Falling to Fail

(Depression cloud rant)

Quick! Find your footing.

Everything shakes underneath my feet.

Quick! Find your balance.

Like an unsteady heartbeat.

Jump! You barely made it.

I feel like a failure. A failure to everyone I have ever known. A failure to everyone I will meet. Every crooked, wacky, and painful part. 

I have no wish to die, but my brain is fighting it’s own song. I am so happy to be alive, but my body creaks with each step.

I think what I am the most mad about is how much I have failed myself.

 I destroyed my own body years ago and the damage from it is lasting. I starved every good living cell in my body to the point of destruction

I have this nagging sense that I won’t ever amount to anything. Maybe I won’t. Some people are just built to stand on the sidelines and that’s okay. I guess I just feel mediocre. Where is my purpose? I’ve tried everything in the books and nothing stuck. Nothing interested me, nothing sparked. There is a wire loose in my brain I keep trying to fix with electrical tape, but it gets drowned out by the blood in my ears, so it never sticks. 

It doesn’t help that my hands seem to carry a poison. A poison that gets into cracks of everything they touch. Always failing me, always taking the wrong step.

I love my life. I have nothing to be depressed about. I have nothing to feel like this about, but I do. I love my woman. I just…feel mundane. Boring. And what if others start to think that way too? What then…? I like my life to be boring, I like doing nothing, but I am not anything special and that’s what’s bothering me. I’m so angry at myself. These medical appointments are dragging me down into a dangerous abyss of self hatred. 

After all, how do you fix a soul that’s already been turned so black by the debris around your past? How do you undo the damage? I am happy, but also sad. Sad that I keep messing up. Sad that I can’t do things the same.

I love my life, I am fine. My girlfriend and I are fine. This is me. My own brain…slicing into me with a machete. 

I’ve been trying to find it, but it’s like trying to catch a piece of cotton in the wind. 

The End to My Beginning


Where does one begin when there never was a beginning? To every story, there should a beginning. Somewhere you can mark “You began here.” From there the middles will fall into place until we reach the end.

My story has no definite beginning. I don’t have the red markers, the pinpoint. I can’t point to anyone on a map where this feeling inside me started.

From the time I was born, I’ve had this darkness casting its evil shadow over my head. Mom would say “Oh, honey, just smile for once!” and Father would say “Get over it.” 

People would call me reckless, careless, I guess I could agree with them. You see, from the time I was born, I was never afraid of dying. Often times I predicted it would be from my own hands.

I wouldn’t call myself suicidal, but I wouldn’t say I am not either. I have a death wish, but only a wish. Just a wish. No danger can come from wishing, or so I thought.

Chapter 1?

The End.

Backward to forwards. I remember the crisp air slicing through my lungs, the sadness draining from my pores because it had nowhere else to escape The way the trees blew effortlessly in the wind. I remember being jealous of the birds. Jealous how, even with hollow bones they still find a way to wake up and sing the morning, so excited. Life pulsing throughout them. I wonder what its like to wake up with your brain intact. I wonder how it feels to walk into the kitchen without sinking through the floorboards because your eyes are so heavy. 

Angry Little “Hypochondriac”

Today I found out I have a long and painful road of recovery before me. If I don’t fix this problem now, one day I won’t be able to sit up straight, I could lose the ability to move correctly.

It started in my toes this morning after going to the hospital. This slow-burning sensation that I had no way to put a name on. It felt like someone shot me up and left me within the turmoils of my own mind. Pretty cruel, isn’t it? To have aided in helping fuck someone over?

Hypochondria: Obsession with the idea of having a serious but undiagnosed medical condition.

I’ve had this name attached to me my entire childhood. Everything I would tell my parents that hurt me growing up was pushed off as being a “hypochondriac.” The girl who cried wolf. Guess what? Bet it sucks to know that because you didn’t listen to me when I was young, that I might be in a wheelchair by the time I am barely 50.

That sneaky little feeling in my toes slowly spread to my ankles, shooting up my legs, and settling into my chest, turned into anger. Can you please get the fuck off my chest? You’re strangling me from the outside in. I guess that is no different than when you had your hands down my throat trying to seize my soul from the inside out.

I don’t know where to direct my anger anymore. Should I be mad at myself? Should I be mad at my parents? I feared the doctor for years and years. I never went in for anything. I was taught that it doesn’t matter if you’re in pain because no one cares anyway. Panic spread across my chest with spindly fibers, tightening with each thought of doctors. Until now, my mouth used to curse at doctors, lips parting just let dirty air come out. Cursing at my doctors the way I wish I could to you.

When I was in the 7th grade, my physical health started to deteriorate. It started with smaller things. One day, I noticed I was unable to see the chalkboard in front of me from the 1st row of class. This small girl told her parents, they didn’t believe her. As a child, I had to go behind my parents back and ask the school nurse to test my eyes. She did and sent me home with my little slip of “I told you so!” What happened then? Oh, I got my glasses, but I was in a terrible amount of trouble. I went behind my parents back and “cried wolf” to the school nurse.  I remember experiencing back pain in middle school. The middle school hosted a school-wide testing for scoliosis. My parents made me opt out of it. I went anyway. The nurse told me my spine was off center and that it was going to cause me issues in my future. She sent me home with my second “I told you so!” note of my 7th-grade career. This time though, I did not get help. Instead, I got yelled at. I got chewed out for seeking help. These are just two example of certain situations, but there are plenty more. (Ankle issues, knee issues, hip issues, shoulder issues.)

In High School, I had to quit the sports I was in. I was diagnosed with tendinitis in my shoulders. I was receiving therapy from the school. Did anyone believe this? You should know the answer at this point. I was left to my own defenses. Trying to defend someone I didn’t see worthy of defending. I didn’t want to be alive anymore at this point, so what was the point? I started running, but experienced too much pain and was advised to quit.

I was constantly blamed (all my childhood) of lying to school nurses, spending too much time there, etc.
Did you ever stop to think that she was the only one who would actually help me? Did you ever stop to think that maybe there ARE things to pay attention to? Did you…ever stop to think that maybe your child needed someone who was there for her? Someone who would take her pain seriously, without yelling or guilt-tripping? No, you didn’t. Loneliness is the condition in which your heart forgets to beat.

Why am I so angry about something that happened years ago? Flash forward to my appointment this morning. I have been getting treated for possible endometriosis and looking into surgeries (including a hysterectomy.) Today, a new doctor decided to look at my case from a different angle. So she had me take all of my clothes off and looked at the positioning of my muscles in my back. Half the reason I am in so much daily pain is that of the following reasons.
– My spine is off center
– My spine is twisted
– My pelvic bone is set back, giving me no butt (much to everyone’s dismay)
– My spine is pushed out in the middle of my back
– My right hip is lower than my left
– My hip bones, by my pelvic floor, are worn down from popping in and out of place
– There is not one muscle, tracing from my tailbone to my neck, that isn’t stiffened or flexed 24/7
– My legs don’t sit right on my hips, causing me knee and ankle issues
– There are extra bones in my ankles, which caused all my issues growing up. My back muscles are straining on my uterus, which might be causing all my pain.
On top of all of that, I was officially diagnosed with endometriosis. I now have to vaginally insert Valium twice a day to try to thin my uterine lining, so the chiropractor had an easier time doing his work. I don’t have official x-rays yet even, the doctor saw all of this with bare eyes. I can’t imagine what the x-ray will look like next week.

I never have been able to touch my toes, sit on the floor without bending back, etc. You know what would have solved this all? That nurse in middle school. I was told today that if I would’ve been put in leg and back braces when I was young, I would not be in pain like this.

My body is trying to give up on me. I am 21 years young and my body is tired of fighting. I am sick of chronic pain. I am sick of feeling 70. Stay with me for just a little bit longer, let me help myself. Let me do what my parents stopped me from doing years ago. Will you?

I think I gave up trying to fight this so hard because I slowly started to hate myself. Starting in middle school. This dangerous feeling led me into a life of anorexia. So should I be mad at myself? I never gave my body a chance to heal because I was paper. A stiff wind could’ve taken me away from everything. Like a used cigarette, I almost blew away without a care. I certainly wouldn’t have missed myself. I starved myself to the point of desperation. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I fucked myself up. Food served as my control, the only thing I had left to take over. I weakened my bones, it is almost too dangerous to do surgery removing my uterus because I am already a good candidate for osteoporosis. Even my bones are breaking underneath me.

So where should this anger go? Where should this pain go? Anger is a demon that likes to stay. He likes to build a home in your gut. He likes to swirl around in your stomach and bounce on your brain. He doesn’t know where he is going, just glad he is going somewhere. Should I let him live here? Who am I without my anger and how do I accept that one day I might not be able to move without assistance. How do I accept that my body will most likely fail me sooner than later? What if it is too late now?

I am angry. I am sad. I am discouraged. I want to give up before the fight has even begun.

I got my one last “I told you so!” letter in my hands, but I have no address in my heart to send it to.

Let’s Stay Here Forever.

Remember when that person beat you down to the ground so low that you thought you would never regain consciousness again?

Remember when they broke you? When they spewed out fake love is if it were real? As if love was something they could use to get you to flatten yourself to the ground more.

Remember when you hated yourself for loving them back?

Remember the pain? The hatred? The depression?

Remember when they left you? Or when they finally forced you off the ledge you barely had the balance on in the first place, so you took the ledge away instead of searching for a nonexistent center?

Then it was over.

Aren’t you happy though? I mean to ask that in a very literal sense. Are you happy? When I sit and think about how much those past relationships hurt, I always end up back at this question. Am I happy? The answer now is yes. Then I think, “Was I happy then?” The truth is, no. I wasn’t happy in the relationship. A curtain of fake love was pushed over my eyes and all I could see was myself in the mirror of their mind.

I wasn’t good enough. But now? I AM good enough.

People are meant to destroy you. It’s the most honest thing I could say. Throughout the course of your life, people are going to kick you down. This is how society works. Think about it for a second with me, okay? Think about some relationship with someone (not only romantically) where one of you finally decided to walk away. Aren’t you happy it happened? Take out the loneliness and devastation you normally would be burdened with and focus on the mentality you have now.

You don’t have to be constantly walking as if someone is lighting a match underneath your toes everytime your foot hits the pavement. You don’t have to obsessively check your phone. You no longer have to make every single one of your decisions based on whether or not it would “make them mad.” You aren’t the carpet in the apartment anymore, instead, you’re raised to the ceiling. The world isn’t small. Your world isn’t small. Suddenly, you can breathe again. There is moving air. Fresh air. Beautiful non-abusive air.

I am not talking about being “single and ready to mingle,” either. Everything in life that happened, everything that has ever left you heartbroken, everything that has shattered you into 5 million pieces and leaving you with a stomach fuller than the empty pill bottle sitting next to you, carved you. You. This beautiful and scarred tree. It carved you to be able to truly love someone.

I really believe this. I really believe in love now. We did it. We finally did it. We found our true love, our one and only. And isn’t that perfect enough in itself? Doesn’t it make the years of torture worth it? To be able to finally stand on your own damn feet, intertwine your hand with hers, and say, “We made it through. This is what love feels like, this is what home feels like. Let’s stay here forever, baby.”

The Untitled

(An excerpt/start to my book)

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be standing here on this open plain of grass. She shouldn’t be feeling the breeze through her hair and hearing the birds gossiping about her. Where am I? This isn’t earth. But this isn’t any place she has ever heard of. She wanted darkness. She wanted an end. Why does the human soul have to cry so loud just to be heard? “Why must the air keep tormenting my soul? Why must it pass through my lungs again and again?” Her own voice scared her now. She loathes the air. The crisp feeling sliding down her throat makes her cough as if her body is rejecting the life it wants to give her.

How does one reject life? Has it really come down to this illusion? Slipping into the shadows seemed to come so easy, but the loneliness has seeped into her soul. Suddenly she hated being alone. Her feet picked up the pace. She ran across the open field, crushing everything in her path, desperate to find anyone else sobbing here. Running towards anything but herself. The destruction left in her wake was rendered almost irreparable. She damaged the land and support she used as a crutch. All her comfort was destroyed by her own hands, limbs and branches snapped off as if they were made of clouds. This is her land of destruction. Oh, how could someone ruin their soul in such a slow painful way? How many times do you have to be hurt before you become your own enemy? Is she the tree? Did she just destroy herself?

“It must be the air,” she told herself while flicking a strange bug off her arm, “I fucking hate this air.”



I’m no expert on love.
I can’t become a professor of love and give you
detailed power points on the definitive meanings.
I can’t give you the textbook answers and highlight
paragraphs that can make the immense feeling make sense.

I just know that it feels like the forgotten sun.
Like when the sun comes out and warms your bones,
a shield melting around your heart.
Like when you wake up in the morning with a smile instead
of lonely tears.
A giant breath of crisp air
Air that flows through your lungs cold
and comes out hot.
Air that is so light, you feel like you are flying.

Love comes when you stop searching for it.
When you stop looking in every treetop
and down every rabbit hole.
When you stop condemning the world for giving
you anything but perfection.
Love finds you when you’ve given up on its very being.
When you’ve reached your wit’s end.
When you’ve begun to believe you don’t even want its gift

Love is also imperfectly beautiful. An anecdote for other people’s poisons. Like there’s someone with the right anecdote in their heart to stop the poison flowing through your veins. But that’s why some relationships don’t work. You both have to have the right anecdote for each other. Otherwise, one person continues to live their lives with poison filling their veins while the other is healing. One grows stronger as you grow weaker. I think that’s why some relationships can end up being so toxic. You don’t realize how weak you are getting because the other person is strongly attached to your heart. They keep you healthy enough where your blood will still be pumping, but your soul will start to die until it becomes no more. You don’t recognize how shaky your hands are getting or how fuzzy the world seems to slowly become. The world feels like it’s caving in, but their body is keeping it from collapsing.


Finding someone that also fights your poison, is a gift. Someone that doesn’t just want to have your heart, but to hold it with such care and protection. Someone who treasures your mind, body, and soul in a way that isn’t degrading but uplifting. With every heartbeat, you both grow stronger together. You hold equal weight. You help the other walk when the world becomes too heavy. They help the crashing waves of anxiety calm in your mind.

I found my love.

I found her when I didn’t expect it. I found her when I STOPPED searching endlessly for someone. She found me when her heart was finally open. When she realized that she still had poison running through her. She become strong after someone made her weak. After someone took almost all of her anecdote, just to push themselves up to the next tier.

There was still some left for me. It’s now a never-ending flow of love and understanding.

Love is always beautiful. The word is often overused in today’s society that it has begun to lose the meaning. True love? Unadulterated and pure love? You don’t find it every day.

I am lucky to have someone that knows what love is.
I am lucky to be alive.
I am lucky to live every day with her.

I’m no expert on love, but if I had to write a book on it

your name would fill all the pages.

The Hands Of Time

The hands of time. Think about how much influence they have on everyone’s life. You depend on the time to know when to go to work, say goodnight, eat dinner, etc.

One more tick, you might be late.
One less tick, one less moment of your life.

The more time that passes, the older you get. The closer you get to your goal. The closer you are to improve your life.
Everything in our lives is so intently focused on time.

I’m calling on everyone to let the strain of time slip. Open your fist just a little wider and let the grains of sand flow through your fingers.

Time is only there to structure our lives, not rule them.

What time is it? When do we have to be there? What is the normal time frame for this step? How much time is left? How much of our lives do we have left? What has time taken away from us?

Love is strong enough to overpower bullshit societal norms.

I never thought I would live past 20. Not because I have a disease that would eventually choke me off, but because I never thought I would allow myself to live.

Time allows us to look into the past, but also to dwell on it. You can be with someone for years and think to yourself, “This is it. This is best I’ll ever get.” And then you find someone else who makes the sun shine on a rainy day. Someone who makes you smile every time they say, “I love you.” Someone who sees you for who you are and doesn’t judge you for who you aren’t. Within those months, you can feel more love than you’ve ever known. You wake up next to the love of your life and there’s nothing else you need. You make coffee in the mornings. You spend every night in each other’s arms.

We almost died many times in our lives. We almost vanished, never to meet, never to experience this.

What if we would’ve known? What if we would’ve been able to see that our lives would meet here? If we only would’ve known that one day pain wouldn’t be all we knew. What if?

We made it up the steps in our lives and now we can finally let that painful breath of air out we didn’t know we were holding. We can finally learn something other than pain.