hush

My mouth tasted like screaming. Everything was silent but I could still feel the hum of the scream on my teeth and in my fillings. The darkness I woke up to was hollow and foreign although I could smell my bedding surrounding me. I stared into the black and waited to feel settled in my own flesh again.

I tried to remember the last time I felt settled in my skin. Remembered childhoods spent skipping through sprinklers in tiny bikinis and never sparing a thought about if my stomach was sticking out. Popping a blood blister in my palm while on the monkey bars, blood pouring down to my elbow until it stained the teal dress I was wearing. I remembered trying to find my mom in the crowd of people at the park, blood drifting further down from my hand and no one coming to help me. It was the first time I felt alone and vulnerable.

I felt it again as I sat in my bed, blood peeking through the center of my lip where I'd peeled the skin while I slept again. I gripped the edges of my blanket and licked the blood off slowly, letting the taste of copper replace the taste of screaming. I'd hoped I'd only screamed in my dream and not in real life. Then again, nobody was dashing into my room to hold me this time either.

via *

everything in its right place

I remember thinking refineries produced clouds, dream factories spilling fluffy hope into the sky. But then I grew up and saw that they were just fountains pumping poison down through our nostrils until they ate our lungs away. Still as I drive past, I see the smoke sloughing out of the chimneys and can't help but find it beautiful even as I breathe the death deep down into my veins. I watch them pass from my windows and can't help but be relieved that I am driving alone. My hands are made of human paper that has been bent into ugly origami so often in the past and they are so happy to be alone. They caress themselves, they hold each delicate part of my body so gently, they block my lips as I step outside and avoid the poisoned air of factories and the refined fallacy of people. My human paper hands and my tulip cupid's bow are blooming for themselves in haunted, February air.

via *

the first attempt

Her name was Mary, but she was no virgin.
Her insides were made up of blackberry dust and
needles, memories of the day the ferris wheel froze.
It stood in the middle of the fair and made shadowed
cliffs across the snowy hills.

The voice behind her licked at the space
behind her knees, blew her kisses as the edges
called her closer and begged for a release.
"You'll die if you keep this up, little girl,
you'll die if you don't kill yourself first."

via *

remembrance and morphine

I'm not ready to write him.
Not ready to let him come
back to life.
I don't want to remember the good.
I don't want to relive the bad.
If I don't cry about it soon,
tears will have to start seeping
from every pore
and fall from my lashes like
snowflakes blown off of telephone wires,
buzzing, alive, alone.

I miss the beautiful destruction.
I miss throwing myself onto
hot coals for another human being.
Feeling another's glowing embers
embedded into my flesh,
eating it away.

But I do not miss any of them.
I don't miss the first one I loved,
his turquoise smell or loaded kisses.
I don't miss the second,
his day-old scruff and deceit.
I don't miss the third,
lovely and loving and lost.

Even though I don't miss them,
there are some I cannot bring
myself to write.
Still too fresh, still too bright,
still too real and sharp.
The pen has turned into an IV,
and it's full of remembrance
instead of morphine.

via *

repeat

I'm sorry I cannot quiet your mind
like the lies screaming from the
box before your bed.
I'm sorry the channel flipping
silences your past
while my face wakes up
the past you never wanted.
I only wanted to be heard
and you wanted to be alone.
Who do I choose to care for?
You or me?
People ask me if I want children.
I've already raised myself,
And cannot repeat the process.
I'm not angry. Or Bitter.
I find power in independence.
I just wish I didn't have to.

via *

let him in.

There are less than 24 hours of NaNoWriMo left. Here is another little peek of my story.

Current Word Count: 48,400

via *

the time it hurt the most

I wasn't excited for your arrival that night, your trek from Idaho to come to the concert I paid for for your birthday. I wasn't excited, but I still made myself pretty. I painted my face, slid into a red dress, chose torturous heels for what I knew to be a two hour standing concert. All for you. What a fool.

You'd told me earlier in the week if there were anyone else I could take, you wouldn't mind. It was a three hour drive after all.

It was your birthday present, after all.

don't come if you don't want to, i can't force you. 

See you in a few hours.

I got myself ready, swallowed hollow tears, and waited for your car to round into my cul du sac. You got out of your car, offered me a hug. I pretended to fumble with my coat.

You said I looked nice.

I volunteered to drive.

The car ride was awkward and stilted. You asked if I had heard that Gagnam style thing. I snarked that I didn't live under a rock. You smelled nice and I hated you for it. Your scent hung off of your clothes, the scent I tried to steal during the rocky months where you kept me purposefully on shifting ground as you continued living your life, leaving me to doggy paddle through mine. You occasionally swung me a lifeline, touched my skin as if bringing me back to shore, then pushed me further out to sea. You kept me on a hook for four months. I visited your house a few times then.

I stole shirts from your hamper, shoving them down my pillow case and caressing them when I got home to my empty bed. I missed your basement home in our long forgotten college town. I missed waking up beside you, the smell of sleep and twisted sheets in the air. My bed smelled like me and soon I drowned your shirt in my scent from overwear. Each time I saw you I stole a new shirt. But your smell never stayed long. In my car that October day, I staring ferociously forward, you staring at my marble cheek, your smell was choking me.

Stop making me miss you. Stop smelling like you. Stop smelling like the person I thought you were. Don't look at me like that. Stop ripping me apart. Tell me we'll be ok. Go to hell. Love me again.

Please. Please. 

I didn't speak a word. You spoke. I drove. I shook. I lost myself. You kill me. You killed me.

In line for the concert, I stood by myself as you ran back to the car for something. My luck, the only other people I knew at this concert were in front of me in line. He asked me how I was. Were you my boyfriend. I didn't know how to answer. I pretended to choke on my gum. He said he liked my dress. His girlfriend said we were a cute couple. I choked on my heart.

In the sweltering venue, we stood close to the stage. You dwarfed me and suddenly hugged me. I felt small. Not protected small. Not loved small. Dejected, used small.

"I haven't hugged you yet. You look wonderful, baby. I'm the luckiest guy in the room. I'm glad I came."

Were you?

With each song you pressed yourself harder into my back, pulled at my waist a little tighter, held my hand like you meant it. Kissed my head like you cared for me. I wept silently. No one in a crowded concert hall wiped my tears away. Your touch was like ice burning into my skin. I shook like a leaf in hollow winter winds. You swayed me with the songs. Your touch lied. I cried silently and alone, our love song playing around us for the last time.

After the show we sat in my car in my driveway. My neck was killing from arching during the concert. My back was knotted like a hundred year old tree. My stupid heels cut into my toes. You pulled me onto your lap and started rubbing my back. You didn't see my smeared mascara. You just held your mouth to mine and pressed my head into yours. You snapped my neck in two. My heart exploded.

You reached for my skirt. I pushed you away. You ran your hand across my thigh. I tried to stop crying but your empty kisses swallowed my tears. "Come on, baby. I haven't seen you in so long."

you haven't loved me for longer than that.
i guess i won't see you on new year, will i?
Don't say that, Em. You don't know that.
how dare you. 
Don't you think this is hard for me too? I wish I could still love you.
i don't care if this is hard for you. you deserve pain. if i have to rely on sleeping pills to erase you at night so i can breathe for five hours of sleep, you deserve pain.
We don't have to talk about this now. Come here, I'll rub your back. I'll kiss it all away.

You were brave to say that. You were brave to think I'd ever let you use me or touch me again. I gave you everything. You took it all without a second thought.

i don't believe you ever loved me.
Don't say that.
i don't.
Stop, Emma.
if you ever loved me, you would have broken just my heart. You didn't need to shatter my entire world too. 
Ok.
i hate you.
Ok.
did you ever love me?
Yes.
liar.
It was a long year together.
leave.

I screamed into your chest. For hours I screamed. You finally watched me crying. You finally saw the mess you made. And you tried to start crying with me. I beat my hands on your chest. Your apologies fell on deaf, broken ears.

I'll stay the night you said. I don't think you should be alone.
i've been alone for four months. you know that. leave. 

You slowly left my car. I pulled into my garage. I shut the door. Locked it tight. I could smell you pressed on my skin and I gagged. Peering through my blinds I saw you sitting in your car. You looked surprised that I shot you down. That hurt the most. You still didn't think you were wrong.

While you drove toward your home in those tired early morning hours I sat on my floor in a heap of your old shirts, ripping them apart with dagger tears, smelling nothing for the first time in months.

via *

don't wanna live in fear and loathing

I haven't slept in three days. I feel like I'm driving myself crazy. This situation has been a struggle, as to be expected.

I was talking with my mom about the events I last wrote about. She looked at me sheepishly and said "I hate making this situation about myself but... maybe she passed so that when others pass, she's there to lead the way. If she's there waiting to guide them, I'll be less sad about their loss. Is that horrible? I don't want this to be about me."

But we have to process death this way. We can never know the grand reasons, if any, for why people pass from this world. All we can do is make their passing meaningful for ourselves. We process things and internalize events in our own ways. We cope differently and that is beautiful.

Tonight, I talked with my dear friend Dixie, who is also a therapist. I told her that through all this, I have felt like I've really learned about myself and my observational focuses. This was a wake up call. It made me get brave. It's also driven me insane. It's made me lose sleep and pray and plead for connection. I said that I hated that I was making this situation about my love life and my messy mind. I said that it felt weird, that I wasn't normal. She said it was completely normal.

For whatever reason, every moment I witnessed of this past weekend was cloaked in connection. I watched my grandfather with my grandmother. I saw her friends saying goodbye. I noticed couples linking hands even through personal hardships. Some situations are bigger than every day fights. Sometimes all you can do is screw the past, move forward, clasp hands and share a heartbeat. 

That is what I've learned.

I'm sick of feeding off of my own doubts. About myself. About who I love. About things I will never have control over. I want to live my life in love and passionate embraces. I want my late nights to be full of liquid words spilling onto a page and shared discussions about every little thing.

I love who I love. Screw opinions from others. I'm not afraid of second chances. I'm not afraid of him. I'm wary of being caused pain, but I'm done staying awake hour upon hour feeling haunted by fears and doubts.

I'm not afraid of being attached. Acting unfeeling and convincing yourself that you are worthless or a bad person doesn't make you tough. It makes you a coward. I refuse to be anything but brave. I refuse to pretend my feelings don't exist.

I want my mind to shut down for a few days, but sadly I'll never get that wish. But you know what? I can turn those gears into a powerful machine that will move mountains and shatter barriers. I'll scream at the top of my lungs. I'll dance my ass off. I'll cry until I can't breathe. I'll feel with every atom I am made of.

Because life is so short. And this world is so beautiful. And love is so pure.

via *

This was all inspired by this song by Marina and the Diamonds. Who is everything. Please listen.

There is no crime in being kind.

Not everyone is out to screw you over.

Maybe, yeah just maybe 

they just want to get to know you.

Now the time is here,

baby you don't have to live your life in fear.

And the sky is clear. 

It's clear of fear.

Don't wanna live in fear and loathing,

I wanna feel like I am floating

instead of constantly exploding,

in fear and loathing.

drive fast, wind in my hair

My favorite place to be in the fall is behind the wheel of my car. Whether I'm alone or with a co pilot, I love leaving the world flying behind my car as I soar through a mountain pass. Ever since I turned 16 I've seen my car as a portal to freedom and a place to go for solace. Winter is hard since I don't want to drive through mountains as much in the snow. It's also essential that these drives have the windows down and that can be quite challenging in the frigid air. Don't get me wrong, I'll do it. It's just not the same as it is in the fall.

I love being brushed by the stinging autumn air while I blast my music, singing until my vocal chords are a tangle in my throat, my lungs burning with release. I like driving in Ogden Canyon. Any canyon really. Give me a place where I can feel alone from people but connected to nature and bonded to the road.

I like seeing the world around me spinning out of control as my mind tries to get a handle on its emotions and thoughts. This month has been a mess and I needed to let go and drive away from life for a while.

It felt nice to escape reality for a while. It's always hard to come back, though. I could just drive on forever. 

Impulse

A few weeks ago I read an amazing book by Ellen Hopkins, a long time favorite author, called Impulse. You can read the review I wrote for that book here. (Also... take a peek at the comment section. Yeah. THE AUTHOR COMMENTED WHAT IS MY LIFE!?)

This book is about three teenagers who end up in a medical rehabilitation center after each trying to end their lives. All three characters struck me deep in my heart. They were so hurt and they all felt so alone. I loved each of them but today I was reminded of Vanessa.

In the book Vanessa tries to slit her wrists. Luckily her brother finds her and she is rushed to the hospital just in time. She's been a cutter for some time and it is hard for her to shake that impulse to feel the blade ease her skin apart even in the rehab center. She even goes to such extremes as to hide a paper clip in her room to prick herself with if she needs. It made me so sad that she felt so alone and that there was no other option than to let her troubles bleed through her skin.

One of my favorite parts of working in the cafe at Barnes and Noble is the opportunity to develop relationships with some of the regular customers. They are so nice and they remember me from when I was 16 and working there. They get the same drinks every week, they are so sweet and polite, and they also tip pretty well usually.

There has been one couple that has been every Sunday for the past few months. The boy is a huge teddy bear with a kind scruffy face and big open arms and an even bigger smile. His girlfriend is gorgeous. She looks like a gothic snow white. Her face is a cameo pin framed by her onyx hair and apple red lips. Her skin is perfect like porcelain and her style is flawless. She always rocks a stunning black sun dress, a different dress each week - each one better than the last. She wears shoes Lady Gaga would be jealous of- high black boots with studded heels and killer height. She has the deathly hallows tattoo on her arm and wears Bellatrix Lestrange's animal skull pendant around her neck. She's amazing. I wish she was my friend. She also has amazing taste in books. She's always reading a superb novel each Sunday, different each week as well.

Image via Flickr

They are an odd pair, the two of them. But you can see how much love constantly passes between them. He's her protector and she keeps his life vibrant and forever changing. I love them. Guys. I want to date this couple. They seem so happy every time they come in. They chat with us and always leave a clean table.

Then a few weeks ago, Snow White wasn't wearing her jacket. The white skin across her arms was covered in red exclamation points and angry red raised mountains. They cascaded across her forearms and up to the top of her cap sleeves. I was amazed she would even let them show since there were so many. I was shocked someone as kind has her was hiding a secret like this. Many of them had faded a bit but the cuts were deep; these scars would last her a lifetime.

I hid that I was looking at her arms and made them their drinks and took them out to the two of them as they sat holding hands and reading. She looked up at me and smiled a closed mouth, but no less warm and open smile. "Thank you so much," she whispered. I smiled back and left them to their Sunday date at the bookstore.

It broke my heart that a girl that sweet and lovely was ever in a place in her life that she felt so alone and so in pain. It's clear from the scars that she's lived with pain for quite some time and is just now getting better. I am so sad that she ever felt the need to call on a blade to be her only sense of relief and comfort. She's such a beautiful woman, just like Vanessa in the book. No one deserves to feel that amount of pain alone. No one deserves to feel alone period. 

Image via Tumblr

Even through how sad I felt for her past, I smiled for her future. The fact that she isn't hiding her arms means she is a fighter. She is healing. She knows she is loved and she loves deeply. You can see it in her eyes. She has seen Hell and she has returned from that visit a stronger person. She's a warrior and a saint. It made me love her big scruffy boyfriend even more. He cares so much for her. I can't help but imagine him holding her when the nights get long and hard and the metal starts humming in her heart again. He will cradle her and absorb her tears and she will do the same for him. Love is so beautiful and so cathardic. I'm so glad they have each other.

Image via Tumblr

It still breaks my heart to know that not all of the people who struggle like Snow White are able to heal the way she has. I hate that there are still people who feel like they have to face this life alone with nothing but a razor at their side. I am so sorry if anyone reading this feels this way. There are people in your life who love you and even when life seems unbearably hard, the sun will rise in the morning. The long nights will pass, even if it takes years. The bully's will leave and you will be left standing strong.

Please reach out if you ever feel alone. There are people who will listen, I promise you. Never feel so alone that you feel like you can't come back from it. Fight that impulse to punish yourself and instead use your arms to embrace each other, not to harm yourself.

Stay lovely, everyone. You are loved. You are all loved. 

Image via Tumblr