K is for Kindred.

art, alone, kindred

The world will not end when you will it. Truth is, it will keep spinning in spite of your protests. But knowing what I know now, I can guarantee that you will still not want to start over again. It is easy to say we will forgive someone when they hurt us deeply. But the actual practice is much more difficult to employ. I am tired of saying that I will do better and then predictably failing in the last place I was tested. Tired of giving up at the exact moment that I need to fight. But I also know that just because a person is sorry, does not mean you have to give them another chance to get it right. How many times have we made promises we knew we could not keep? How many times have our mistakes pushed us down to our knees? I have wounded others because I refused to admit that I was wrong. I allowed my ego to tell me what I needed, instead of taking inventory of the junk in my heart. I am missing my kindred spirit–the one who was scarred and battered similarly to me. At this new level of distance, I wonder if that person is even still listening. I imagine silence tells us what we need to know faster than any words could ever portray. But the only thing I wish I could change right now, is the fact that I pushed you away.

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J is for Jilted.

art, blog, love, relationships, jilted, kusaka

What if I told you I do not really miss you? How, in bed I never creep to the side where you used to sleep or wish that you were still here with me. What if I do not wake up from nightmares that you are gone because your absence is my reality? What if I let go of you the way you let go of me? Some may call what has happened, mandatory redirection. They will tell us that we were not capable of love from the start. They will say the more we try to fix things, the more we will inevitably get lost. The problem is, you were already broken. Before you came looking for me you neglected to find yourself. All your energy spent in the wrong direction–trying to be “all things” to somebody else. If I have learned anything, I know now that I am equally responsible. I used to think I needed to compensate for the missing pieces you brought to my table. Believing I was the compass that would help you get where you needed to go. No one on this Earth can fill these heavenly holes. In my dreams, I question my own misguided actions. I do not try to carry your weight anymore. And in my aggressive quest for my own wellness; I am determined to show you, my jilted lover–to the door.

I is for Infinity.

time, art, blog, life, infinity, kusaka

Beautiful things do not require recognition. They exist on their own terms and in their own designated time. I remember when I could not recall my own feelings or whether or not these damaging thoughts were even mine. I used to numb undesirable emotions and busy myself with work that would never get done. Now, I rest on purpose and give my heart freedom to run. Instead of hiding hurt, I make myself painfully aware of the loss of my dreams. The anticipated Forever that began again in January. Now, my favorite galaxy cannot remember the gravity of what was promised or the hope of our mutual destiny. Now, I sit and gather all of my strength, while a black hole attempts to trap me in a solitary abyss. I do not want to try all over again. I want what I have chosen. All I ever wanted was one person who accepted me, completely. Someone who could understand that I am not perfect, but I never stop trying. Someone who would stand by my side while I fought to be healthy. 

Our own, exclusive infinity.

H is for Hope.

art, kusaka, blog, hope, mental health

Winter is heaping an ice cold anxiety upon my will to keep moving forward. Most mornings are hard, and I feel surrounded by a darkness that desires to swallow me up whole. Deep down I know these feelings are temporary–that at any moment the sun will break through my windowpane. The sun has a way of shining its healing light on my pain. Still, I have to acknowledge the amount of energy it takes to be productive and consistent everyday. I wake up and pray. As soon as I feel this weight on my chest, I turn to the only one who can save. My heart is broken but you would never know it from the smile I keep plastered on my face. I realized early on that it does not matter who is gone. What matters is how I pick myself up and how I choose to move along. It matters that I am choosing to fight my addiction to tragic love stories and to patterns that have only led to self-destruction and grief. I alone am responsible for maintaining my integrity. Today, I remembered the names and faces of the ones who came before. How I have lost many things in this life, but nothing that was meant to be mine. Each person was a lesson that I repeated until I learned what I needed to know. Experience is a faithful companion, who fills my waiting heart with hope. But the sun has not come out yet–and there is still so much farther to go.

B is for Broken.

art, broken, blog, foundations

I am my own foundation. Behind closed doors and before I can support another and their additional weight; I must take care of my own needs. For so long I believed I could operate with conflicting goals. Holding onto patterns that wear on my fragile soul. The truth is you yourself cannot become whole if while broken you are trying to fit people into improper positions. Self care is always your divine responsibility. We try to make excuses for dysfunction and push it down until it does not actively hurt anymore. Throwing busyness and topical responsibilities on top of wounds that are multiplying without relief. I am a product of my history. A casual tale of a woman who did not get what she needed. From childhood to adolescence–the wait was never ending. Instead, I went out into dark spaces that seemed to know me better than I knew myself. There were desires deep in my heart that I could not release. There were nights I failed to surrender and days I wished I would never see. There were people I thought would never leave. 

But healing is not about them, it is about getting better–for me.

A is for Apathy.

apathy, art, blog, life

Every morning I have to make a difficult choice as an adult who does not always make the best decisions. I do not struggle to wake up. It is like I am waiting for the alarm to remind me that I have things to do, so therefore sleep escapes me. I am in a self-reflective and stagnant limbo. Watching myself from the outside and screaming at the destructive patterns that this unrecognizable person is struggling to control. I have known dark places and people who were enticing enough that I forgot to keep my thoughts honorable. Now I am terrified that I am the very darkness that I used to think was my help. I am frozen in a lake of broken dreams, trying to muster up my apathy. The truth is I care too much and not enough about the things that should matter to me. I used to believe that if one part was in its place then the rest would manifest into a beautiful story. But I have to believe there is some beauty to be found in this brokenness even if my ideal is dying.

 

Miracles (Day 1)

Miracles happen everyday.

But I feel like I am stuck repeating redundant story lines without any real release. It is time to accept reality. To gather all of my dignity and recognize my own potential. I can say that I am not my mistakes and that I am worthy of love that is not easily shaken. But I have to be adaptable when the picture has changed.

Love did not abandon me. It did not stick out its foot and trip me. Real love can overcome everything. But love can not be the only thing covering us. Sometimes we fall in love with the wrong ones. People who want you to cross the entire bridge rather than meet you halfway. People who only understand love under the context of chase.

Once the mystery is gone, so are they.

I am worthy of understanding. Someone who will experience me at my lowest and draw nearer when I need it the most. Someone who can filter through my anger and still want to keep me close. I do not need a love whose decision will always be to walk away or let me leave.

Real love keeps fighting.

Sometimes I give up. I get tired of fighting for something that no one else wants. I am told that I am unreasonable. But everyone has their limit and it is hard to recover once you have reached it. There is nothing a person can do or say that will make a difference to the one who is not committed to stay.

One day you’ll grow tired of them walking away.