my dearest

My dearest Samantha,
  Hello down there you hollow shell... with your unfortunate existence and your blank haunting stare. I have left you so you say. If not for my sympathy for you dear friend I would have never returned. I promise you were not much to write back home about. You wander, and yes in case you haven't realized you are so very very lost.
    Remember that childhood game we used to play...where I'd escape you for a time, and you would then come in a desperate search of me. This time is unconventional...for lack of a better word. I have escaped you, that part is true, but you did not come running. You barely blinked your weary tear soaked eyes. Your limbs paralyzed with Fear, uncertainty and shear painstaking emotion. Crumbled like the dreams of tiny children whose bodies left them well before their minds...who are you to break in such a way. Extraordinarily pathetic this seems. Have you not a spine that threads your skeleton. Have you not a thought that fills the vacant space between your modest ears. You only hear what you want to, and never what you need. The words cast aside in complete dissaray. The  language of your crimson vessel tainted with idiosyncratic bullshit, and half truths.
     I could no longer linger where one is not able to stand on ones own two legs. I am but a whisper, not a muscle. I am a guide willing to take the lead if thou will choose to trust in me. I am your soul, and quite frankly the only portion of you that is still alive. It is no wonder you can not feel but the cold against your chest. The hollow barrier beneath is just that, a void, a complete uninhabited space where I used to live. You can no longer  hear the music. Are you not saddened by the lack of memory? Who is this hollow girl... It isn't safe to feel this all alone ya know. One day you'll come to find me when the hours get to long to bare, and the silence speaks in tongues. You will find me right where I've been hidden...In plain sight. You left me my feeble angel, and I have never left you.

This smells like sanity...

        I know in my heart of hearts that I have absolutely known this all along, but today I can admit that I am a full fledged, fully capable, competent, qualified alcoholic. I have scored ridiculously high on every blood alcohol content calculator. I have drowned myself deep enough into the bottle, buried myself far enough into the toilet and the vomit soaked sheets of my bed, and woke up without an ounce of remorse too many times to continue to deny it now. My IQ is quite often less then my BAC, yet finding alcoholics anonymous is indefinitely the smartest thing I have ever done.
          I sat in the rooms with my mother, my qualifiers, myself time and time again since I was a small child, and for the life of me I would've told you that I am strictly a visitor. I wanted no parts of what they had, I wanted no parts of admitting what I was. If not but for the grace of GOD would I be proud of that neurotic girl because through these steps, and the sweaty palms of the countless peoples hands I choose to hold on this journey, would I not TODAY be proud of this WOMAN that I have come to be.
         I know where I belong, and I can not begin to describe just how freeing that feeling is. I was pretty sure I belonged everywhere...Every party, club, bar, concert...etc..etc...If I wasn't necessarily invited I'd make sure you loved me by the time I left. I'd for sure be the drunkest and luckily for me 9 times out of 10 I was a ton of fun. Being the good addict that I am I have too had my fair share of monster moments where I'd show up and you'd want to lock the door the moment I hit the first of the 5 front stairs, but I'd find a way in. If not the window, the back door, a parade of phone calls and thrown stones until you caved and unlatched the bolt lock. Nothing stopped it, the disease, the horror. I'd get drunk because it was Christmas, Easter, Halloween...Well then as the years went on I got drunk because it was flag day, earth day or presidents day weekend...and well the years that followed that I got drunk because it was, well...Wednesday.
       I no longer belong at those functions, but I DO belong somewhere much cooler. My new happy place has retro 70s wall paper, and books  that have been read by innumerable eyes. It has that familiar  musty church basement smell, and wobbly uncomfortable chairs. It has no windows, but it has a door that is always open, and a multitude of people with a look in their eyes that only sobriety can bring. In my weakest moments those coffee stained stools looked like thrones in king alexanders paradise, and those 4 walls looked exactly like home.
         This insanity does not define me...what defines me is that I can allow myself, be it one day at a time or one second at a time...to find serenity. I will be the most SOBER at all of these NEW functions, and I will still be the most FUN!!!
                                                         Thank you god for all you've given me
         

a mind is a terrible thing to waste

My whole life i've been the pretty one, the tan one, the one with the nice body. The sexy one with green eyes to die for and the lips to kill. I've been viewed first for my looks and then second for my sexual ability or my walk, or the way my brown hair sways in the wind. What about my mind? What about the millions and millions of gut wrenching thoughts I think...Can those not be seen? Do they not know the creativity that flows through my mind, the constant stream of dictionary words that toddle around from right temporal lobe to left or the lyrics that leave burn marks on my soul and not just ink stains on my skin. They can see the words sexily wrap around my thigh, ribs, stomach, but do they not see the impression it leaves on my heart. My hands have always freshly painted finger nails and designer rings, but do they not know the loads they have carried. Do they see the rough patches from years of dirty dishes or the millions of tiny permanent paper cuts from my many nights spent scripting every solitary moment of heartache I have ever endured. My legs are long, and tone but do they not know the miles they've walked or that I am so fragily built that I live in a constant state of "weak in the knees".  Do they know that those knees have been used for countless hours  praying for life, praying to be heard, felt, touched by something absolutely purely beautiful. My back looks strong, but it is weak..it has been strained by heavy burdens, and the weight of my entire world crashing down on me. My posture poor, but my faith is abundant. My heart beats with but a measly interworking of half broken wires, and patch work memories. They wouldn't know. I hope one day the world can stop seeing me. Stop seeing the shell, and start FEELING the human that lives within these 4 extremities. The inside isn't healthy, it isn't flawless or prim or proper. It's crumbling, starved...it's deteriorated from 12 years of harsh unremorseful abuse. It is flooded half with coffee, and the other half with a love that could drown a nation. They wouldn't know that either. Let me see YOU instead. Let my eyes envelope your entire being. I have been blessed with the ability to see from the inside out, and the mind to comprehend the true worth of beauty. My physical looks have gotten me by, but my soul is what keeps me going. humbled be the ones that experience the power.

touched

I felt the wind today..I felt the tickle of my long brown hair dance across my face. The air embodied a certain chilliness that sent shivers down my spine....the numbness was like tiny ants marching in succession to the tune of mother natures symphony. I had never been touched that way before. The gentleness...it was alarming. I have been held by strong able arms, gazed at with the innocence of a childs newly opened eyes, and yet nothing was as powerful...as consuming as the way the wind encompassed every fiber of my being. That hurricane is usually inside of my chest. I feel the pressure and the cold from the inside out instead of the outside in, the way I did today. It was soothing. My heart was able to feel the warmth for the first time since I was small on this breezy November morning. It could beat without frozen restraint...How ironically silent the wind was as it spoke volumes rustling through my black zip up sweatshirt. That heat coursed through my veins with such reckless abandon that it nearly burnt right through my ice cold skin. That fire, that undeniable thirst for life hasn't been present in my heart in weeks, months, years even. I would've sooner told you I was dead before I could merely utter the words.."I am alive". I wasn't alive. I was standing, like the rugged skeleton of a dilapidated tree in the forest...I was present,but I was far from living. Even the gentlest of winds could have crumbled my frail exterior....The rains would wash me away with the tears of the many souls  i've seized. Today  I am very much alive...I felt the wind today...and my roots were as sturdy as the day God gave them to me. I did not turn my back on that current today, and God did not turn his back on me.