I have been asked many times over the last 48 hours either why I was going to or why I did march. To me it is not a simple answer. It is dynamic and necessary. To me it is not a question of why I do but rather all the reasons that not marching was not an option.
I march because I have privilege and because the voice that I have will be heard. I march because if I do not use my voice to advocate for those that are disregarded by our administration and by the socio-political climate in this country then I am not standing up to the expectations and values that I was brought up in.
I march because when I was 11 years old my mother gave birth to a baby that was not supposed to survive. This baby, my baby brother, has proven people wrong every single day that he lives. My baby brother, now 15 years old, could not be insured without the Affordable Care Act. I march because when people see someone in a wheelchair, or with development disabilities, or with invisible ailments, they assume that they are unintelligent and that their voices, or experiences, are not valid.
I march because when I was 16 years old I walked into Planned Parenthood after being raped to get Plan B and be put on birth control. I went to Planned Parenthood because I was terrified to talk to my friends and family about what I had been through and was afraid of the judgement that may have come along with it. The doctor at Planned Parenthood was gentle, supportive, and listened to me while I cried and expressed my concerned. She talked to me about my options and put my feelings and my choices first. She helped me understand what it meant to advocate for myself and my body.
I march for my right to choose what I want to do with my body because more times than once I have had that choice taken away from me by intimate parties. Because until 3 years ago I was going to, under no circumstance, have children because of the danger that it would put me and my emotional health in.
I march because I was raised by a man that taught me the importance of global relations and the damaging impact of islamophobia; because on 9/11 I watched hatred get spewed at my family because of my father's nation of origin and others' perception of our beliefs. Because when people see my Persian brothers they see a threat instead of seeing the incredible, hilarious and brilliant men that they are.
I march because my mother's students should not live in fear of deportation and instead should be celebrated for their successes and for working toward better lives for their families. That every child, and every family, should be honored for contributing to the melting pot, and the dynamically diverse environment, of the United States.
I march for my LGBTQ communities rights. For their right to marry, to choose, to receive medical care, and to receive the same job, housing, insurance, etc securities as our cis-straight peers. Because for my whole life as a cisgender woman I have passed for straight and watched as my peers were under attack and have feared outing myself. For that, my friends, I am sorry.
I march because if we fail to use our privileges and our power to advocate for those without then we are failing everyone. If we cannot own our privilege and the choices made by others in our demographic then we are failing. We must be better. We must rise against the patriarchy that hurts all of us. When they go low, we must go high. We must love, educate, speak out, advocate, and be stronger than anyone thought we could. These are only a few of many reasons that I march. I march for all of those that can't, all of those who are disenfranchised, all of those who are told their voices are unimportant and whose bodies are deemed a threat just by way of existing. I march because WE are the revolution that the world needs right now. I march because not marching is not a choice.
1.22.2017
6.10.2016
How "Safe Space" is neither inclusive or accessible for many
I love what I do. I love the people I get to work with. I love working with students. I am not doing justice to the students I work with. I am contributing to many of them feeling stifled. I know because the professionals that worked with me did the same thing. They did nothing wrong, I am doing nothing wrong, that doesn't mean that we can't do better.
At least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Nearly one-third of American women (31%) report being physically or sexually abused by a husband or boyfriend at some point in their lives. Three in four women (76%) who reported they had been raped and/or physically assaulted since age 18 said that a current or former husband, cohabitating partner, or date committed the assault. Seventy-eight percent of stalking victims are women. Women are significantly more likely than men (60 percent and 30 percent, respectively) to be stalked by intimate partners. Eighty percent of women who are stalked by former husbands are physically assaulted by that partner and 30 percent are sexually assaulted by that partner.
Just let those statistics sink in. Really read them! Now take a deep breathe. Cause this is stuff that gets at our guts and it hurts and it is real!
I have lived these statistics. I have cringed as someone telling me "it's a safe space, we're here for you" but yet I have kept my mouth shut and have gone along with calling it "safe space" because I didn't want to out myself. I feared how people would treat me and what they would say when they found out I was a part of those statistics. Often we forget that outspoken, social justice warriors of women and men can be the victims of abuse and rape. We forget that those that are advocating for change and carry themselves with the confidence of ten people can be the victims of abuse and rape. We forget that people who are strong independent men and women can be victimized and can break down. We forget that we cannot be strong all the time and that in times where we are trapped we are ALLOWED to reach out and ask for help, ask for someone to get us out of the situation we are in. We forget that we are also vulnerable.
I always thought it wouldn't happen to me. I always thought that I would conquer the world and I would be the advocate that would save others. I never thought I would need saving. I never thought my best friend, someone who had been like an older brother to me most of my childhood would get me drunk, take advantage of me, then drop me off at the end of my street in the pouring rain like I was trash. I never thought I would fall for a man that would cut me off from all my friends leaving me with only my family and him. A man who would pick me up from work, and from school, so that I could go no where without him watching. A man who waited for my 18th birthday to ask me out so that he would be within the law. A man who once a friend FINALLY came to pull me out would stalk me and show up at my work and at my school trying to find me. A man who would find each address I lived at until I moved out of Portland.
For this reason I have never felt safe. It has been nearly 8 years since I walked away from one of the most trying times in my life and I have never felt safe. It is not because I am not strong, or confident, or resilient. It is because some asshole took that away from me. My heart still stops for a moment when an unknown number pops up on my phone. I still feel the need to hide in my room when someone knocks on my front door when I am not expecting anyone. I still freeze in my tracks when I see bald white men from behind at my work for fear it could be him. The day my neighbor made me homemade cookies and left them in a package on my front step with a flower taped to the top of the box I almost vomited. This does not stop me from being a strong independent woman but it is the reality that I have lived for 8 years.
This is why having "Safe Spaces" on college campuses is not inclusive. It does not include me. It does not include many men and women who identify as survivors, as thrivers, as individuals who have fought their way our of domestic and sexual abuse and have won. For those of us that don't ever feel safe don't have anything wrong with us, we just have a different lived experience and are stronger because of it.
This is why having "Safe Spaces" on college campuses is not accessible. I walk through life knowing that he could find me. Knowing that putting my name and photo on my departments website made me searchable on the internet. Knowing that I chose to make myself vulnerable. Safety isn't something I have access to and anyone that thinks I do has never stood where I stood in the shoes that I'm wearing with my feet on the ground. They have never lived in my skin.
There is currently a movement away from calling them "safe spaces" and an introduction to "brave spaces". I know it may be cheesy but it's a more accurate depiction of reality. "Safe Spaces" were originally created as an identifier that an institution or student body would not tolerate anti-LGBT violence, harassment or hate speech, thereby creating safe space for all lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender students. Referring to it as a Brave Space or Supported Space (as I used to think of it in my undergrad) does not discredit that but enhances that. Those in the LGBT community stand brave and firm in the face of adversity on a daily basis. It is time for us to change and embrace verbage that is inclusive and accessible to all our students. It is time that we put our words and our programs where our money is. It's time to rise up and change. As a Student Affairs Professional I owe this to my students, and my coworkers but mostly I owe it to myself to be the advocate that I didn't know I needed as a student. To be the person my mentors have all risen to be. To be an advocate that I can be proud of. The time is now.
At least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Nearly one-third of American women (31%) report being physically or sexually abused by a husband or boyfriend at some point in their lives. Three in four women (76%) who reported they had been raped and/or physically assaulted since age 18 said that a current or former husband, cohabitating partner, or date committed the assault. Seventy-eight percent of stalking victims are women. Women are significantly more likely than men (60 percent and 30 percent, respectively) to be stalked by intimate partners. Eighty percent of women who are stalked by former husbands are physically assaulted by that partner and 30 percent are sexually assaulted by that partner.
Just let those statistics sink in. Really read them! Now take a deep breathe. Cause this is stuff that gets at our guts and it hurts and it is real!
I have lived these statistics. I have cringed as someone telling me "it's a safe space, we're here for you" but yet I have kept my mouth shut and have gone along with calling it "safe space" because I didn't want to out myself. I feared how people would treat me and what they would say when they found out I was a part of those statistics. Often we forget that outspoken, social justice warriors of women and men can be the victims of abuse and rape. We forget that those that are advocating for change and carry themselves with the confidence of ten people can be the victims of abuse and rape. We forget that people who are strong independent men and women can be victimized and can break down. We forget that we cannot be strong all the time and that in times where we are trapped we are ALLOWED to reach out and ask for help, ask for someone to get us out of the situation we are in. We forget that we are also vulnerable.
I always thought it wouldn't happen to me. I always thought that I would conquer the world and I would be the advocate that would save others. I never thought I would need saving. I never thought my best friend, someone who had been like an older brother to me most of my childhood would get me drunk, take advantage of me, then drop me off at the end of my street in the pouring rain like I was trash. I never thought I would fall for a man that would cut me off from all my friends leaving me with only my family and him. A man who would pick me up from work, and from school, so that I could go no where without him watching. A man who waited for my 18th birthday to ask me out so that he would be within the law. A man who once a friend FINALLY came to pull me out would stalk me and show up at my work and at my school trying to find me. A man who would find each address I lived at until I moved out of Portland.
For this reason I have never felt safe. It has been nearly 8 years since I walked away from one of the most trying times in my life and I have never felt safe. It is not because I am not strong, or confident, or resilient. It is because some asshole took that away from me. My heart still stops for a moment when an unknown number pops up on my phone. I still feel the need to hide in my room when someone knocks on my front door when I am not expecting anyone. I still freeze in my tracks when I see bald white men from behind at my work for fear it could be him. The day my neighbor made me homemade cookies and left them in a package on my front step with a flower taped to the top of the box I almost vomited. This does not stop me from being a strong independent woman but it is the reality that I have lived for 8 years.
This is why having "Safe Spaces" on college campuses is not inclusive. It does not include me. It does not include many men and women who identify as survivors, as thrivers, as individuals who have fought their way our of domestic and sexual abuse and have won. For those of us that don't ever feel safe don't have anything wrong with us, we just have a different lived experience and are stronger because of it.
This is why having "Safe Spaces" on college campuses is not accessible. I walk through life knowing that he could find me. Knowing that putting my name and photo on my departments website made me searchable on the internet. Knowing that I chose to make myself vulnerable. Safety isn't something I have access to and anyone that thinks I do has never stood where I stood in the shoes that I'm wearing with my feet on the ground. They have never lived in my skin.
There is currently a movement away from calling them "safe spaces" and an introduction to "brave spaces". I know it may be cheesy but it's a more accurate depiction of reality. "Safe Spaces" were originally created as an identifier that an institution or student body would not tolerate anti-LGBT violence, harassment or hate speech, thereby creating safe space for all lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender students. Referring to it as a Brave Space or Supported Space (as I used to think of it in my undergrad) does not discredit that but enhances that. Those in the LGBT community stand brave and firm in the face of adversity on a daily basis. It is time for us to change and embrace verbage that is inclusive and accessible to all our students. It is time that we put our words and our programs where our money is. It's time to rise up and change. As a Student Affairs Professional I owe this to my students, and my coworkers but mostly I owe it to myself to be the advocate that I didn't know I needed as a student. To be the person my mentors have all risen to be. To be an advocate that I can be proud of. The time is now.
8.26.2015
Time heals old wounds
I've always been told that time heals old wounds. At least that's what my grandma and every other older person in my life has ever said. It's a little hard to believe that maybe this could be true, especially thinking of how much my life has changed in the last two years. I used to think I had it all figured out. I had met the person that I invested in, was spending and creating a life with. It wasn't healthy but it was "as good as it was going to get". I was a girl I wouldn't recognize now. Two years ago I got a text telling me I was pathetic. Telling me that he had never loved me, that he never would, that everything he'd told me I'd been "paranoid" about had been a reality. He texted me telling me that he didn't want to be friends and that he was choosing his affair over our friendship. It was my first day of grad school, only 3 days into my new job, at a new school where I knew no one. I had no friends, much less a family, to lean on or go to. I had me, I had my friends back home, I had my dogs. That was it.
I have never felt so homesick in my entire life than to have my heart ripped out and stab through a stake then put on display, and to be so completely alone.
Little did I know that mere weeks later I would meet a totally goofy, snarky, sometimes douch-baggish guy from the club soccer team. He was sassy and made me laugh and is now the love of my life, but not in the way people think. He's my best friend and my person. He's the one that pulls me up by my boot straps when I can't figure out how. I wouldn't have found him if I hadn't been knocked so far down. I wouldn't have found most of my friends if I wouldn't have had to start over.
That's really what Illlinois was - starting over. I got broken down in so many ways so that eventually I could build back up.
Today I am homesick, not for Portland, or for my family but for my people, my people that feel like home. Zach feels like home. Bec feels like home. Jen feels like home. Jon, George and Steph feel like home. The people that ground me when I feel like I'm float away and that give me wings when I am stuck with my head in the sand. They are my breath of fresh air and right now I feel like I'm drowning.
Life in Louisiana is good. I love it here, I really do but something about how I'm feeling right now just doesn't feel right. Something about it is swallowing me whole and I can't quite figure it out. I miss my friends. I miss having MY people. Not people I work with but MY people. The ones that I call when I need a drink or to bitch or just to watch movies. I miss having my people to dance with, snuggle with, laugh and (try not to) cry with. I miss my people.
Labor day can't come soon enough cause I need them. It feels like so long ago that I had them and got to just live and be with them and I can barely wait any longer. I need to be reminded how to breathe. I need to be reminded what it truly feels like to let go and just be. I need my person.
I have never felt so homesick in my entire life than to have my heart ripped out and stab through a stake then put on display, and to be so completely alone.
Little did I know that mere weeks later I would meet a totally goofy, snarky, sometimes douch-baggish guy from the club soccer team. He was sassy and made me laugh and is now the love of my life, but not in the way people think. He's my best friend and my person. He's the one that pulls me up by my boot straps when I can't figure out how. I wouldn't have found him if I hadn't been knocked so far down. I wouldn't have found most of my friends if I wouldn't have had to start over.
That's really what Illlinois was - starting over. I got broken down in so many ways so that eventually I could build back up.
Today I am homesick, not for Portland, or for my family but for my people, my people that feel like home. Zach feels like home. Bec feels like home. Jen feels like home. Jon, George and Steph feel like home. The people that ground me when I feel like I'm float away and that give me wings when I am stuck with my head in the sand. They are my breath of fresh air and right now I feel like I'm drowning.
Life in Louisiana is good. I love it here, I really do but something about how I'm feeling right now just doesn't feel right. Something about it is swallowing me whole and I can't quite figure it out. I miss my friends. I miss having MY people. Not people I work with but MY people. The ones that I call when I need a drink or to bitch or just to watch movies. I miss having my people to dance with, snuggle with, laugh and (try not to) cry with. I miss my people.
Labor day can't come soon enough cause I need them. It feels like so long ago that I had them and got to just live and be with them and I can barely wait any longer. I need to be reminded how to breathe. I need to be reminded what it truly feels like to let go and just be. I need my person.
12.14.2014
Nightmares are just reality relived
Pen to paper
Bottle to lips
Dream of nightmares
You'll never escape
Words in the air
And Tears on her cheeks
Speaking of times
No one knew happened
Cold kitchen floors
Gasping for air
Drowning in the memories
Of captivity
Fear for safety
Learning to trust
Breaking
Crawling back inside
Damaged goods they call her
Wounded and alone
Hiding her past behind a facade
Of normalcy
Bottle to lips
Dream of nightmares
You'll never escape
Words in the air
And Tears on her cheeks
Speaking of times
No one knew happened
Cold kitchen floors
Gasping for air
Drowning in the memories
Of captivity
Fear for safety
Learning to trust
Breaking
Crawling back inside
Damaged goods they call her
Wounded and alone
Hiding her past behind a facade
Of normalcy
9.27.2014
Gladiators
Moving to Illinois was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I left behind MY warriors, my best friends that have fought with me, for me, and by my side through the best and worst days of my life. My Gladiators that when I didn't believe in myself and thought that I should just bow out and let the situation have gotten in my face and - in not so few words - asked me these questions? Are you going to give up or are you going to fight?
I think lately, especially in the last few weeks, I have chosen to fight. There has been so much thrown at me over the last few weeks (now 4 deaths - I'm just waiting for them to stop), nearly failing a class, not having time for my dogs, getting overworked, getting attacked while at the bar with friends, being told I had to have a root canal (and then having it and being in excruciating pain constantly) and the cherry on top being that I couldn't go home... I was stuck. I didn't want to be a gladiator... not in the slightest. I wanted to curl up under my desk and cry.
Yep... this was me. At least in my head this was me.
Actually, the image isn't far off cause I did cry. With my head on a table in the middle of the library. Talk about humiliating on my part. Not a thing.
But one of my best guy friends listened. Let me cry. Told me that my tears were justified (hence why he's my favorite human) and then told me to buck up and start figuring shit out. So that's where I've been for the last week or so - trying to figure my shit out.
Yeah... me and all my shit just kinda trying to truck through.
I'm tired of just letting life happen to me. I have made some awesome friends this year that have reminded me what if felt like to live and not just let life happen to you but I've so allowed my circumstances and the things that are happening in my life and around me weigh me down. I'm not entirely sure why (probably cause I've always done that) but I just can't let everything everyone else is doing piss me off and put a halt on the fact that I am on a track to be awesome. I am a Gladiator
So here's the deal... I'm gonna be over here being awesome and being a Gladiator
*Yep that rad looking chick that's me... I've decided*
And if you aren't on board you can be over there being.... less awesome
Okay.... maybe not 15% less awesome... that's a little extreme...
Yeah that's better! So are you a Gladiator? Or are you gonna bow out?
9.02.2014
The Song of a Broke Heart
Things are never as easy as people say they'll be. We love and lose then people convince us to love again. I've always been one to keep myself at a distance, from friends, family, lovers, confidantes. I've kept myself at a distance from the MTM community. I've kept my life a secret from many of the people in my life never knowing how to tell them what my life is like with a brother with an unpredictable lifespan. Never knowing how to explain to others the fear and heart break that accompanies your every joy and successful milestone knowing that others won't get there, not knowing if you'll reach the next.
Last year my heart was shattered into more pieces that I could count. I was dropped, from the highest height (or so it felt) by the person I had sworn my love to. Three years of one of the most unhealthy relationships of my life and just over a year ago (a year last thursday) I got a text that said some of the harshest things I've ever been told and I crumbled, alone in a new place without friends to save me from myself. This last year hasn't been the healthiest again. Learning to love myself. Learning to mourn and overcome. Learning to live without someone I thought I'd be spending my life with. I've opened my heart and been crushed then given a second chance and had it spat on. It wasn't easy. It hasn't been easy.
Last summer I also met the most incredible little boy. My boyfriend. The sweetest face that lit up when he saw me. A smile that could move mountains. The first MTM boy that I allowed myself to feel and love and be close to. I may never know what it was about him but he stole my heart. In the hands of a mere toddler I placed a huge part of my heart. His mom becoming a dear friend, the one that sent me my first care package when I needed it most, who told me their home was there after my first breakup in Illinois, who listened whenever I blubbered about being homesick. A family that even though new to my life became such a beacon of love. A little boy, that no matter how I spun it, brought a joy to my life like I haven't felt.
That same little boy, my sweet Louie, gained his wings and I haven't been able to process it. Like it doesn't make sense. I keep having days where I think to text his mom asking how he's doing, or I'm scrolling through her facebook page looking for pictures when it hits me that he isn't there anymore. Seeing his parents last night my heart hurt and yet felt empty. I haven't know how to mourn. Seeking the chance to burst into tears and have someone hold me until there are no more tears but instead I stuff the pain, heart break, and rage of his loss further and further down hoping I can ignore it. Bursting at random into tears in my car outside of my house waiting until the tears dry to walk inside, afraid someone will ask me if I'm okay. Cause there wouldn't be an answer.
This last year my heart has shattered twice in completely different ways. I don't know how to allow myself to be vulnerable again knowing that it can be taken advantage of or that another loss can occur. It's it really better to love and feel loss than to never have loved at all? Does the heartache stop?
I am scared. Terrified even. Every single day of what the pain will feel like if a death is closer to home. I can't turn my brain off for the fear of it. I don't know how to live in the good moments and the next planned adventures when in a second a "healthy" kiddo can be gifted his wings while the left of us are left wondering. How do people do this more than once? How do parents have multiple children? How do people open themselves up again? How do you find the motivation to just keep trucking along when running around or not moving at all are the only options that seem manageable? How do I stop the moments of random crying now that my life is slowing down to a "normal" pace? When you're too busy to breathe you're also too busy to cry, so how do you do it? I'm really not sure how right now...
Last year my heart was shattered into more pieces that I could count. I was dropped, from the highest height (or so it felt) by the person I had sworn my love to. Three years of one of the most unhealthy relationships of my life and just over a year ago (a year last thursday) I got a text that said some of the harshest things I've ever been told and I crumbled, alone in a new place without friends to save me from myself. This last year hasn't been the healthiest again. Learning to love myself. Learning to mourn and overcome. Learning to live without someone I thought I'd be spending my life with. I've opened my heart and been crushed then given a second chance and had it spat on. It wasn't easy. It hasn't been easy.
Last summer I also met the most incredible little boy. My boyfriend. The sweetest face that lit up when he saw me. A smile that could move mountains. The first MTM boy that I allowed myself to feel and love and be close to. I may never know what it was about him but he stole my heart. In the hands of a mere toddler I placed a huge part of my heart. His mom becoming a dear friend, the one that sent me my first care package when I needed it most, who told me their home was there after my first breakup in Illinois, who listened whenever I blubbered about being homesick. A family that even though new to my life became such a beacon of love. A little boy, that no matter how I spun it, brought a joy to my life like I haven't felt.
That same little boy, my sweet Louie, gained his wings and I haven't been able to process it. Like it doesn't make sense. I keep having days where I think to text his mom asking how he's doing, or I'm scrolling through her facebook page looking for pictures when it hits me that he isn't there anymore. Seeing his parents last night my heart hurt and yet felt empty. I haven't know how to mourn. Seeking the chance to burst into tears and have someone hold me until there are no more tears but instead I stuff the pain, heart break, and rage of his loss further and further down hoping I can ignore it. Bursting at random into tears in my car outside of my house waiting until the tears dry to walk inside, afraid someone will ask me if I'm okay. Cause there wouldn't be an answer.
This last year my heart has shattered twice in completely different ways. I don't know how to allow myself to be vulnerable again knowing that it can be taken advantage of or that another loss can occur. It's it really better to love and feel loss than to never have loved at all? Does the heartache stop?
I am scared. Terrified even. Every single day of what the pain will feel like if a death is closer to home. I can't turn my brain off for the fear of it. I don't know how to live in the good moments and the next planned adventures when in a second a "healthy" kiddo can be gifted his wings while the left of us are left wondering. How do people do this more than once? How do parents have multiple children? How do people open themselves up again? How do you find the motivation to just keep trucking along when running around or not moving at all are the only options that seem manageable? How do I stop the moments of random crying now that my life is slowing down to a "normal" pace? When you're too busy to breathe you're also too busy to cry, so how do you do it? I'm really not sure how right now...
6.28.2014
The Divide
This weird thing happens when you move away from home. Things change.
Now I know, I've said this a million times since I moved to Illinois that things are different and relationships change but I've become increasingly aware lately that it's more than that.
I learned really quickly who my real friends were. My real friends are the ones that have listened to the recording of my homesickness on repeat for a year. They've answered the crying phone calls at 1am (okay 11pm west coast time), they've calmed me down when I'm in my head, they've texted and snap chatted relentlessly when I've fallen off the map. My friends are my rocks. They keep my feet on the ground. The people that I've realized are my real friends are the ones that make the effort when I just can't anymore. That make the effort to make sure we talk and see each other, that don't let the distance be the reason it dies.
It's really hard sometimes. It's hard seeing pictures of everyone together while I'm here. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret taking the opportunity here, but I didn't know how much I relied on my people to be okay until I didn't have them around me. It's like there's a part of me that's missing.... empty. Not that I'm unhappy, just empty.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hate feeling angry and agitated all the time. It feels like there is something about this whole situation that just has me perpetually on edge and quick to anger. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a temper. It's not something new to me but I'm not used to not being able to control it. I always feel like I am at the brim, fuming and hoping I don't go over the edge. It's a weird feeling for me.
I feel like I've lost, or am losing, my connections to my friends back home. Most of my friends here in Illinois are gone, and most of the people that are here aren't people that I am close to or that I'd prefer to not spend time with. I feel like I'm floating, in purgatory, like I'm in this place where I'm easy to forget. Out of sight out of mind I guess.
I'm sure this isn't true but it's 100% how it's felt lately. Everyday I wish I could come home. Come back home. Come back to my life. Come back to where things and people made sense. I just feel like I'm in a perpetual state of drowning. I can see the surface, I can see the sun, but I can't break through and I can't breathe and no one can hear my screams. I miss the way my life used to be. I hate that I am in a constant state of struggle and I hate feeling like I am repeating the same "woe-is-me" but I don't feel like I have any way to process and I'm just slowly falling further and further down the rabbit hole.
I can feel people getting more distant and I'm digging my nails in trying not to lose them. Trying not to lose the bit of security I feel like I have. Trying to maintain my connections to the people at home that have made me feel normal. I don't feel so normal anymore. I'm starting to wonder if I am one of those people that keep at a distance. Like, I'm feeling like maybe I'm doomed to be someone that people use as someone of convenience but rarely as someone substantial. Maybe those are the people I'm attracted to, the people I try to be close to.
It's hard feeling sometimes like people have their close friends, and then they have me when they have no one else. This summer has felt so empty because the people that I do spend time with, the few that I hang out with regularly, are all gone and for the first time in a long time I feel alone yet surrounded by other people.
I've been struggling to leave my house. I go to work and come home. Then I don't leave again. Rinse and Repeat. I don't like doing things on my own because I was once told that only those that have no one is forced to do things on their own. I don't wanna hit that point. A year later and I think there are days that I am still trying to figure out where I belong...
Now I know, I've said this a million times since I moved to Illinois that things are different and relationships change but I've become increasingly aware lately that it's more than that.
I learned really quickly who my real friends were. My real friends are the ones that have listened to the recording of my homesickness on repeat for a year. They've answered the crying phone calls at 1am (okay 11pm west coast time), they've calmed me down when I'm in my head, they've texted and snap chatted relentlessly when I've fallen off the map. My friends are my rocks. They keep my feet on the ground. The people that I've realized are my real friends are the ones that make the effort when I just can't anymore. That make the effort to make sure we talk and see each other, that don't let the distance be the reason it dies.
It's really hard sometimes. It's hard seeing pictures of everyone together while I'm here. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret taking the opportunity here, but I didn't know how much I relied on my people to be okay until I didn't have them around me. It's like there's a part of me that's missing.... empty. Not that I'm unhappy, just empty.
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I hate feeling angry and agitated all the time. It feels like there is something about this whole situation that just has me perpetually on edge and quick to anger. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a temper. It's not something new to me but I'm not used to not being able to control it. I always feel like I am at the brim, fuming and hoping I don't go over the edge. It's a weird feeling for me.
I feel like I've lost, or am losing, my connections to my friends back home. Most of my friends here in Illinois are gone, and most of the people that are here aren't people that I am close to or that I'd prefer to not spend time with. I feel like I'm floating, in purgatory, like I'm in this place where I'm easy to forget. Out of sight out of mind I guess.
I'm sure this isn't true but it's 100% how it's felt lately. Everyday I wish I could come home. Come back home. Come back to my life. Come back to where things and people made sense. I just feel like I'm in a perpetual state of drowning. I can see the surface, I can see the sun, but I can't break through and I can't breathe and no one can hear my screams. I miss the way my life used to be. I hate that I am in a constant state of struggle and I hate feeling like I am repeating the same "woe-is-me" but I don't feel like I have any way to process and I'm just slowly falling further and further down the rabbit hole.
I can feel people getting more distant and I'm digging my nails in trying not to lose them. Trying not to lose the bit of security I feel like I have. Trying to maintain my connections to the people at home that have made me feel normal. I don't feel so normal anymore. I'm starting to wonder if I am one of those people that keep at a distance. Like, I'm feeling like maybe I'm doomed to be someone that people use as someone of convenience but rarely as someone substantial. Maybe those are the people I'm attracted to, the people I try to be close to.
It's hard feeling sometimes like people have their close friends, and then they have me when they have no one else. This summer has felt so empty because the people that I do spend time with, the few that I hang out with regularly, are all gone and for the first time in a long time I feel alone yet surrounded by other people.
I've been struggling to leave my house. I go to work and come home. Then I don't leave again. Rinse and Repeat. I don't like doing things on my own because I was once told that only those that have no one is forced to do things on their own. I don't wanna hit that point. A year later and I think there are days that I am still trying to figure out where I belong...
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