Connect the Dots

if I knew an easier way to exist, I would choose that. people say ‘this is making you stronger’  like I wanted another reason to stay awake at night. like I wanted another ruler to measure my survival by. someone who loves me asks what’s wrong and if I were braver, I would say this: I am scared you will leave if I tell you how much hurt I’m carrying- there are softer people to love. I am afraid of the day you figure this out.

Some of my favorite phrases from res life

I. the year of cheap beer the year of numb-this-please the year of breaking my mother’s heart the year where everything around us shimmered like a mirage and every time we got too close to each other, you disappeared the year where I’d fall asleep to you and wake up to myself the year of not-this-again the year of always-this-again the year where everything was too bright, colored like a carnival all gaudy oranges and loud pinks and it wasn’t even half as fun as it seemed II. the year of independence the year of everyone I love is halfway across the world the year of falling asleep crying on Skype the year of waking up to an empty house the year of everything echoes in here without you, Mom the year of I don’t know who I am when you aren’t here but then- the year of interdependence the year of love the year of finally, my god, finally the year of this is how it’s supposed to feel the year of this, this, this this is how it’s supposed to be and the house stopped echoing after I met you III. the year of heartbreak the year of I don’t know why you stopped loving me the year of but you promised the year of I don’t understand, I don’t fucking understand the year of self-destruction dressed up to look like self-reliance the year of reopening old wounds the year of ripping my skin apart every time it grew back together the year of this is what my sisters warned me about the year of you promised you wouldn’t be like him but you were worse because a wolf in sheep’s clothing is so much scarier than just a wolf IV. the year of explosions the year of Dad, I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’ll make it to my next birthday the year of Mom, I’m sorry, none of this is your fault the year of trying to rip my brain out of my skull the year of there’s no possible way you can expect me to live through this pain the year of realizing that there is something worse than pain and that’s not feeling anything at all but then- the year of reincarnation the year of realizing the brilliance of the phoenix the year of rise from the fucking ashes, it’s not enough to let them settle in your lungs the year of love yourself the year of stop loving him the year of look what you can do with all your dreams the year of look what you’ve done with all your dreams the year of Mom, I promise, I will never leave the year of Dad, you don’t have to be scared anymore the year of pour some champagne cheers, baby cheers to what is next

Climbing And The Perception of Pain

Yet if I was asked to do this again - in fact, if I was ever asked to repeat any of my experiences - I’d have to say, fuck it, bring them on. I’ve no regrets. This is what it means to be alive.