wander this world alone

Projection

It's almost unrecognizable. The familiarity combined with forsakenness. I gasp for air but it simply doesn't come. Yet when I can't hold out any longer and I'm at my last breath something occurs. A tiny burst of oxygen fills my lungs and for a moment all I can think about is how sweet it is to inhale and exhale. To feel the beat of my heart steady. How good it feels to be alive. But it isn't enough air. The tightness of my chest comes roaring back, and I'm once again down on my knees.

I went with my best friend today to see her horse. I'm absolutely terrified of horses. My admiration is at its finest from a distance. Their beauty is apparent but being too close makes me uneasy. Watching her ride, however, was breathtaking. The way the horse moved with the most graceful power was daunting. But there was more beauty in her rider. The poise, the grace, the confidence, the strength, the thoughtfulness, the gentleness, the love, the stunning beauty. She's the epitome of perfection. But her perfection isn't defined by flawlessness. It isn't constructed through lack of error and mistakes. Her perfection lies in her ability to smile through darkness. To love me despite all my difficulties. To on a daily basis show me that not only is my life worth living but that I can trust not to live it alone.

As I watched both of them move my mind went a thousand places. My heart was filled with so many things. There was this overwhelming ache to run. To find consolation in a moment of freedom and no restraint. The uncomfortableness of all the things buried so deeply inside me made me anxious. I wanted some sort of escape.

Erin took Gypsy, her horse, on a walk and I tagged along. I kept my eye on the horse for two reasons. Yes, one of them was my fear, but another was something entirely different. I kept watching how she moved. The deliberate feminine like steps seemed almost surreal. Her body seemed to big for the way her legs extended but instead of looking awkward it displayed a graceful stride that was unparalleled to anything I've seen. Music played softly in my head as I watched each step. A quiet symphony to the dance she was performing. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, or the way my mind paints images and transforms them into words but I began writing a poem in my head. The lines are unimportant. It's the meaning, always the meaning that is worth discussion. However poetry is often left to interpretation. What I feel will not necessarily matter or make a difference to what you feel. Some things are best left unsaid.

I'm very weak. In countless ways.

Graduation

Yesterday morning I walked out of my last classroom that if I wanted, I ever have to walk out of. The final I took I had completely stressed out the night before and was the first and only test I have ever actually studied for. There shouldn't be any possibility that I didn't receive an A and that feeling comforted me as I walked away from a campus that I will dearly miss. As I stood waiting for the light rail I wasn't exactly sure how to feel. So much of me wanted to celebrate. To go out and be proud of my accomplishment but it's a little difficult to do that on your own and have it be the same. I brushed the desire off and just said to myself that I'll celebrate Friday afternoon with my family and friends. Maybe, when the moment was more real.

I graduated high school in three years. My plans and aspirations were to join the United States Air Force and serve this country that I love. My health got in the way however and so I had to change my dreams. I began taking courses at Chandler Gilbert in the Spring of 2008. Because of the wrench thrown into my life I had taken a semester off but my goal was to finish on time. By May 2011 I would be a college graduate. I was at Chandler Gilbert for a year and half and then was ready to transfer to ASU. The last semester at CGCC however I realized that my major wasn't something I wanted. It was my parents' dream for me to become a doctor. For me to make enough money to provide for everyone. As much as I wanted and even felt obligated to be that person I knew I couldn't. My life was meant for something else. So I called ASU and said I wanted to major in Psychology, not Pre-Med. It was a tough call but it brought some relief. However it was momentary because I then was hit by two things; how was I going to tell my parents? And now I'm even more behind in school because I had just taken a bunch of useless classes. Still, secret in my pocket, I arrived on the Arizona State University campus in the Fall of 2009 and was ready to get to work. I crammed it in. Took Winter and Summer classes and up until my last semester I worked a full time job too. I needed to graduate in May. I wasn't going to accept anything else.

I'm the first person in my family to graduate. I accomplished something my parents never could. Life, for me, is extremely difficult. I have to deal with a past that haunts me every single day. I battle my thoughts and temptations. My family problems are too much to handle and I am so often tired of being everyone's parent. My health problems wear me down and deteriorate my already weakened mental state. I have more trouble cognitively than I let on and I keep waiting for the day that something occurs that provides the knockout punch. My present difficulties come from every angle and I don't even discuss half of it. This past year alone has brought me to my knees gasping for air and struggling so much to get back up. But despite all of that, I did it. It's May and the year 2011 and I'll walk across that stage Friday morning.

That has to count for something.

S.O.S

Will anyone be my friend tonight? Because being alone these days is a dangerous thing. And I need help.

Please.

In Plain Sight

My life is radically out of control. In the past handful of months I've done three things that I promised myself I never would. Two of which I completely and utterly regret and one that at the moment I still don't know how to feel about. I've lost a friend, and began compartmentalizing what I can and can't say to probably, most definitely, the closest person to me. I've begun building different walls around me. I've entered, even just this weekend, to a particular place within my head that I can't be retrieved from. I'm retreating, and I'm retreating fast. Doing my part to disappear without really disappearing.

Yesterday after work I went to confession. As I sat waiting for my turn I was filled with anxiety. My heart was racing and I wanted to just jump out of my skin. I was so uncomfortable and my thoughts kept spiraling. I started to cry and I yelled at myself to stop. My heart felt like it was exploding. I went up to the priest and sat down in a chair in front of him and lost it. I have never cried during confession before. I have never felt so guilty before. So filled with sin. It took me a while to even begin confessing. The priest was nice to me, and gently told me to take my time. I managed to blubber a few things, tell him how I didn't know what was wrong with me, then struggled to reveal the things that bothered me the most. The mortal sins that were weighing on my soul. As always my penance seemed too easy. His advice was more promising to me, but I felt still so...dirty? My faith tells me the truth. God forgives me. But I haven't forgiven myself. I walked out of the church crying harder than before. I realized that during the entire confession, even though we were face to face, I didn't take one look at the priest's face. My shame is overwhelming.

I had to go shopping afterward. I hate shopping. The worst part though was my emotional state. I couldn't force myself to look happy. I couldn't manage to fake anything. I just told my mom that I was sick. Which wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either. I was just so miserable. And I wore every emotion on my sleeve. I had lost the strength to maintain my composure. The tears in my eyes wouldn't stay in. I'm so very weak. So very visibly weak.

The night prior I somehow fell down in my kitchen. I hit my head on the counter on the way down. I woke up at some point later and there was blood everywhere. The cut on my head isn't very big, but it bled very well. I think back and think how I'm lucky that I even woke up in the first place. Erin is in New Mexico so she couldn't be my hero that night. Please bear with me, but the amount of blood was startling. The loss of memory was alarming and the fact that I was alone was more painful than the pounding of my head. In an instant I was upset over the fact that I woke up. But then what, Erin would come home Sunday and find me there? I would never wish that on her. She loves me too much. But I can't help but long for that sort of end. Knowing that my promise keeps me from doing it myself and therefore wishing somehow death finds another door to enter. Because look at me! My despair is completely visible. My heartache is in plain sight. Am I not already dead? Because the promise God made me that He wouldn't give me too much to handle has to be broken. I can't handle any of this. Not anymore.

But that blood and this pain? I guess it does mean that I'm still breathing.

Let's Go Back. And Stay Awhile.

Years ago I was in Utah visiting Jamie. We were in her room just talking. Inevitability, something was wrong with me. How I got there I have no idea but I vividly remember my head on her lap. She was stroking my hair and it was one of the most comforting things that I had ever felt. It was the first time anyone had ever done that to me. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was soothing and I felt safe. I knew that she was my friend and she loved me so much. Jamie began talking, as she does. But there is something so special to when Jamie talks. Part of it is her voice. It has this calming effect that I can't describe. But a good portion of it has to do with what she says. She has this uncanny way of knowing what is appropriate. When it's best to deal with the situation at hand or distract me. She doesn't push me, yet she leaves the door wide open. She's patient with me, perhaps sometimes to a fault. This particular day in her room Jamie decided to tell me a story. She held my head gently and brushed her fingers through my hair and told me about her childhood at her cabin. She described everything with detail. Her voice inflected emotion and the love she has for the wonderful people that raised her, and the sisters she grew up with. I closed my eyes and pictured the scene she was painting for me. I nearly felt the love and happiness that had been missing from my life, from my childhood. I never wanted it to end. I wanted to just be safe forever. Feel loved. Feel cared about. But eventually I had to get up. Eventually I had to come back home. Eventually I had to continue to grow up.

Last night I was in bed and my insides were shaking. My heart was beating too fast. My head hurt more than I could really bear and all I wanted to do was cry. I closed my eyes and that moment with Jamie entered my mind. I just wish I could go back.

Often we reminiscence about our childhood and how easy things were. We think about years spent playing, laughing, and simply being oblivious to real pain. We say if only we could back to here, or back to there. Most of the time it's chunk of years. Go back to kindergarten, first grade, elementary school as a whole. But my childhood knew pain at a very young age. I can't say I just want to go back to being a kid. I only, throughout my 21 years, can give you moments. Days at best, but mostly just an hour or two. A tiny fragment of time when the world seemed better. When my heart didn't feel as though it was breaking within my chest. When my tears weren't unseen but lovingly wiped away. When a smile spread across my face and wasn't forced or completely fake. When I didn't feel alone, or like I was in some way a burden.

I just want a little bit of sunshine for my cloudy day.

Not Worth It.

I've never been good enough for anyone. I'm not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not skinny enough. Not fun enough. I just fall short on every little thing. I'm defective, through and through.

But when will someone see past that? Love me despite? Make me feel like I'm worth something? When am I going to be rescued? Saved from myself? When will it be that I'm not taken advantage of? Not used? Not abused? When will I know love?

Someone, please. Grab my hand and take me. Take me far away from everything. Take me and keep me safe. I don't want to go at it alone.

I'm lost. Back into a dark corner and I can't see my way out. Every instinct in my body screams at me to give up.

I have no one to talk to. Not about this. I'm left to deal with my own thoughts. To fight on my own. It's a burden I can't share.

God, where are you?

Incoherent Thoughts

Why is it that I constantly find myself alone? Left to be carried away with my thoughts and temptations? I'm not sure how to feel about everything right now. Whether to feel this emotion, or feel that. I want to do something to occupy my mind, to distract myself in some way. But what is there to do? Watch a movie by myself? An episode of Gilmore Girls to laugh at? Or should I just try to sleep?

As of late I come on here and I have so many words to say. An array of topics to discuss. But everything just doesn't come out right, or just doesn't come out at all.

Temptation is staring me in the face. I'm supposed to, however, be stronger than it.

Someone should measure my strength.

I have a support system. A good one. Yet it is still too much to ask for someone to talk to and someone to hold me while I cry.

I just have to continue to keep everything in.

Maybe one day.

I'm searching for someone, but it's far too dark. I'll never find you.

One day, I'll write something beautiful. One day I'll make a certain level of sense.

God help me.

Weakness.

I'm standing by my register at work struggling to breathe. My head is pounding in my ears. I'm no longer just mentally, but I'm physically weak. Last night I felt like a baby, needing to be close to Erin as I tried to sleep. I was so cold and my body ached. My head felt like it was being crushed. But despite every physical ailment my heart still hurt so much more. My eyes were closed but I was only falling in and out of sleep. Part of me was afraid even to open my eyes and find Erin not there. Even though I could hear her typing, hear her adjusting her sitting positions on my bed. I was scared to be alone.

I'm at work fighting to put that smile on my face. Talk without my voice quivering. But I'm struggling so very much. My hands are trembling and my legs seem like they can't hold me up anymore. Everything hurts.

I miss my sister.

I don't know how I'm supposed to keep going and for how long.

My best friend knows me better than anyone else. She really does. She's highly perceptive and I can't hide anything from her. Even if I wanted to, she would see through everything. I love her to death and even though we haven't been friends for years and years it's almost as though she's always been a part of me. Tonight certain things happened that angered me and she encouraged me to blog or to journal. Keep it private though. Just get the thoughts out and then sleep. Honestly, I listen to Erin all the time. But I need to publicize this.

My weakness is apparent. The armor I've had has been stripped away and I'm wounded on the field. There is a level of vulnerability that I have never experienced before. Trust is everything to me yet I trust so few. Complete trust only belongs to three people; Chris, Erin and Jamie. There's a couple more on the outer ring but that's it. Everyone is on the outside and it is very difficult to be let back in. But then there was you. A person that I quickly learned to trust and then was betrayed. I understood though, found forgiveness and moved on. Then you abandoned me. Shattered everything and tore open my scabbed over wounds. Still, I allowed you to stay. I cared so much I did everything in my power to look past it. Give you the benefit of the doubt. Even after my continued effort to show you how much you hurt me. After you continually disregarded how I felt because it didn't align with your perception of your actions. I pushed myself past it because I wanted to be a good friend. I wanted to make you happy. You placed me in a difficult position. One I didn't know how to run away from for a couple of reasons. You used my vulnerability against me and even when I begged you to stop you would only make empty promises and then push even harder. You knew so little about how I worked yet so much at the same time. You knew a specific part of me and you played it. You wore me thin until I had nothing left to help me stand. It was as though you were waiting. Just always waiting.

My recollection of events is clear. But then part of me is filled with doubt too. Because I realize how damaged my state of mind currently is. But how could I just blank out? How could I not know? But maybe I do know, and still part of me is trying to give you a chance. Trying to put the blame on me. I don't even know.

Perhaps my anger isn't the lies you told. If even, they were that. My anger isn't the way you portrayed me even after everything, I honestly tried my best to never paint you as the bad person. I took responsibility first. No, my anger is that I told you what I needed from you and you never listened. I told you where I stood but it didn't matter. I asked and you never even truly gave a valiant effort to give. My anger lies in the fact that I trusted you to be my friend but instead you took complete advantage of me. I tried to be there for you but all you ever wanted was one thing.

I am sorry for what I've done and what responsibility I hold in all of this. But I didn't deserve this. I don't deserve to feel the way I do.