Sometimes I like to think about how multiples of one thing, make up a uniform item.

How we are made of cells, dying to live within our skin. How one thread of yarn, can lead to a blanket to keep you warm. How wood, with nails, can come together and make a house.

And all of those little things, can remain.

But just as a sweater can be torn, our bodies can be torn just as easily.

Then, all those little things, go back to being multiples.

Blankets can become thread, houses can become scrap, our bodies can become dirt.

It just proves that, no matter how strong you are, you can still break down. It also proves, that you can build it up.

I’m holding on tightly to your hand, but slowly and gradually, I am slipping further and further down until the shadows touch my ankles and creep up my legs. It’s hard to hold a hand, when they’ve already let go.

The shadows are touching my thighs, I’m pleading for you to hold on. There’s sweat dripping down my face, I cannot see, I’m terrified. All I can hear is you apologizing over and over again, I’ve long lost count.

Half of my torso is now covered in darkness, I tried to scream out, but you don’t hear me. You’ve stopped listening. It occurs to me, that perhaps, I should let go too. Make it clean and fast, like I never mattered. But still, I’m holding on.

Now I’m up to my neck inside of my own darkness. I cannot speak at all, the shadows are clasping around my throat. All I can do is… watch it happen. Once last shred of hope is awaiting. To pull me up last second and never lose a grasp on me again. That’s all I have, wishful thinking.

Overall, there is a choice. You can hold my hand or you can let go. I’ve never lossened my grasp and I’ve never understood what I did to deserve this, hanging on there, by mere fingers. I cannot make you choose, I cannot make you pick me up and never let me go.

After all of that, I still hope that you choose to hold my hand. Or i’ll be plumiting throughout the darkness forever.

All I hear is myself screaming. Running up to every stranger, shaking them by their arms just begging to be heard.

It’s as if no sound is coming from my mouth at all, because they all talk over me blatantly ignoring my feelings, my thoughts, my opinions – Treating it as though, they don’t matter. Treating me as if their feelings were more important than mine.

Suddenly, I’ve gone from a one-on-one into a scene, a scene where I am being pushed to the back of a group of people as a spotlight display lands on them.

Inside of the shadows, I have two options. Either I beg one person for attention or I allow the loneliness to consume me, because my time in the spotlight will never come.

My mind is constantly thinking ahead. I’m counting down days, going over my schedule, wordlessly making plans, strategizing on how I approach future situations, and learning new ways to get myself up and out of bed on time the next morning.

Every thought comes from one idea: How my life is going to get better. Some solutions are easy for me to think of, go to bed at a decent time, drink enough water, remember to eat three meals a day, and spend a good amount of time with the people that I love. Other solutions provide challanges, redirecting negative thoughts, stop consuming so much chocolate, and ask for help when it is needed.

It’s hard to be the change when you see no change, I am fighting for myself every single day. To stay strong, to keep pushing, and to learn to love who I am. However, I do fall down, sometimes I am wrong, and my stubborness can get in the way of a good thing.

I’m looking at the bigger picture, seeing all of the blacks and whites change color, it’s very suttle, and then, it’s all at once. Focusing on the colors and not how they got there, gets me through the day, to become the person I need to be.

I may not know who this person is just yet, but, I hope that she is kind even when people are cruel, stern when she needs to be, has the strength to do anything she sets her mind to, is intelligent and knows how to use her brilliance for great things, is loved unconditionally, and always helps people in need.

She’s the kind of person that you deserve, someone who can hold a smile on her face, who can laugh at anything, who can express her words freely, who can handle any situation that you throw at her, and who can bring you all of the happiness that you could ever need.

All of those things, and more. I believe that she, that woman, lives in me. She has slowly been making appearences for a while now, but she was too afraid to come out.

And that’s okay, because my mind, always thinks ahead. So when it’s time to change color, she’ll be ready.

As much as I’d hate to admit it, everything around me is changing, and I’m not quite sure how to adapt to it.

I thrive on consistency and things that feel familiar to me, perhaps I got too comfortable. But something about Pizza every Friday, and lazy Tuesdays were enough for me. It brought peace to my soul, knowing when some people were just a phone call away.

I realize that over time, people change. And maybe, I need to be one of those people. It’s just a matter of staying who I am, or leaving a new person.

For now, I’m stuck between good times of the past and the awkward present, trying to figure out who to be.

I was driving, Virginia Beach to the North Carolina border and back. I had no idea where I was going, I just knew that I needed to keep going or my world was going to stop turning.

It started off as an errand run, that turned into a two hour car ride with the music turned up so loud, I couldn’t hear my thoughts telling me to swerve off of the road.

That’s how it always starts. A normal day, I’m out with my family or my boyfriend, getting lunch or shopping, and one minute we are laughing, joking, carrying on a normal conversation and the next minute – my thoughts are reminding me of how little I matter.

How I don’t matter to them, I don’t matter to anyone. How no matter what I try, it’s not enough. That the way I was being treated, was deserved, no matter how cruel.

And I’m sucked out of my own body, floating above everything that is going on, detached. Holding it in, makes it worse with the potential to erupt. And talking about it makes the people that you care about sad and blame themselves, when it’s not their fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.

Coping mechanisms are harder to come by because, In a way, you feel like you deserved to be punished for all of the sadness and negativity that you bring with you. No matter how much you self harm, smoke, or drink, the pain is always there, all it does is numb it for a little while. I’ve moved past that, or I’m trying to steer clear, and that’s why I grabbed my keys and left.

I should have spoke up, given you a call just to redirect my thoughts. I should have drove to you, climbed in your bed, and cried on your shoulder. I should have put my worries aside and told the truth.

But I was scared, I’m always scare, one time I’ll come crying to you and you won’t be home. I’ll call, crying like a blubbering mess, and you won’t answer. I’m scared, despite what you say, that one day I’ll wake up and I’ll truly be alone. I know that I wouldn’t be able to survive that. I wouldn’t be able to survive or fight without you.

So I drove.

Next time, I hope my road leads to you.