My Reflection

There’s a girl in the mirror who wears my face. When I tell her to smile, she smiles. When I tell her to frown, she frowns. When I tell her to turn to the side, she does. And I envy her.

She wears my face, my clothes, and has my body shape. But there is no depth to her, she’s a mere reflection. With a simple glimpse, her appearance could tell a story.

In the morning, she is sleepy. Just waking up after her alarm goes off. She wears my pajamas, she has my dark circles, and she yawns desperate to go back to bed and hide.

In the afternoon, she is distracted by thoughts inside of her own head. She changes into comfortable clothing, my leggings and my sweaters. She turns her pale skin and dead eyes into a colorful masterpiece. She smiles as I smile, trying to make it through the day, as if the concealer would hide the fact that she cried herself to sleep.

In the evening, she wears my tired face. The fake smile is tossed aside and the make up is wiped away revealing the sadness that lives in her cheekbones.

All she is, is a reflection of myself and still, I wish to be her. She is only a version of me, but she is one that doesn’t have to feel the way that I feel. She gets to stand there and smile when I smile. And somehow, it sounds better.

Sink

It’s cold.

Every bone inside of my body, is frozen. I move mechanically, rusty, in need of maintenance. My head is cloudy, I can’t see anything but darkness and feel the flow of the water against my skin.

You would think that I would fight. Wanting to breathe, struggling to put my head above the water, to gasp for a fresh of breath air, to kick my legs with everything I have left in me. But I’m not.

The current is too over powering, I don’t have a life saver ring being tossed out to me. I have an audience. They want to see if I sink or swim. As if I had a choice…as if I hadn’t already made it.

I’m too tired to fight. I’m too cold, too numb to fight to see the sun light. I’m too empty to take another breathe. I’ve fought and I’m accepting loss.

I’ll sink, further and further.

I wish I could tell you that I cared, but I don’t.

Eventually, I’ll hit the bottom, and when I do, I’ll lay there.

Why Can’t They See?

I’m a note taker. That says two things about me.

I’m detail oriented and I’m organized. Long story short, I notice things. Whether they be as obvious as a physical sign in front of my eyes, or a change in tone of voice. I notice it all. I’m keen to catch on to, and hang onto, more negativity than positivity. It’s how I’m wired.

This means that, people come to me for advice, for a shoulder to cry on, for a helping hand – to which I try my best to be there, sometimes, over doing it. They come back expecting more.

I don’t have anymore to give. More importantly, I don’t know how to explain that to them, other than fail them. It’s a viscous cycle and it all begins with one question.

Why can’t they see?

Why can’t they see the anxiety in my eyes, darting across the room. Why can’t they see the depression in my voice and hopelessness In the way that I walk. Why can’t they see the tears so obviously streaming down my face. Why can’t they see the change in me?

When I can see the change in them…

Lost

I’m surrounded by people who think they know me just because they can tell me my favorite color, or the way I brush my hair back.

They think they know me and they walk around putting on a front that says they do. This gives them courage to speak on what they think is going on in my life and dismiss the real problem. They put themselves a head of me, like a giant bright spot light.

I’m not asking for a spot light. I’m not asking for people to care what I have to say. I’m not asking them to get to know me. Quite frankly, I don’t want them to know me, I don’t care if they know what my favorite movie is or why I count things in three’s.

I’m asking for that front, to go away. I’m asking for the fake smiles to stop, for the questions to stop, for the crossing of boundaries to stop because I’m tired.

I’m tired and I’m miserable. I don’t want to be a miserable person, so I refuse to surround myself by people who make me so. I am so much more than they make me out to be.

I’m a kind person, always thinking of someone who is close to me. I am smart, book smart and people smart if you ever give me the chance. I’m passionate about my career and hobbies. I have all this love to give but when I get nothing in return, you’ve lost me.

And maybe I’m better off lost.

Built for you

One thing about me is that I do not like change, change makes me so incredibly uncomfortable that I can barely function. Changing my address, going from a house full of people to being alone, having my dog be the only one greeting me at the door with a wagging tail, and to have the entire apartment silent unless it’s myself singing out. It feels almost unnatural not to have someone right there in the next room asking about how your day went.

I am by no means a social person, however, I require a soft touch or a kiss on the cheek every so often and It looks like I will be walking in to silence. I’ll be placed back into a box, getting placed on a shelf, shoved to the back making room for new things, collecting dust, until I meet my ultimate demise – a donation bin to the next person to love and put aside.

I just have to learn that sometimes, you’re not built for some people. You may have qualities that will suit people. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re beautiful. But these qualities maybe enough until the next thing comes along, then there are other qualities that may look or seem, better. You’re not built to be anybody else other than you, don’t try to upgrade yourself to please another person.

The best thing about staying who you are, is that you are built perfectly to someone else. They will love you for the way you speak your mind, the way you stand up for other people, the way you laugh, the way smile, the way you always care for other’s even when they don’t care for you… Someone is out there, looking for exactly who you are.

Being properly taken care of, loved, and respected is, and will always be, a necessity. Do not let someone else tell you that you’re impossible when all you ask for is minimum effort, you deserve more than that.

Pay attention to what they say and how they treat you, people will tell you exactly how they feel about you within those small actions. Don’t overwork yourself trying to make things okay when you are the only one trying. Invest in people who invest in you back and you will never question where you are in life.

So maybe you aren’t built for them, you know what that means? They aren’t built for you either, there is someone out there who is.

A Sentence

In the morning they’ll see what they’ve done to me, maybe then, they will change. She wrote the mantra with shaking hands, a sentence that had been playing inside of her mind on repeat for quite some time now.

When did it all happen? How could it have come to this? More importantly, why could no one speak up to stop it?

When did the human race become so fucked up to the point where they only cared about their own feelings? How did we adapt to a fight or flight reaction when it comes to considering other people’s emotional ranges? Why did we only learn to care when it’s too late?

Negativity will always weigh more than positivity, which is why we must cling to anything and everything good. It’s much easier to have and keep a negative mindset than a positive one. So why can’t we go the extra mile and do the next kind thing?

All it was, was a sentence inside of a twenty year olds’ head. That twenty year old could have been a stranger, a coworker, an acquaintance, a boyfriend, a brother, a mother, a father, a husband, a wife, or even a child.

A sentence that became the hook of a suicide note. Don’t be so quick to automatically blame the victim, there are many steps and major events that push someone into taking their own life. The worst part is, there are several people that play a part in the story.

Often people will blame the victim of a suicide because they died at the hand of themselves. It’s believed that the guilt and sadness that the person who passed is only relocated into the friends and family. Which, isn’t fully true. You’ll never truly understand or feel how someone else felt because you’ll never be in the exact same shoes. Despite it not being the same, it’s similar, and like with all trauma – it hurts.

Suicide is never unexpected, whatever path you take, you’re leaving foot prints. A trace, something that can be seen or picked up. Whether you choose to examine the size seven and a half, is entirely up to you.

Look at the past events in their life and see what everyone, her included, could have done to prevent a tragedy. Did you dismiss her over something so small? Did you consciously choose to bully someone directly or indirectly? Did you act with kindness instead of negativity? Did you communicate with her or blame her?

More importantly, while she was alive did you make her feel as though she was loved? Communication takes five minutes and effort cost nothing.

As a community, we could do better for ourselves. We could do so much for others, and yet, we continuously choose not to. We decide to admire the beauty in someone when they are no longer there and pick the flaws out while they are still here.

There’s so many steps to suicide prevention. The choice is, are you going to let this sentence be a blog post, or a suicide note?

An Open Mind

Not everyone you meet in life will agree with the way you choose to live you’re own life – as if your actions directly effect their lives, when it doesn’t. I believe in agreeing to disagree but I also believe that who you choose to surround yourself with, speaks volumes about who you are as a person.

When it comes to me, I choose to live an open mind, however I do our labels on myself that I truly identify as. I’m a straight, white, woman. I consider myself a devote Christian. I realize that I am privileged, just by simply being white. This does not mean I don’t struggle in life, it means that the color of my skin will never be a struggle of mine.

I may be all of those things, but I choose to think that everyone has a right to live their life the way that they want too and be who they want to be.

I am a strong LGBTQ+ supporter, I believe that love is love. Couples in love are beautiful whether they are the same sex or not. They should have the right to love and be with whoever they want to. They are people and people deserve to have rights.

I back up Black Lives Matter movement, I stand up for minorities. I recognize that they will struggle more in life simply because of their skin color. They should have the right to feel safe and protected. They are people and people deserve to have rights.

I’m a feminist. This does not mean that I don’t like men, it means that I believe that both sexes should be equal. Women and Men should be paid the same rate/salary and should be treated the same instead of one being superior over the other. Girls can be tough, boys can be sensitive – there shouldn’t be gender roles. They are people and people deserve to have rights.

It’s okay to have a difference in opinion with someone, what’s not okay, is to have a difference morals in your inner circle. Liking vanilla Ice cream and being prejudice are two different things, one is acceptable, the other is not.

Another thing about me, I’m not quiet about my opinions. Why should I be? After all, I’m entitled to my own opinion. If that offends you, don’t come around me or better yet – I won’t come around you. I will not tolerate disrespect, racism, prejudice, or Trump supporters.

Being up front about my morals, causes people to make their own sly comments, as a coward behind social media, behind my back under mumbled breath, and even straight to my face. I will never stay quiet about it.

Within the month of June, I have lost a total of seven family members, and three friends just due to the fact that I support the Black Lives Matter protest. Just as I did, years ago, but years ago no one said anything to be about it. Trump give these prejudice, racist, and uneducated people a voice in this country to “build the wall”, “make America great again”, and take away the rights of women to their own bodies.

Do I care? No. Why would I want to surround myself with people so close minded that they want everyone in the world to be straight, white, and republican?

People should be who they want to be, however they want to be it. Because, after all, it’s their life, not yours. What they choose to do, who they choose to be, and how they choose to go about it -get this – doesn’t effect you.

If your neighbor is black, does that mean it makes you black? No. Your sister is gay, does that make you gay? No. Your best friend came out as Transgender, does that make you transgender as well? No. If your mom is a feminist, does that mean you’re one too? No.

So again, I ask, why does it matter?

The answer: it doesn’t. And here’s why:

Your daily life should not differ simply because you choose to be who you are. You should be treated as a human, with rights, and be treated with respect.

You shouldn’t look at a gay person and treat them less because of their sexuality. You shouldn’t look at a Transgender and treat them less because they identify differently. Even if your religious. Love thy neighbor.

You shouldn’t look at a minority and look down on them because their skin color is of a different variety of yours. After all, melanin is only one of the few differences between you.

You shouldn’t look at a women and automatically believe that she is weak or belongs in the kitchen. She carries life within her body and pushes it out, then proceeds to care for the child. A women can do any job a man can, and sometimes, better.

You shouldn’t look at someone with a different religion and call their god a fraud. You cannot comprehend the miracles that have taken place in their life because of their form of worship.

Not everyone thinks this way, and honestly, it baffles me. What’s so offensive about people living the way they want to live? What’s offensive about them demanding rights, rights that they deserve?

Because we are all just people. Whether you are black, white, Hispanic, religious, non religious, a man, a women, identify as another pronoun, feminist, and at the end of the day – we are just skin and bones. Looking at our skeletons, you can’t tell who we were or what we believed.

Nobody is perfect, so why spend your time judging everyone else when it’s just a poor reflection of your self?

I will choose to continue to live an open-minded life because it bring me peace. I feel peaceful believing that, no matter what, we are all equal and we all deserve rights. Despite my close minded relatives and ex friends, I will thrive knowing that I go out of my way to use my white privilege for good because that says a lot about me – and less about you.

I will support you all, no matter the circumstance and I will always lend a hand or an ear to anyone who needs it. For that, I am blessed.

Just Write

When it comes to change, I’m awful at it.

I’m not talking about changing my hair color, clipping my nails, repainting my room, or finishing a book.

I’m talking about real change, the kind that you cannot control.

I’m a person who thrives on a schedule. On familiar objects. Familiar situations. Simply because it’s routine to handle a work schedule, a social schedule, and a love life.

However, every now and then, I get thrown out of my comfort zone without food, shelter, or even water. I’m standing there, in the pouring rain, trying to remember why I didn’t grab an umbrella.

During times like this, I can usually cope by writing. Which I have not been doing. When I should just write.

Just write. Even if it is just a paragraph, or a sentence, or the same cuss word repeated over and over. Because I’m not putting the focus on something constructive, I just sit there and worry. When I can: just write.

It’s amazing what a pen and paper can do or how typing up how you feel helps you understand it. So,

Just write.

Up Late

Here I am. It’s 4:28am and I’m listening to my fan spin around and around. Thinking about why things in life, don’t matter.

This house that I sleep in, doesn’t matter, because in a month it will be sold. This stage in life, doesn’t matter, because I’m a few months it will be my twenty-fourth year. My feelings, don’t matter, because in thirty minutes I’ll feel differently.

I want to believe that there is a reason for everything. Yet, I cannot see past the water that my ship is sinking into.

My white flag for surrender is waving high but no one will take me home. I’m stranded, standing on the deck, and I’m alone.

So I’ll just wait for my last breath.

The Other Side Of The Story

As much as you want to believe, you are not the narrator of your own story. You’re not the author, you’re not the editor, and you’re not the audience. You’re a character. A character within your own story line.

You don’t get to pick the perspective in which your story is told. You don’t get to edit out parts of your life to improve it. You don’t get to be emotionally, physically, or mentally detached as if you’re watching your life on a screen.

You just get to live it.

You’ll never know how it begins and ends or what events are going to take place. You get the information that’s provided to you and from then on, you act on it.

Much like everyone on this Earth, I’ve been selfish. I’ve been treating my story as if I was going to be the one to decide how it all ends. But let me tell you something, you cannot just end a story in the middle of a sentence. You must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. The story has to make sense, your life has to make sense, because there is a reason that you’re here.

Up until now, I’ve only been on the other side of the story. In my story, I am both the protagonist and the antagonist. I believed that I could play God and leave my story where ever I wanted to leave it off at. That is the selfishness coming out.

Being twenty three, I’m only in the rising action arch of my storyline. My life has just barely begun and I’m experiencing major conflicts that are crucial to my character development. I haven’t even reached near the climax of my life, I haven’t peaked.

But I looked down from this height, I got scared, and wanted it all to be over. Then I caught a glimpse of my audience.

My audience is my relatives, my best friends, and my boyfriend all rooting for me – the underdog – to complete my story. When I’ve tried to throw in the towel, they’ve kept reading on, never allowing my character to die. I’ve put them on the edges of their seats and some of them, I’ve let fall from out of reach. Those are the people who where merely background characters that got phased out in later chapters of my life.

I look to their faces, and I get lost swimming in the sadness of their eyes. I see my own reflection – and she is ugly. She has the face of a liar, the actions of a coward, the words of a mute, and the mind of a lunatic.

You’re not the hero in your own story, you never will be. The hero is always the person you least expect it to be. They always come in the right time with the right reasons. They won’t take your pain away, they will teach you how to cope with it and how to do better.

The hero is there, looking out for you, ready to whisk all of the conflict away resolving it with it’s perfect resolution. This may have played a small part in my story, but it was a narrative that had to be told. A side story that had to be completed. A chapter, that had to be closed.

It’s like finding another piece in the puzzle that is life – sometimes you have to stop forcing pieces together and take a step back to get the big picture.

My author could not continue my story without me learning my lesson, I had to learn how to view things from other people’s perspectives. I had to see the damage and hurt that I could cause with one little blade, because without it, I couldn’t have continued on with my purpose.

I’m meant to met new people, get new friends, live new places, try new foods, give advice to my friends, met my godson, have a new favorite song, get a new job, lose some people, make a few more people smile, do kind things just because, wish my aunt a happy birthday, receive a present from my brother, take care of my dog, and live more of my life.

I don’t just belong in my own story, I belong in everyone else’s stories as well. I have a role to play in their lives and I cannot do the things I need to do in order to impact their life, if I cannot finish my own.

As much as the conflicts weigh you down, your emotions make you hurt, and your actions affect everything around you – your story isn’t finished just because it feels like it’s over.

You cannot close the book until you see the other side of the story.