I Let You Go

I wrote this piece a while back about someone I used to love. I say used to, and know that’s a lie. I still love them, but I’ve guarded my heart against them. This person had such a power over who I was. Letting go of such a thing is no easy task. It took years, a great friend, and an awakening. This piece is my moment. May this person find theirs.

I fell in love with you. I woke one day and it occurred that I didn’t love you like a friend, I loved you like a lover. I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be yours. I wanted to be with you as long as life would let us.

You nearly had me convinced. You talked of marriage – of future plans. I was in awe of it. However, I should have known. I should have known it was only an escape for you. A way to fantasize about something other than your current situation. An out. A statement that said, fuck it rather than a statement with any real meaning.

I fell for you. I almost made plans. Plans for us to be together. I was willing to compromise your lust for others just so I could be with you.

I almost had myself convinced it would work out.

I almost settled. I almost gave in.

Sometimes it takes others to show you what’s wrong. When you’re so disillusioned, it takes the eyes and wisdom of another being to guide you to what is right. I found that person. Someone who made me realize I was never getting what I wanted and that you were only around when the statement “fuck it” came to mind.

Perhaps it would have worked. Perhaps we could have been happy. I would have tried. The fog lifted, though. I cried for it to return. I yearned to be blind. I screamed to feel the pain of never having you. But another warmth settled in and gave me the strength to dry my tears, to see, and to stop the pain.

I have to let go. My heart can’t take anymore.

I hope you find peace in your storm. May you break free of what binds you, and know that happiness is not found in others by way of casual leisure, one night stands, and broken promises, it’s found in you.

You can make yourself happy. Do this, and your discontent will end.


She’s My Mom

Sometimes I have to take a deep breath and remember I can only control myself. I can not control others.

This morning, (and it’s not even over with – which is even more distressing), I have delt with a whirlwind of emotions from myself and from others.

I’m pretty good at coping, but my anger flows so strong that if you’re around, you may get angry too and not know why.

So I have to stop and breath. I have to tell myself to calm down.

What’s rough is not absorbing other people’s emotions.

My mother and I do this to each other. We absorb each other’s energy.

It can be exhausting. At this moment, I am mentally exhausted.

Everything is bothering me. She is bothering me.

However, she’s my mother. She’s been there for me. She’s bathed me, clothed me, fed me, and kept me safe. She has done everything she knew to make me into the person I am today. And if you know me, I’m pretty awesome. 😉

My mother is everything I am.

My mother is the same ball of emotions that I embody.

I take a deep breath when she “bothers” me because I know how many breaths she had to take when I bothered her.

This is for my mother. May she never change. May I never try to control her. May I always love her for everything she is for it is everything I long to be.


If feelings were tangible, I would burn them. I would tie them to a chair and begin my wrath of torture. My time would be consumed with giving each feeling exactly what it deserved.

What a world we live in when our feelings torture us and we can do nothing in return. We have to suffer; to learn how to cope. If we could only learn how to transform from them instead of living with them.

Lately, my feelings have consumed me. The change I have dealt with recently is leaving me in shambles. Coping with my torturous feelings is, at times, more than I can bear. It isn’t enough to cope anymore. I must transform.

I suppose my feelings are holding me captive and I am now developing Stockholm syndrome. If you are laughing at that statement, good. If you laughed and then cried, good. Transformation is emotional.

It can leave you weak, vulnerable, and it can also leave you strong. Those three words separately are different. When they are together, they transform into something much different. Let me explain.

My feelings often leave me weak. When I am weak, I am vulnerable to my thoughts. The scariest part about my thoughts are they can lead to harm. The last thing I want is for my thoughts to overtake my logic. The beauty in transformation is the strength. When my emotions drain my energy, I don’t want to do a whole lot. I would rather suffer. I can’t. It isn’t an option. Strength finds its way and transforms my vulnerability into a sliver of confidence. It isn’t much, but it is enough. Once I become confident, I am no longer weak.

Transformation is emotional, but it is also a blessing. If we do not learn to transform from our suffering, we will lose the will to cope, and our feelings will hold us captive – forever.

Will they come back for round two? Sure, but our transformation has left us stronger and more willing to fight. Soon, our feelings will find us, but leave in the same amount of time. We will recognize them, and take control.

Transformation is emotional, but it is also beautiful. It has made you the person you are today. Perhaps you haven’t fully transformed as of yet. Many of us do not see it’s entirety until we reach an old age. But that is why we are here. To be better than the last time. May it take a lifetime to achieve what I failed to achieve in my last life, for in the next life, I will know, and I will conquer.

So transform, become great, be strong, and face your feelings. They will guide you to the person you were born to be.

A Little Gory Story

It’s time for another story.

She couldn’t understand the worry on her friends face. It was discontent, She knew his circumstances, his recent job loss, the divorce, and the house in foreclosure. She understood all those things. Today was different. All the other things were ancient. What she couldn’t understand was his constant need to keep dragging up the past. In her mind it was over and he should forget that it ever happened. That was easy enough, right? For her, it was easy to detach – to leave her emotions at bay. She considered herself emotionally gifted. She never worried, cried, laughed, or became angry. She often became agitated, though it never gave for much concern. The loss of her parents and siblings didn’t really effect her. Her friend, on the other hand, was distraught for years. He still brings it up. For her, it becomes more a nuisance to discuss. She rolls her eyes, and she lets him know she doesn’t want to speak of the issues; not because she is trying to repress the memories, but because it annoys her when his eyes start to get wet and his nose starts draining. He suddenly needs a tissue and it wasn’t even his family.

She changed the subject. He still had the worried look even though the topic was light enough to make anyone content. He kept talking of his constant sorrow. He started to cry. She became more annoyed. She started to tap her fingers on the table. Her taps became louder and louder. Her friend didn’t seem to notice, although other patrons of the cafe started to stare. His sobs became louder. She stopped tapping. She looked around her and everyone was looking over, craning their necks to gawk at the scene. She breathed a heavy breath. He looked up and wiped his tears with the heavy cloth napkin. He blew his nose into the material. The sound was deafening. She pounded her hands on the table. She snatched the cloth from his hands. She twisted the cloth by its edges, gaining a firm grip until the cloth resembled a tightly wound rope. She took her aim and snapped one end toward his eyeball. She always had perfect aim and impeccable wrist control. She made a perfect basketball player, if she would have ever tried for the team. He screamed in pain. He immediately covered his eye with his hand. She couldn’t see the results right way, but she saw the blood trickle between his fingers.

He desperately reached for another cloth napkin. She handed it to him, in hopes he would release his hand from his injured eye. He took it and he took the bait and she quickly wound the cloth napkin and took aim for his other eye. He bled profusely. His screams echoed off the cafe walls. Everyone was panicked. He was now covering both of his eyes and the blood covered his hands. He paused a moment and looked at her in sheer confusion. She smiled a sly grin, “I just wanted you to stop crying.”