Breathe Again

"Car is parked, bags are packed, but what kind of heart doesn't look back? At the comfortable glow from the porch - the one I will still call, yours. All those words came undone and now I'm not the only one facing the ghosts that decide if the fire inside still burns. All I have, all I need..."

"Open up - next to you, and my secrets become your truth."

I can't. I can't get in deep enough. I can't get past this barrier - it's as if my body has trained itself, strengthened itself, to keep itself from falling apart.

I can't fall apart.

I feel it. There's a wall... A ground? A solid divider between me and sinking into complete and total panicked oblivion. 

I've finally trained myself to keep calm and stay together.

A bumbling mess on the floor. Flashes of uncontrolled sobs inside my car - heaving, the inability to breathe.

But now, the only pull I feel is the droop of my eyelids as they fight to stay open.

You aren't here. Not amid my dreams and aspirations - my challenges and hard work. It's me within these walls, me - my footprints, along this city and this campus. I breathe and I exhale me, unguarded around those who have never heard your name.

It's soothing, exhilarating, freeing and relieving. Witty comments and secret smiles, head held high - doors wide open. The opportunities, the possibilities... Endless.

There is comfort in these blankets, this bed, this room. It feels... so good. So... Amazing. So...

Unencumbered.

Unburdened. 

I take it and I embrace it. I hold it close to my heart and I breathe it in.

Inhale.

I run with it; I dance with it. It is my only lover, my one new friend. 

How do I explain?

The words... Don't do it justice. But...

I know it's right.

Goodbye

"Am I supposed to put my life on hold because you don't know how to act and you don't know where your life is going? Am I supposed to be torn apart, broken hearted, in a corner crying? Pardon me if I don't show it. I don't care if I never see you again - I'll be alright. Take this final piece of advice and get yourself together. But either way, baby, I'm gone."

That freedom.

"Oh, you think that you know me, know me? That's why I'm leaving you lonely, lonely. Cause baby, you don't know a thing about me."

It billows up within me, out and about, up and around me. It's tangible. Warm and cool to the touch. It beckons me, entices me, seduces me.

I inhale and it fills me, renews me, makes me whole.

I am more whole alone than I ever have been with someone else my side. 

I dream.

I dream of Seattle Nights. Quiet rain, twinkling lights. I dream of a lovely, cozy, apartment. Of a mundane but lovable job. Of going out with friends for drinks, fuzzy lightheadedness filled with laughter and good food. I dream of sleeping alone in my own bed, that I paid for, in the place that I paid for, with all the things that are distinctly mine. 

I would rather be alone.

And, in fact, I love it.

I love it so much. I love the idea, I love the dream - I love how real it could be. 

I don't care about how much you love me. I'm sorry, it's not enough. And I'm finally, truly, really, admitting that to myself. I want more. I want so much more than what I've allowed myself to have. I want so much more than waiting, than hoping for a change, than... being second best, last priority, not on the list.

I am so much better than that. I am so much better than making concessions and compromises. My pride, my dignity - me? I'm so much more than you treat me.

And I want to take that step. I want to move away from this. I want to leave this behind - as far behind as I could possibly leave it. As far behind as the span of 70 odd miles will allow it.

Seattle Nights. Those lovely, lovely, city lights.

Warm hardwood floors. Color on the walls. A carpet in the living room, with a rug to add some character. Soft, brown leather couches that you could sink into like clouds. An afghan to cover the back in case I ever decide to find sleep on the couch rather than in my bed.

My own mini-couch. Is that what they call it? Not a recliner, but big enough for one person. Cushy and soft - the perfect place to read. My place to read. 

While the living room would be dressed in browns, my bedroom would be dressed in blues. Wall, comforters, sheets... 

It's all very lovely in my mind. Lovely, pretty, delightful... Mine.

I don't want much. I want it all, actually. I guess I should say... That for right now, here in this moment, and in those moments passed - I want to be on my own. 

I want to be that confidant girl. I want to strut my stuff. Swish and swizzle. Heads turn - "Who is she?" "What is she all about?" "Look at her, so happy." "I wish I could be her."

Hell yes, I want it. I want confidence, I want happiness, but most importantly - I want independence. I want to know that where I am, what I've done, where I've gone, what I'm doing... Is a product of my own hard work. Of my blood, sweat, and tears. Of my hopes and aspirations. Of my dreams.

I want me, all of me, not the parts of me dead to the rest of the world - doomed to whither away while attempting to love another. I want ME. I'm choosing ME. Over anyone else. And fuck it if it's selfish. Fuck it if that's not what so and so wants, or what they say is right.

Fuck it all.

And you know what? It feels so good to say that. It feels fucking FANTASTIC to let me lead my own life. Invigorating. Rejuvenating. Amazing. 

And it's all I could ever want.

Sweetest Goodbye

"Dream away, every day. Try so hard to disregard the rhythm of rain that drops and coincides with the beating of my heart."

What do you do when your body finally knows what your heart and mind has known all along?

When, inside you're screaming, "NO! This isn't what I want! This doesn't feel right! Stop, stop, stop, just let me go! Please, just let me go."

When you show physical signs of your internal battle. When it hurts - every gesture, every touch, every soft spoken word - the sincerity that you just don't feel?

When you're finally ready to say goodbye?

I am no longer a good person.

"What is your favorite thing that we do? Out of everything?"

"When we cook together. Or when we're working on a project. Or, our arm thing. When we work towards a common goal." 

How do you put emotions into words? When words... When they're not enough? The sincerity in his voice, the contentment, the near happiness - how can I convey that?

"What is your least favorite thing?"

"When we argue."

I tried to think of the last time that we did.

"Do we do that a lot?"

"Not so much recently, no. In high school we did a lot."

"But now?"

"No. But when one of us gets angry. You get angry easily."

"Often?"

"No, it doesn't happen often."

Am I using you?

A cool detachment. Almost an afterthought. 

Do you know that? Would it bother you? Does it?

"I don't like taking you away from things. Like... When we Skype. I know you're used to it but usually when I talk to you my focus is undivided, unless I'm researching something. Usually you're talking to your roommate, typing to your friend online, watching a video, doing something else..."

I know you better than anyone else.

And I know that the time to finally, truly, let go is coming.

Acknowledging that scares me.

You are so, so, so good to me and I feel as if I'm letting you down. 

Please forgive me. I'm not ready to lose you.

"Underneath the city lights, there is a world few know about... Where rules don't apply and you can't keep a good girl down. She comes through the club looking for a good time, gonna make that, shake that - money on a dime. Don't need a sugar daddy, she can work it just fine, up on the table she'll be dancing all night. Babydoll just comes alive under the spotlight - all the girls wanna fall in line."

A handful of Oreos, a can of caffeine, and I'm ready to tackle this bitch.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

I'm irritated. There's a phrase a fond friend of mine uses, and it goes, "It's irritating my soul!"

Among other variations.

I've never felt the need to use the phrase myself, it doesn't really work well outside of her, I think, but honestly - no other words express myself better than that.

Irritating my soul.

Do you know what I'm sick of? I'm sick of standards. I'm sick of looking in the (Forewarning: Strong Language is used, reader discretion is advised) goddamn mirror thinking, "Well shit, if I just lost my stomach, my thighs, my upper arms, got rid of my scars, thinned out my face, decreased the size of my nose, had longer/shorter hair, longer fingers, were just a little bit taller..."

You get my point.

I'm tired of articles that say, "How do MEN really feel about your style? Want to know what's going on in HIS mind? HIS favorite position - how you can master it! Six things HE wants in a woman!"

Blah blah blah... bullshit.

I don't give a damn if its true or not. 

"Target GPAs are usually no less than 3.4. We want to know who YOU are, to be accepted..."

Blah blah community service, blah blah good grades, blah blah rough lifestyle that you've overcome.

Why the hell can't I just be me?

Why must I always be in the position to impress somebody? Because seriously, in the end, its just going to be me isn't it? When its all said and done, I'll be living with me for the rest of my life.

Breathe.

And just as quickly as it came, the fiery indignation died out.

I'm exhausted. I've been through it this month, and I really don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear your snide (albeit... jokingly...) comments about how I'm a fatass. I really don't want to apologize to you for your deplorable behavior. I don't want to hear the excuse that YOU'VE been through it and shouldn't I understand that its something minor?

Uh, no. Because, despite my terrible foray into this new year - you don't see me spewing demeaning and crass comments at those I "love best".

Inhale.

My thoughts aren't following a coherent pattern, and really, I'm just mad. 

"What friend are you visiting?"

"Oh uh, they live in Glendale, so we're meeting up..."

"Uh... yeah... I don't know who that is..."

Man, who the HELL do you think you are? You, YOU, YOU are the one who wanted to be "just friends" and all that other bullshit - yeah, let's not call you out on the fact that you started it - and now you're getting butt hurt over who I spend my time with? When the HELL did it start concerning you?

Do you know what pisses me off even more? The icing on the fucking cake?

IS THAT I ALWAYS TALK ABOUT THIS SHIT.

YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS.

THE.

SAME.

OLD.

SHIT.

I'M GOING INSANE WITH IT.

I CAN'T EVEN SAY I'M TIRED BECAUSE THOSE WORDS HAVE BEEN USED SO FREQUENTLY THAT I'M FUCKING TIRED OF HEARING THEM.

OF WRITING THEM.

OF SAYING THEM.

OF MEANING THEM.

FUUUUCK THIS!

FUCK THIS SHIT! RIGHT NOW! FUCK IT ALL, BECAUSE NOW EVEN MY GODDAMN DREAMS AREN'T WHAT I WANT.

I'M SO FUCKIIING PISSED THAT I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I'M GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE!

Nothing is what I want! Do I want to go to UCLA? Then why is it that I fucking hated it when I stepped onto the campus? Why did it feel like anything but home? Why did it feel like this isn't where I belong?

Why don't I feel like I belong anywhere?

WHY?

WHY AM I STILL DEALING WITH MY MOTHERFUCKING EXBOYFRIEND?

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

I'm pissed! I'M ENRAGED. LIVID. ABSOLUTELY VOLATILE.

I'M NOT DONE!

Goddamit! I just want to know! I just want to fuckin know and get this godforesaken shit done and over with. I JUST WANT TO KNOW. I NEED TO KNOW.

I'M GOING BATSHIT CRAZY.

Fuck!

Why can't I leave it all behind? Why is it so hard to forget? Why isn't there - why haven't I found - closure? At all? When will it be over? All of it, every single bit of it?

THIS IS MY GODDAMN VACATION.

And instead of solving problems it just raises more questions.