I sat there, holding your hand and listening to the machines steadily help you breath, and everything caught up all at once. The tears were hot streaming down my face and my breathing was rigid, and I couldn’t leave your side.

Open your eyes. I begged silently because I didn’t have the courage to say the words out loud. Your fingers were curled in mine, freshly blue from when I painted them to pass the time. A simple twitch came now and again, each time I watched you more intently.

I never left the room, except to bawl in the bathroom and curse on the roof. It did not seem fair, that bad things happen to good people. I patiently waited to wake up from this nightmare, but the days dragged on.

They told us that she wasn’t getting better, yet we should be thankful, she isn’t getting any worse.

I’ll cry for her, I’ll cry for her siblings, and I’ll cry for the poor plow driver. He tried desperately to clear the streets during a storm, and the snow, it kept coming.

Open your eyes. I wished to see her beautiful blue eyes again, and hear her laugh. Her laugh was something I hadn’t heard in years, something about growing up and moving away makes you forget how important those little things can be.

I’ll get down on my knees at the edge of the bed near nine o’clock, when visiting hours are over. I’ll hold her hand, clinging to it as if her life depended on it, and I’ll pray.

I’ll pray for her strength and stubbornness, to put up a fight and heal so that she’d return in a few days time. I’ll pray to see her again, to hear her laugh, and to hug her and have her hug me back. I’ll pray for my family, her mother, her sisters, her brothers.. to make it through this just as she would.

Open your eyes. So that, we too, can open ours as well.

———————————————————————

My cousin, Sallie, sixteen years old, got into a car accident February 12th, 2019 and is in critical condition. Due to a snow storm, the car that she was in lost traction and she got injured.

Please send prayers and positive thoughts for my family, thank you.

Today, I caught myself singing in the shower.

Yeah, It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it is.

Truth is, I haven’t been in sync with my body for a few months now, suffering from depression, most things look like a shade of black to me. It’s something that I have been working on, and excelling. Every day when I look in the mirror I recognize more of myself.

I am becoming more and more public about my mental health, after being silent on it for so long, it began to feel like a dirty secret. When it is not shameful to have a mental disorder, they are as common as an actual cold. Everyone in their lifetime will experience depression, anxiety, and panic.

Singing in the shower is a small victory, but I will take it. A sweet, sweet victory – yeah.

 

 

I’m sure that there will come a time where you regret kissing me that warm night in the summer because you didn’t know, you kissed a writer in the dark.

Now I’ve locked those moments inside of my heart and when the sun sinks down low enough, my finger tips begin to bleed as I type out our story.

I’ll find way to be without you, babe.

You’ve consumed every part of me. My thoughts are no longer my own, it’s an endless loop of stories of your smile because, after all, you’re my muse.

I love you now, I’ll love you then, and even when you’re gone, I’ll love you still.

In my darkest hour, I stumble all around the town just looking for a glimpse of you. I’ll see you in everyone’s faces and they’ll call the cops on me.

I’ll love you until my breathing stops because all I ever did was exist for you. I’m my mother’s child, after all. Chasing a broken dream of a fairy tale.

And in that darkest hour, I’ll stumble onto a secret power and I will find a way to be without you, babe. When you see me next there will be a smile and you can tell your friends that I’ve changed.

Now I love it here, living and breathing on my own, since I stopped needing you. I’m a writer in the dark, who only needed to see the light.

Writer In The Dark by Lorde

I’ve come to terms with the fact that multiple versions of me exist, and that some of these, no longer exist. The boxes inside of my closet remind me of who I was at various points in time and I’ll keep those pieces of me, even if they are no longer alive. Because I am a lot more than I think I am.

I’m a fighter, coming home with bruises on my knuckles and cut up cheeks with a victorious smile and a suspension slip in my right hand. Only now, I fight for better reasons. I fight myself every day to stay alive.

I’m an artist covered in paint, wearing ratty old clothes and attempting to find a new space on my crowded wall for a beautiful piece. Now, I admire art in museums and speak of the color schemes.

I’m an althete, weighed down in metals and trophies of accomplishments from soccer tournaments and school sports team patches. Now, I kick the ball once a week if I’m lucky and instead of chasing a ball, I’m chasing my dreams.

I’m a reader with endless possibilities of escapes into deep literature and an evergrowing library stocked with literary classics. Now, dust collects on them and when I have time, I’ll brush it off.

I am collectively all of these things and none at all. Because these pieces, these small portions of who I was, got me to who I am today. I’ll never know if the now version of me will be the last, but I’ll keep on stacking the boxes up until I’m full.