Imagine:

You have been running since before you can remember. What you know best is constant motion. You have been filled with fear and are overflowing with longing. Standing still, or even strolling, has never been an option. To you, they are foreign concepts. 

What happens when you stop? When your fear and your longing have suddenly dissipated and your legs give out from pure exhaustion?

Your body goes into a state of shock as it struggles to readjust. Your mind must also be calmed.

For the past few months I have been struggling with this transition. I became volatile, erratic, and reckless as I faced off with the demons I had been running from for so long.

My demons: These faceless creatures.  Horrifying but not nearly as harmful as I'd feared.

They showed me things I hadn't been ready to see until that very moment and they left me to reconcile on my own.

All these years, today marks seventeen, I have been running from the place I called my home, from the people I had trusted to protect me, to find something more whole.

Seventeen years ago, I watched my mother take her last gasps of breath as her heart failed her and everyone went silent. We were all expected to cope on our own, and I didn't fare well at all. 

Suicide was something I contemplated often as I sliced lines into my skin-my arms, legs, wrists.  For years my family watched as I unraveled before them, never once daring to intervene. 

I could have died without them ever attempting to save me.

It's a truth that cuts too deep.

But instead, instead I found the arms of all the wrong men and constantly mistook that for home. Their attention was an addiction and I always fought for more. But maybe they were all just as broken as I was.

One year ago, I was left laying in the middle of the street like trash, by the man I would have sacrificed everything for. He sent his mother to collect me. My body was bloody and my spirit was broken. Yet, I still begged for the man responsible.

It made no sense. Because it was so obvious to outsiders looking in that we were never meant to be. 

How could I love a man who had to lie about his age and occupation? How could I love a man who sold a substance that destroys?

Maybe I didn't. Maybe I just fell for the sparkle. For the allure. For the future and the family that he promised.

Every aspect of my life has changed since that moment.

He was poison.

Still, as injured as I was, I kept running. I was running suddenly aware of my broken state, my freshly battered heart.

I was unyielding. I was fire.

I finally found home.

Now, now I can finally cope with the seventeen years worth of trauma. I can rest. I can recover. I can feel safe. I do feel safe. I am learning how to truly forgive. I am learning how to live.

I have not been well

I have not been in my right mind.

I've been nothing more than a reckless mess.

When I think about my past, which I've been doing a lot, I want to brush it all off. I keep thinking that what I've been through shouldn't affect me as much as it has, I shouldn't feel like I've been traumatized for life, and yet I have.

I keep blaming myself. Because I've always been so insecure & unsure. I've always been a follower. I always stopped fighting, eventually.

But I've always been so ready to die. I've never loved myself or cherished my life. I thought the world was better off without me. I had no sense of purpose, no real will to live. So why would I be anything but passive?

There have been so many moments over the last decade or so that I never fully processed. I pushed the memories to the darkest part of my mind, hoping they'd cease to exist. Out of sight, right? No such luck.

What the hell am I talking about?

I watched my mother die, watched my family fall apart and I've watched myself lose control.

I don't think my story has any merit because I've never been battered to a pulp. I've never gotten more than a couple small bruises. No bloody noses, no black eyes. But I would never accept this rationalizing from anyone else.

How many times have I been raped? I lost track. The nights I pleaded, the nights that I begged. My noes were never enough. They all began to blur together after awhile.

I've been slapped, pushed, choked. Held against my will. Threatened to be killed. One wrong move and I'd have had a bullet through my body. 

There are some stories I have never told. 

I can forgive all the attacks on my body.

It's the verbal abuse that still haunts me, the broken promises, the shattered trust.

But I'm such a glutton for punishment. 

I am nothing more than an open wound

There are some moments that still break me.

Seven years and I still can feel your fingers around my neck. The pressure. My heart still pounds. My breath runs short. I still feel like this could be the end.

Is that the moment love lost meaning?

I had thought sex was so sacred, reserved for lovers with, at the very least, unrealistic plans of building a life together.

But he fucked me. Who was he? A stranger. Me? Blackout drunk and looking for love. And he just left, maybe he laughed, when I begged him to stay and save me.

I always needed saving.

Back then, it was from a man--a boy-- who couldn't see (or didn't care) that he was breaking me. He mattered most to the both of us. Our relationship was founded on a web of lies and they were suddenly unraveling all at once before me, but he was still spinning his web and I kept walking straight into it.

Back then I still naively believed in forever.

When I confessed what I'd done, or perhaps more appropriately what was done to me, he choked me.

He choked me in the home I'd welcomed him into.

I cried as I asked for forgiveness and attempted suicide the first moment I was alone.

Less than a month later my closest male friend at the time took advantage of my trust & attempted to start the cycle all over again.

After that, I pushed everyone away. I isolated myself. And eventually I decided I was okay and I laughed.

There's nothing sacred about sex, people can't be trusted, and love is not enough.

I keep holding onto these gems who are better at breaking me than lifting me up, even if it's not their intention.

Nobody's going to save me & I can't save anyone.

This I need to remember.

In those moments all that mattered was that they wanted me.

Want. That was my addiction. Because to be wanted was such a rarity to me as a child, as an adolescent. The years I desperately needed it.

What I remember most about my adolescence are the screams, the tears, my blood streaked arms & the faint scars.

I also remember the comments. How my mother would be so proud, how I looked just like her.

​​When they looked at me, I know they saw her instead. For some, I will forever be her replacement and forever be their reminder that we were all left here on Earth without her. Constant push and pull. 

So to be wanted. It's addiction.

Never mind why I was wanted. That's probably why I'm so angry now, so hurt.

I was wanted. I was wanted to fill the fantasies of others. I was just another body, sometimes just an orifice. 

I've played so many roles: The wife, the disobedient daughter, the mistress. I was the exotic, the Asian, the non- (enter race here). I was the writer, the lyricist, the assistant. At the very worst I was the meal ticket, the carnival exhibit. I was no longer human.

But I've never quite played myself.

And maybe that's where all my anger stems from.

They all used my addiction to their advantage. They took my vulnerabilities, and worked their manipulations. Because they all knew that all I needed was to be wanted. 

I was an easy target.

Most of them were smart enough to have me convinced that I'd never find anyone better, never mind the bruises and marks they left behind on my body. Never mind that they took what I struggled to keep, that they ignored my pleas, that they did with me as they pleased.

I was wanted.  It doesn't matter that I was pushed, pulled, and played. That I was manipulated and raped. I was wanted. In those moments, that's all that mattered. 

It's only in retrospect that I can process the whole range of emotions. 

It's only now that I allow the rage to run through my veins.

I have a lot of rage.
 
I'm kind of a mess. There's this duality that I can't seem to shake. I feel myself running away but at the same time, I'm begging to stay.

I keep finding myself disappointed. I'm not surprised. It's like I do this to myself, I'm attracted to disappointing people, like moths to the light. Maybe I'm just scared. Scared to be fixed completely only to be broken all over again. it's easier to stay broken. It's easier to set myself up for failure. If I don't aim for better...

I'm not too good at completing my thoughts.

This is all to say that maybe it's time I start allowing myself to want more.

I'm not the smartest or most confident. But I can't handle all this bullshit I've allowed to happen anymore.  Everyone is so afraid of actually feeling things, myself included. 

I'm too addicted, fixated on extremes: I'm all in or I'm walking away. I'm not shy when it comes to asking for more, problem is, I've been asking all the wrong people.

I might not know what I want & I might not be able to control it all, but I don't intend on wasting anyone's time.

Yeah, I get it. Life is complicated. Some things I'm willing to deal with, others I'm ready to cut the cord, consider this my notice.

In the larger scope of things, I'm a lot less likely to go running to the arms of just any man because I finally have a place that feels like home. <3.
​ 

I gave up. I stopped living. I became complacent with the manner in which life unfolded for me. I let go of all the little pieces that complete me.

I chose bliss. I chose acceptance. I chose to both want & to ask for less. It was easy. It was subconscious. IT would have gone unnoticed.

But I made the mistake of questioning why life seemed to be running so smooth lately. And then I spun into a state of crisis.

I came to a sudden stop when I realized that soon enough I'd be at the point of no return. I knew from experience that if I continued on in that fashion I'd lose the kind of faith that takes years to reclaim.

I don't remember a time in my life that I wasn't convinced that I was going to amount to something spectacular. I've always carried this crazy notion that the world was going to know my name. I wanted to see my name in lights. I dreamed I'd be center stage, all eyes on me, taking breaths away.

I don't reference my affair with the stage too often, but that will always be my core. It is where I found a voice for the first time, even if it wasn't mine. It is my joy, my laughter, my hatred, my love, all meshed into one. It's where my true identity begins.

What I'm saying is this: I lost sight of this dream & when I did I also lost sight of myself, the characteristics that make me distinct - my vulnerability, courage & strength, my resilience. 

I tried to choose bliss by letting go of all the little pieces that haunt me, the moments that nearly broke me. They are heavy & burdensome & sometimes still affect me in ways I wish they wouldn't.

But all these little pieces that I thought would be the death of me have become essential components of my identity.

For me, it will always be about finding balance.

Confession time:

I don't want to fall in love right now. I want lies. I want beautiful and blatant, straight out laughable lies. I want to play pretend, I want a married man. I want something that will so obviously never be mine.

I had it all once, I lost it trying to be what I thought was a decent human being.

But the truth, the absolute truth is that I can't. I cannot subject myself to the feelings of another human being right now. I can't deal with the expectations. They kill me. They leave me emptier than when I began.

I've spent the past several years under the control of men that, truth be told, I never wanted to begin with.

I was so damn scared of being alone. And then I was so damn scared of other people's feelings & of what others thought of me. I gave in every single time. I stayed longer than I should have. I settled for less. I complicated what should have been simple situations.

My bliss was cozying up next to & walking arm & arm on the sand with a man who never expected that I'd be his. Intention is everything. He was there so I could be just a little bit reckless & I was there because he knew chances were, when the night was over, he'd have  his happy ending. & as intimate as we were, it didn't get any more complicated than that.

Right now I think I just need the time & the space to figure my own life out. I found myself back in that dark spot, I can't say that I've fully recovered. I considered abandoning writing forever. I'm not convinced my words will ever really matter.

I'm not saying if I happen to stumble upon prince charming I won't go chasing after him, but let's just be realistic. I set myself  up for failure for a reason.

I'm done.

I let all the words get to me.

I think something inside of me snapped yesterday. What was it that he said? That he wanted me to be stronger for myself, that I needed to show it. I nearly lost it, but I went to sleep instead.

This is what I do, I run instead of addressing the issue at hand. And now there are so many issues and now there are too many that need addressing.

So I'm done letting all the words, the negative comments, & criticisms bring me down. I'm done allowing myself to feel fundamentally flawed based on the words or actions of anyone other than myself. I will no longer stand for believing that I have to change in order to appease everyone around me. Forget that.

Because, here's the thing.

I actually like who I am.

Even though I've gotten myself into several messes & emotional ruin, I love that I am willing to take that chance. I love that I love, that I fall fast & I fall hard. 

I feel like I'm living & I think I might have finally found myself.

A couple of nights ago my soul came to life.

The last time I wrote I was in a dark place. I was contemplating my life, considering my death. I was looking for a  reason to stay & stay alive. I was willing myself to believe the idea that I could ever be worthy of all that I want & wish to achieve.

I can't claim that I've found my way back to the light, yet, but I'm a lot closer.

Let's go back to the other night.

The other night I found myself surrounded by strangers, but they felt so much more like my clan. They were artists, musicians mostly. They took my breath away. More importantly, they reminded me of my reason to stay alive: to create something beautiful to leave behind as my legacy.​

It's not that I forgot this, it's that I forgot how much someone can be affected by someone else's work.

The past month has been a blur. The last week has been a complete mess, but I found some clarity, learned some lessons, and finally allowed myself to be okay letting go.

Also, I have so many more stories to tell. <3​

I've been contemplating life a lot lately. Life and my inevitable death.

I've neglected a lot of things, people, dreams, obligations the past few weeks because I've been consumed with these contemplations.

But I haven't just been contemplating life & death, I've also been thinking about how best to translate these thoughts into equally powerful words. I've tried a couple times, but I've always faltered. This is all to say, I'm sorry for my absence, for allowing myself to be so weak willed.

What I know best are my lies. I've repeated them consistently for over half my life--so much so that they've become my truths, I don't know when this happened. But I've been falling apart at the seams for the entirety of my adult life, lately more rapidly than ever.

"You are not worthy."

This might have been my first lie, or the first one that mattered--the only one that's ever mattered maybe.

Because it's spawned so many other lies:

You will never be loved.
You have no options.
You have no other options.
You are not good enough.
You will never be good enough.

They are all the same lie, subtle differences that don't even matter.

Every once in awhile I'll tell myself a truth, but the lies are so ingrained into my psyche that I don't believe it, or if I do, it doesn't last for long.

Pair my lies with the fact that one of the only things I've ever wanted was to fall in love, to have a family to call my own and you get the mess that is my life: a life of settling and self sabotage. Pursuing men, boys?, who are no good, emotionally, physically, legally unavailable, abusive, not law abiding citizens, questionable vices, homophobes, low-key racists. All the while shying away from the "good" ones, because I am not now, nor have I ever been, worthy.

All this coming from the person who sees the best in even the worst people.

And maybe I'm contradicting myself here, but isn't life so contradictory? Isn't it messy & imperfect?

I guess a part of me knows, or at the very least suspects that I might be worthy, that I might deserve more than I allow myself to accept. But I'm afraid.

And so my actions, my actions are mostly reactions to my fear. And I'm so far gone, so far lost, i don't know how to or if I'll ever find my way.

So I've spent the past few weeks in my head, trying to make sense of all these things, trying to will myself to stay alive, trying to will myself to stay. And as much as I love, as much as I care about the people in my life, as much as I want to make them proud, to keep them safe, to be well for them, I can't take them into consideration any more. I realize that to do so is to carry too much of a burden on my shoulders.

I choose to stay & stay alive because I have hope. That's enough of a reason for today, for the past few days, weeks, months, maybe even years. And I've had the added bonus of blessings of the friends I see more as family, that keep that hope alive.

Only sometimes that hope doesn't feel like enough of a reason, it feels misguided, it wanes with even the smallest bit of negativity leaving someone's lips, not to mention the tragedies that seem to be turning into daily occurrences.

All this to say: I'm lost, I'm confused, I feel like I'm making all the wrong decisions, I'm too easily swayed by my emotions. I'm in love with a man I don't think I deserve & I keep adding to those reasons I don't deserve him. I'm conflicted. I can't decipher between truths and lies. It all feels so pointless sometimes. I don't know. I don't know. I really don't know.