Share The Moon

On a bench swing at sunset.
By the bank of a small river.
On the back porch early in the morning.
At the park in the middle of the night.
On a hill in the dark.
In an empty bedroom at 11:37 pm.

Someone once told me I laugh too much, so I did my best to stop laughing.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
I wish I had taken more pictures.
The ones on my wall both hurt and heal.

I miss the feeling of thinking I was in love.
I want someone to hold me.

It was harder than I imagined because I remembered.
Reading what he wrote was like being wrapped in a hug.

If you make friends with yourself, then even when you're alone you won't be lonely.

But I still can't help feeling alone.

Ghost

Dear Girl,

It's okay to cry. It will make you feel better if you do. Trust me, I understand the pain of being without a shoulder to cry on. So just let it out.

Love,
Your Heart

Something Real

Life didn't turn out the way I expected it to.

I expected not to be worrying about money as much as I am
I didn't expect to be seeing a therapist and I didn't expect the therapy to be free.
I expected to have more friends, and I didn't expect to be all right with having so few.
I didn't expect to be dreading home.

I expected to feel pain, but not over boys who are men now.
I didn't expect my laptop to stop working three weeks into the semester.
I expected to get more letters in the mail.
I expected to have good friends, not a best friend.
I didn't expect to get along with my roommates.
I expected to cry more.

I didn't expect waking up at seven to be so hard.
I expected to eat, but I didn't realize how much it would cost.
I didn't expect to be writing letters to so many people.

I expected to be lonely. I didn't expect to be okay with it.

I expected to have more scholarships.
I expected to travel more.
I didn't expect to be planning spontaneous road trips with my best friend.

I didn't expect to find myself.
I expected to grow less spiritual, not to find myself closer to God.

I expected to hurt, but not this much.

Become You

I don't know who I am. I never have. I don't even know who I want to be.

But I know I don't want this. I don't want the endless days of routine and wondering if this emotional pain will recede. Hoping it will, terrified it won't.

I want to follow my heart. I want to be a person who is at peace with who she is and can make mistakes and have successes and face consequences all on her own.

The last time I followed my heart, my parents found out, and they were not happy. But it was worth it. Every minute.

It's Alright

This is for the boy who didn't make the team. 

This is for the young women stuck somewhere between adolescence and adulthood. 

For the 32-year-old man who never married.  

This is for the old women who don't think they're going to be around very much longer. For the older women who are probably right.

This is for the father who sends his daughter a letter because he might be too scared to call her up.

For the girls who lost their little brother before they were old enough to understand what dying is. 

This is for the boy who lives in New York. 

For the best friends who don't see each other often enough. 

For the kids who used to do everything together and now rarely talk. 

This is for the cousins who live three states away. 

This is for the brothers and sisters who don't get along with each other. 

This is for the college students who are trying too hard. 

For the boy she hasn't seen in months. 

This is for the girls who bought crazy pants together before they were forced apart. 

For the man who can no longer hear and is scared but doesn't want to admit it.

This is for the friends who never see each other anymore. 

For the adopted children. For the parents who lost their children and the children who lost their parents. 

For the friendly families and the family friends. 

This is for the teenagers who never made friends with their grandparents. 

For the mother finally reunited with her son. 

This is for the widow and the widower who are getting married. 

This is for the girl trying to find peace. 

For the first one to die and the last one to cry. 

This is for you. And this is for me. 

Everything In Its Own Time

My alarm goes off. I press the snooze button for five more minutes. 

Alarm goes off again. Another five minutes.

The alarm goes off a third time. 

Eventually I drag myself out of bed. On a good day I take a shower. But usually I sleep in another twenty-five minutes.

Eat breakfast, get dressed, and do my best to be out the door half an hour before school starts.
 

Try to learn, but I doze off during class. 

And the next one. 

When midday rolls around it's a little better.

Head to the library to check my email. Send off a couple messages, do online assignments, write. 

One more class. The teacher doesn't teach the way I'm used to. 

Head home. Eat something. Read a book. Eat something else. Not sure why I'm so hungry all the time.

Appointment with my therapist. Occasional shopping trip afterward. Life is easier without a car, but it takes longer.

Home again. Straighten up my room. I can't stand too much disorganization. Eat first dinner, study, eat second dinner.
Watch something on TV. Hate the fact that I'm wasting my time. Don't care enough to stop.

Go to my room. Sit on the bed and play solitaire or read on my Kindle. Fight the loneliness that invariably hits around 9:30.Try to convince myself that things will change and it won't always hurt like this.

Listen to country love songs and Christian contemporary music and stay trapped between believing and despairing.
Study a little. Write in my journal. Find a small snack in my pantry of rapidly diminishing food. And finally fall asleep sometime after midnight. 

Seven hours later... the alarm goes off. And the process repeats.

This is my world.

Peace Tonight

The other day, I had a thought. Shocking, I know. But I wondered to myself, what is wealth? And I decided that it depends on your point of view.

To some, it's crisp green dollar bills waiting to be spent. It looks like a white mansion on a hill, private jets, and designer jeans. It sounds like the clinking of champagne glasses and smells like brand new leather seats, and it tastes like sun-kissed skin and Covergirl lipstick. It feels like carefree living.

But to someone else, wealth brings to mind a summer sunset shared with a loved one. It appears in the smiles of long-lost friends, photographs of happy memories, and the way a rainbow can appear for just a moment before fading again. It's there in the sound of a baby laughing, the smell of extended family barbecues, and the taste of homemade chocolate chip cookies after a long day at school. And it feels as though your heart's being ripped apart but knowing that it's because whoever caused it added value to your life.

I don't have a lot of money. I don't live in a mansion or wear designer jeans, and I don't wear makeup, even the cheap kind. Despite that, I still have wealth.

Hope Alone

I know I'm different, and I've learned what that means in the real world. At first it seemed like the end of the world, but strangely enough it doesn't hurt so much anymore. I've become accustomed to the loneliness. And that scares me more than words can say. 

It usually seeps in when I should be sleeping. When I'm by myself in my room and I can't sleep. I think that's because some of my best memories were born from the late night and early morning hours. Not so anymore.

Most nights I lie in bed listening to country love songs on Pandora, wishing. Except I'm not sure what I'm wishing for. Maybe that one of those cowboys will find me and take me away to the country. Don't worry, I know not to get my hopes up. Maybe I'm wishing that someday I'll live in a big city and somehow I won't have to worry about money anymore... I think I'm losing it. Or maybe that I'll travel to Italy and meet a charming man and we'll quickly become best friends and then realize we're in love. Yeah, I'm definitely losing it. 

Really, I think I'm just wishing that I could stop feeling like this. I just have become so used to it, I don't know how. 

The loneliness is so much like the pain that sometimes I can't tell them apart. It stays dormant for so long I think it's gone, and suddenly it sweeps in and overwhelms me, knocks me off my feet.

Like it did today. It's my grandma's eighty-seventh birthday. Or it would be if she was still alive. When I think about dying it doesn't feel so scary or lonely because I know she's already there. 

Someone, please, just take this loneliness away. 

World Falls

For so long I've struggled with being sad, being a rebel, being imperfect. Until I came to realize what a phenomenon it is to be. 

I don't need to be happy or obedient or perfect, I just need to be human. 

My existence is difficult to comprehend. Infinite yet infinitesimal, and I don't plan to waste it.

There's so much beauty in this gift of humanity that I've been given. Worrying about the future isn't doing me any favors, so from now on I'm going to live in the moment instead of for the moment. 

I place so much on my own shoulders that doesn't need to be there, so it falls to me to remove that burden. 

The future is anywhere from tomorrow to forever, and it will come whether I try to avoid it or not. 

So why not make the most of the present?

Fly Away

Remembering is hard, and I have a fixation with it. With remembering you. With feeling pain. With being alone. 

As I reflect, I realize the strangest things used to be able to take that pain away in the past. And those same things are what cause me the most pain in the present. 

It was the little things you did back then that make my heart hurt now. The way your voice sounded when you were tired. Your animation when you talked about the music you love. How you'd get lost in thought and the way you smiled unexpectedly when reality found you again.

It was the little things you said that I think about when I fall asleep. The way your breathing deepened as you fell asleep. The way you said certain words. The way it didn't matter what time of day it was.  And especially the way we'd look at each other and I'd feel a connection that required no words. I remember that all too well. 

It was 2:23 am. It was the comfortable silences. The lights of the valley below us. The pause before you left the room. It was the fact that you were completely unexpected. 

But now you're gone, and I miss you. I'm not particularly pretty or outgoing, but the greatest feeling was knowing it didn't matter with you. When we meet again I hope it still won't. 

It's the memories we made that brought me happiness. It's the explanation for not knowing what to do with myself anymore. It's why I keep questioning my value to people other than God. Now it's the memories we made that bring me pain. It's the fact that late at night they attack, leave me bruised and battered at the bottom of the stairs. 

Being alone with my thoughts is proving to be destructive to my well-being. The memories just hurt too much. 

I'd just like to leave for a little while. Kind of like you did. But I know that no matter where I go, I still won't be able to escape from the memories. 

Last Tears

You know what sucks? I can't legally see my therapist until I'm 18. Since I'm not in any immediate danger, not intentionally injuring myself or considering suicide, I've got to wait. And I know it's not their fault, but it still sucks. 

And I really need a therapist. 

Now that I've finally admitted I have a problem, I'm anxious to start fixing it. When I finally get to pour out not just my heart or my mind, but my soul, I hope I discover how to be at peace. 

Because I'm not. 

I'm tormented by memories that won't leave. They keep me awake late at night and bring tears to the surface, tears I don't want to shed. And of course I have to write about the memories, and that just hurts worse. I think I could make them leave, if I wanted to. 

I don't want to. 

I never thought I'd cry for you. Even after all these years, I haven't figured out how it works. Why I can know some people for years and not feel very much, yet know others for weeks and care so deeply. It doesn't make sense. I don't know why I cried for you. 

But I did. 

More than once, but I'm thinking of the last time in particular. And I realized that my cell phone has seen more tears than anyone except God. But now I'm determined to be strong. I'm not crying over the past anymore. 

But I still thought you should know that the last tears I cried were for you.

Welcome Me

I am a selfish person. I want what's best for me and the people I love. But mostly me. I hope that I die before anyone else I love does.

Heartache is the medicine for love, and it's the worst sort of remedy. I'm tired of getting sick, but I've been there so many times I can hardly taste this prescription anymore. I want to give it away, and that's selfish of me.

But who ever decided that selfish is bad?

I've made selfish decisions in the past, with little regard for what others would think of me. Even my parents. They said it wasn't smart, that it was dangerous, that I needed to think through it more. They don't know me.

And it was in those moments of selfishness that I came to know myself better. I don't think that's wrong.

Unfortunately, there was a difference of opinion on what's best for me. It was then that I lost it.

When the pain shot through my skull, I tried to stop it. I expected to see crimson blood staining my fingers, but there was none because the damage was inside.

Perhaps someday I'll heal. If I start taking that medicine again. Not the first kind, but the kind that allows me to forget. Except I'm not sure that I want to.

I was told I am a leader but I was born to be a follower. I hang around the back of the crowd, with a bunch of the black sheep, and I don't want to give that up. Because it looks really lonely up there at the front with all those perfect white ones. And I'm just one of the ninety-nine, but I've been welcomed into the fold. 

Philosophy Of Loss

I expected it to hurt, but not this much. Even though I've had to do this before, it wasn't the same then as it is now.

No tears, though.

The more I gave, the more I knew I'd feel this way in the end, but I still wasn't prepared for it. I'm experiencing a strange paradox, one in which I'm ready for change and yet I don't want it to come.

But I'm fine. No tears.

The whole part of my heart feels more like a hole. My head pounds, my stomach hurts, and I miss you. Endings have always been hard because I'm caught in a loop where endings make the fear grow stronger and fear makes the endings more frightening.

I'm not fine, but I will be eventually. No tears.