So, I’ve decided to breathe some new life into this page, especially because I may or may not be releasing my first book of poetry this month (eeeee!!).
A lot has changed since that happy, optimistic last post from almost a year ago. I’m still savoring those happy moments, but things are a little tougher right now. My anxiety disorder has flared up and it’s been a struggle. Also that “best friend in the world” that I was fortunate enough to go to New Orleans with has since uh, how can I say this nicely, switched priorities. She’s no longer around or really available to talk to. Add 4 funerals in a year on top of that and you’re got a bit of a bumpy road.
I’m trying to deal though, the best way I can, and often that means just moving forward. I can only take it a day at a time, despite what my anxiety would often have me believe, so this is me doing that.
Someone told me something a few days ago that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. He said that in the past few years, he couldn’t think of a time when I had said I was truly happy or content in life.
To a degree, he is right. I’ve been through a lot and the nature of our friendship often means that I come to him when I’m hurting or need someone to talk to, and vice versa.
And in the moment of him saying this, I agreed with him, because all that came to the forefront of my mind were the instances of trauma and heartache. It was later, when I was still thinking about it, that I realized all the ways in which I do find joy, and all the little things or big things that make me happy…
Like waking up to a thunderstorm, when you don’t have anywhere to go
Going to a Halsey or Demi concert and singing at the top of my lungs, and dancing in the aisles, with no judgment at all because in those moments it is just you, the fans, and the artist connecting.
Being in any bookstore at all, or better yet a library, where I can pick up whatever my heart desires and take it home to devour
When I spent my 30th birthday with my best friend in the world and watched my mom defend me to a protestor on Bourbon St.
Night swimming at my second mom’s house, watching the trees light up with fireflies like glitter and talking to the moon
Going for a walk in the fall, when the weather is just right and the leaves are falling from trees into my hair
Waking up to the feeling of my cat curled up against me, fast asleep
Having the strength to be vulnerable, even when I know the door will be closed in my face
Driving with the windows down, singing to my favorite songs
And writing. I am whole when I am writing.
So, as I come off of a medication that might have had a tighter hold on some of my emotions than I might have originally believed, I find myself feeling happiness even more, and more so, wanting to share it with others. I hope I can do that, and never leave someone again with only the impression of sadness when there is so much to be grateful for.
So, I’ve decided to start a new series on here, which I’ve nicknamed Musical Muse, because I’m clever like that. Basically, I’ll be posting poems that I’ve written that were in some way inspired by a certain lyric from a specific song.
Here’s the first one 🙂
I crept past the dragon
guarding your door,
tiptoed into the dark halls,
and began to search.
At first, there were only ghosts,
hiding in closets and
tucked under beds,
I dodged their rotting fingers.
Then i found the pictures,
your form just a blur,
and then the mask
you wore to meet me.
-And I knew it had never been real.
Inspired by “So I took an ax to a mended fence,” by Taylor Swift- “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”
I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell my story, and why I felt such a need to tell it, for at least a year now. Nothing really seemed to work or feel right. At least until a certain concert I went to that inexplicably sparked something in my mind that caused the pieces to fall into place. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop writing. I’d been reminded of my roots, of the ways in which my voice is strongest, and it finally felt right, and safe, to say what I needed to.
In telling the story, I wasn’t sure what I hoped to accomplish. I just knew that it needed to come out, one way or another. A couple of nights ago, I finished the first draft of that story and I was surprised to feel not just nervous that people would actually be reading it soon, but also an overwhelming sense of peace. Peace and confidence and serenity that I haven’t felt in almost 5 years.
It will be 5 years since the assault happened next month. Every year I’ve done something on or around the university to take back my power of that day and try to prevent myself from succumbing to the painful memories that can sometimes surface. Last year, I forgot there was an anniversary at all, something I considered, and still do, a victory in and of itself.
This year it seems the anniversary will bring about a piece of work written in my blood and tears. It’s honestly probably the piece I’m most proud of to date. More importantly, writing it brought closure. I can’t tell you what it means to finally feel like I can close the door behind me on this chapter in my life when for years I didn’t think it would be possible to go more than a day without thinking about it, hurting from it.
But that’s what happened. When I came to the end of the word document that held everything I’d gone through…I felt closure. I felt like I can finally move on.
I’ve been wondering at times what the purpose in my coming to Texas was when I’m just going back home to Indy in March, but now I think I know. I needed this. I needed to get away from all of the monsters that held me hostage before, come to a new, untainted environment, and find my voice again.
And I did. I found it, and I’m proud of it, and I’m so incredibly happy that as some sort of miraculous bonus, I’ve finally found closure. I can finally go home feeling happier and lighter than I have in years, and I am so grateful and excited for this next chapter.