Black

"It's always darkest before the dawn" never really made much sense to me. If everything is awful, how could it be cleared so easily? How many times to you really get a break in life?

I can't think of a single moment in my life when I felt comfortable enough to sit back and think about how good things are. I can't think of a time where everything felt settled. It's always had a way of being swept back and creating another twister. 

Maybe I only say that because everything frightens me. I don't know what's going to happen and that scares the shit out of me. Every fucking thing about my life is up in the air right now and I don't have the patience to wait for it to be settled. And if I'm being honest with myself, which I very rarely am, I don't know if everything ever will be. 

I don't know if this pain in my chest will ever go away when I think about it. I don't know if I'll find the motivation to set myself up for when I'm older. I don't know if I'll ever find anyone that genuinely cares about me. I don't if I'll ever sleep easy at night again. I don't know if I'll ever be content with just myself and not have my self worth tied to someone else. 

I'm constantly worried about someone or something and I can't breathe. I can't sleep. I can't function. I don't know what's happening and I'm scared. I am so scared of everything.

I want everything to be okay but I don't even know what "okay" is. I haven't felt "okay" in far too fucking long and I don't feel like I'll ever be truly happy again. 

I don't know what's missing. I have this vast number of tangible things at my disposal and I don't want any of them. I don't need them. But I don't know what I need. I don't think I'll ever know exactly what I need and I'm losing my fucking mind. 

All I'm saying is that if it really is the darkest before the dawn, it's bound to break soon because I've never been immersed in such an emptying shade of black. 

Knots

I have officially given up. I don't care anymore. Fuck Dustin for not thinking that I'm enough and fuck my best friend in Virginia for leaving and fuck my parents for blaming me for being sad and fuck school for being a constant reminder that the only thing I'm capable of doing well is fucking up. 

I've been doing okay too. I've been marginally happy and optimistic and been doing things that I should be doing. And of course I can't be happy for long. Of course I can't be satisfied with my best adventures. They're never enough for me. Something has to be wrong. It always is. And I'm fucking over it. 

It's like my life is this huge knot and every time I unravel some of it, put it back in pocket, and forget about it, something else gets tangled up. And I can't fucking stand it anymore. I can't stand being second best. I can't stand surrounding myself with the same people who don't really give a shit about me. I can't stand being a disappointment and not having anyone to talk about it with. I can't stand having all of these feelings I have with no idea how to express because I'm so comfortable being a robot. 

I hate being alone. I hate crying in my car in the middle of the day and having strangers look at me like I'm fucked in the head. I hate being with people in supposed to be comfortable with and feeling like I have to sensor myself. I hate not being able to get myself out of my own fucking head. I hate the headache I get after I cry. I hate the weakness I feel while I'm crying. I hate it all. I hate it. 

And I can't do it. It's over, I'm done. I'm done fighting for everyone around me, including myself. I'm done watching myself waste away in front of the world while they turn a distracted eye and pretend not to notice. I'm done building people back up and try to be everything they need when I'm just some background character in their life. I'm done trying to save people. I'm fucking losing it and nobody, including myself, fucking cares. 

It's Isa throwing herself a pity party like she always does. It's Isa getting up in her feelings and refusing to talk about because she never does. It's Isa being moody and taking everything personally. It's all my fucking fault. 

I can't keep taking two steps forward just to be thrown back another fifty. I can't keep up with the revolving door of people in my life. I can't keep pretending that everything rolls off my shoulders. I can't keep acting like nothing keeps me up at night and that I'm not falling apart. 

I write all of this knowing that I will never fucking say anything out loud. I'll never confide this in anyone. I want people to realize but I'm not willing to mention it. And that's fucked up. I'm a waste of a person and it's all so fucking clear. 

I may not be as transparent as I think I am. Maybe my happy act really is fooling everyone and it's not that they don't care it's just that I'm too good at pretending that I don't care. So yeah, fuck everyone but mostly, fuck me for being completely incapable of asking for help. 

I don't need it. I'm strong enough to handle this in my own. And if I'm not, I'm strong enough to get myself out of it, one way or another. 

Forgiveness

There's something completely unreal about the idea of forgiving someone. If they were truly someone who cared about you, why would there be anything to forgive? Why would they ever fuck you over? Why is forgiveness even a thing?

But then I think about all the times I fucked up. All the times I've apologized with my heart in my throat, hoping and praying that they would accept and things wouldn't be torn. 

But those were small things. What about the big ones that take a little more convincing? The ones that can't be fixed with a murmured, "Sorry." The ones where you know you fucked up and it, whatever it is, could be done. 

Why would anyone do that to someone they care about? Is it the heat of the moment or is it something built up from many moments? Which is easier to forgive?

Forgiveness is hard concept for me. But it's also simple as hell. Do I value this person and their place in my life more than I resent them for their betrayal? That's the only question I had to answer for myself. 

Recently, I've been asking myself this about Shane. What he did, the effect it had on my life, I promised myself a long time ago that I would never forgive him for that. And to this day, three years after I've been officially done with him, I haven't. I haven't forgiven him. 

But his weight makes me feel as though I'm going collapse. I think I need to let it go. 

I think I need forgive more than Shane. I need to forgive myself for staying. For being weak. For allowing him to treat me that way. For thinking so lowly of myself. I need to forgive who I was so who I am can be lighter. 

So this is my official record of me forgiving Shane and forgiving me. I forgive Shane for laying his hands on me in anger. I forgive myself for laying there and taking it. I forgive Shane for calling me every name in the book. I forgive myself for believing that his words defined me. I forgive Shane for being who he was. I forgive myself for making excuses for it. Most of all, I forgive Shane for finding a place in my life when I least expected it. And I forgive myself for making it too easy for him to do so. 

Maybe the world I've been carrying on my back will weigh a little less now. Maybe this mountain I've been trying to climb won't feel as high. Maybe my life will be brighter without the shadow Shane cast on it.

But, really, who knows? Maybe this won't change a single thing. 

The September Curse

Every summer for the past four years, I have had a different guy best friend. Every summer ends and with the ending comes September. And that's when they leave. That's when they all just leave. Maybe we grew apart, maybe we had a fight, maybe it was a slow drift, but it always ends. It's the September Curse. 

All of these guys I spend every day with. We don't go more than 24 hours without each other and it's blissful. It's nice to always have someone there. Someone to take away the boredom and the consistency and shake things up a little. I loved them all separately and with all my heart. But this summer, I have never been more satisfied with who I'm spending my time with. 

His name is Dustin and we are inseparable. We can't even run an errand without each other and it's great. We used to be a trio until our other girlfriend moved to Virginia. Now that she's hours away, it's hard to maintain and friendship with her but at the end of the day, she is my absolute best friend and I'd give her the world if I could. And so would Dustin. 

We're here now in Virginia visiting her and we are growing apart. It's so clear how much he loves her and how I'm just someone he uses. I'm someone he kind of loves but it will never stand next to the love he has for her. And I can't change that. 

I can't change the fact that she's better than I am. I can't change the fact that she's beautiful and perfect and outgoing and just lovely. I love her and I'd never want her to change because there isn't a single thing about her that I don't absolutely adore. 

But it fucking blows to live in someone else's shadow. To wither away in the winter while they thrive in the summer. And it's getting to me. It's getting to me because I'm always second rate. I'm always the back up plan. The placeholder. The girl who's used. 

It's no ones fault but my own and I know this. I'm not good enough. I'm not good enough for Dustin or my parents or my sister or my best friend. I'm just not enough. I don't know how to be. 

I don't know how to hold on to him. I may just have to let him go. I can already feel him slipping away. It may just be the hardest thing I've ever done, but this battle may be so devastating that there would be no reason to even fight it. He's done. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he sits, in the way he speaks to me. He resents me. 

I don't know how much longer I can stand it. How much longer I'll be able to handle him treating my like dirt on the bottom of his shoe when we're in public and a queen when we're alone. How he acts like I'm some sort of inconvenience instead of a friend. How I don't know how to be myself around him anymore because I'm so caught up in worrying about him hating me more. 

It's going to be so fucking hard to let him leave. But it would be even harder to ask him to stay when I know that all he really wants is out. So I'm going to have to give it to him. I'm going to have to give him an out. And it's going to kill me. 

Maybe he'll live a better life without me holding him back. Without me there to act like I own him. Like he's my property. Without me to bring him down and never lift him back up. I can see him slouch under my weight and I know that I have to relieve him of my pressure. 

It's the September Curse back again to haunt to me. It's mid August and I know that it's coming. A month from now he'll be someone I'll see on the street and avoid eye contact with. He's someone that I'll catch up with awkwardly in a couple years after we're both older and time has healed some of our wounds. 

I'm losing him all at once. And it's killing me. 

End

Have you ever thought about how easy it would be to kill yourself? A jerk in a car, the wrong mixture of alcohol and medication, a strong slice with a knife. There's so many ways to end it all. 

When you think about it, death must be peaceful. To live in an endless sleep must be a dream. There's got to be something to look forward to in death - everyone does it. Everyone fucking dies. 

Does the length of your life really matter, then? Does it matter if you live to be twenty or fifty or a hundred? Eventually, everyone that knew you will die. And everyone that knew them will die. And so it continues until the chaos eventually consumes us all and all humans perish. 

So does it matter? Does it really matter if I don't live to see 21? Will they be upset if I didn't? 

Sure, I might get a few instagram shout outs and my Facebook wall will turn into some sort of online memorial, but will anyone stay up at night and think about me? Or will they rest easy knowing that there's one less malicious son of a bitch wandering around? Probably the latter. 

They'll move on. It may take a couple days or months, but eventually my memory will fade and I'll be the subject of a therapy session and little else. Maybe I'll be thrown into a small anecdote at a business party ten years down the road, followed by a soft smile and then forgotten just as easily. 

So does it matter? Put in to perspective, I am one person in a world of billions. There must be people out there just like me who aren't happy with the lives they lead and wonder how they could live in eternal happiness. And then they realize that the only way to be truly happy is to not exist. That's the only solution. I could live an eternal death and be happy as a clam. 

There's a few things I think I'd want people to know. I would want the people who are surprised by my departure to know that everyone wears a mask. No one is as content as they may seem. I'd want them to know that everyone you meet is still a human and leads a life you know nothing about. 

I'd want people who were saddened by my death to know that I am happy. Nothing here makes me happy like the idea of death. And that's fucked up and I'm sorry but we're probably all better off for it. 

I'd want people who are angry at my death to know you are totally justified in feeling that way. It's a selfish thing to do. To leave you all here wondering why I'd ever take such drastic measures. And I want you to be mad at me. I want you to feel hurt by my actions and blame me for them. After all, there is no one else to blame. Take a shit on my grave as the ultimate sign of anger and I will welcome it with a smile from under your feet. 

But most of all, I'd want the people who are closest to me to know that I love them dearly, and with all my heart. Every single one of you was always good enough for me. But I wasn't good enough for myself. You were the reason I made it this far and I'm sorry I couldn't push myself further. I couldn't ask for more wonderful people in my life and I honestly didn't deserve any of you. 

I love you all. And here I am writing this knowing that I'm a peice of shit for it. So I'll ask again: does it matter?

Light and Dark

I found these old photos of Lucas and I. 

We're not together in the photos but they were taken on the same day because my sister had a photography project. I keep the pictures in the very bottom of my sock drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. 

But lately, I've been thinking about all the things I've lost. My schooling, my shot at a relationship, my respect for myself. And I lost Lucas. 

Every now and then, I go back to the days I was pining after him. They were simultaneously the best and worst days of my life. It felt good to fight for something. To want something so badly that I knew deep down in my heart that I would do anything to get it. But it also sucks that one person could bring me down to that level. That I would throw away everything about myself to please one person. And I knew deep down in my heart that I wouldn't look back. I would throw it all away and not give a damn. I would do it for him. 

But he wouldn't do it for me. 

I was never that person for him. I was never going to be the girl he thought about day and night. The girl he would send an early morning text to. The girl who's house he would drop by to with my favorite flowers just to see my face light up. 

And these pictures remind me of why it wouldn't have worked out anyway. In my picture, my face is lined with heavy shadows. I'm expressionless, looking straight in to the camera. There's a look of angst in my hooded eyes that makes it seem like I've been carrying a weight on my shoulders for far too long. 

In his picture, his face is alive. He's grinning so wide that the sun glistens on his teeth. He's looking away from the camera with squinted eyes from a heavy smile and a bright sun. He's radiant. Vibrant. Present. 

He looks like a living, breathing, laughing person and I look like a shell of a girl. 

That's how it's always been. He knows who he is and what he's smiling about and why the sun shines every morning. But I don't know anything. I've been waiting to see a light, so have something with substance fill me up inside so I can shine the way he does on the outside. 

The sun that shines so brightly on his face dims on mine. The smile that stretches across his face is lost on my mouth. The squint of his eyes make mine look haunted in comparison. 

I've been waiting for the expression to flit over my face easily. To squint at the sun and grin without a care. I've been waiting for the sun to come and dry up all this rain, but I'm caught out in the storm. 

Lucas

I first fell in love when I was fourteen. His name was Lucas and we live in the same neighborhood.

We became friends when I was about thirteen.  My best friend at the time was a very pretty girl. And eventually, she and Lucas started dating. At this point, I had a huge crush on one of the other neighborhood boys, Alex. Me, my best friend at the time, Lucas, Alex, and another one of the boys from the neighborhood were five friends that couldn't be stopped. We did everything together because we all lived in the same neighborhood and at the time, we were too young to drive. 

While us girls were going into our freshman year of high school, the boys were going into their sophomore year. We discovered everything together - alcohol, weed, cigarettes, sexcapades. We shared them all. While Lucas and my friend were dating, everything was fine.

Then, one day, my friend just kind of lost interest in him. We stole some liquor from her parents' cabinet, got drunk at about one in the morning, and walked to Alex's house to hang out with everyone. I let Alex in on the low down - she was going to break up with Lucas. So Alex and I went outside to let them have some alone time.

So she broke it off with him.  It had only been a couple months. We both thought it would be no big thing - they were really young and going to different schools and all that jazz. As far as my friend was concerned, she was just along for the ride and this was her stop.

But, for God knows what reason, Lucas took it hard.  He started tearing up by the time me and Alex got back in the house and Lucas went back home a few minutes later. We barely saw him for the rest of the summer.

By the time school came back around, my friend ended up moving and living in a different school district. Alex went to public school, our other guy friend went to the charter school in our town, and the only two people that ended up at the same school were Lucas and I. We both ended up at the prep school a few towns north.

Lucas and I didn't really end up talking very often in school. However, he did come over to my house about once a week after school and we'd hang out. For some reason, though, he didn't like to talk to me in school. 

It took me a damn long time to finally figure out that the reason Lucas didn't talk to me in school was because he thought he was better than me. He went there the year before and I was brand new and he didn't want to be known as the only friend of the new girl. Which just kind of fucking blows, you know? Like, I wasn't terribly ugly or bitchy or unpopular. By the end of the first week, I found my group of friends, got the hang of the uniform, and built myself a decent reputation. So I didn't really get it.

Then one day, around the time we all got rowdy, ready for Christmas break, he was sitting out in the hall eating lunch when I walked up the stairs and saw him. He stuck his foot out and tripped me.  I didn't fall on my face or anything, I just kind of stumbled. At first, I was humiliated. But when I turned around to glare at him, I saw he was grinning. He stood up, and tickle-attacked me. I started cracking up and ran down the hallway. He immediately started chasing after me. We were both laughing unabashed as if we didn't have a care in the world. 

But then we made the mistake of running past Mr. Brown's room. Mr. Brown was the Chemistry teacher. An awesome guy who teaches better than anyone I've ever been taught by. However, he was also a no-nonsense kind of guy.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he yelled. We stopped in our tracks and snapped our heads down in shame.

Mr. Brown told us to come in to his classroom and sit at tables by ourselves in opposite sides of the room for the rest of our lunch period in silence. We made faces at each other from across the room when he wasn't looking. After what seemed like hours, the lunch bell finally rang. Lucas shot up like his ass was on fire and speed-walked out the door.

As I was packing up my bag, Mr. Brown asked me, "That your boyfriend?"

I stuttered for a second because, for some reason, I was just really not expecting that.

"Just a friend," I replied eventually.

"Do you want him to be your boyfriend?" Mr. Brown asked with that knowing smirk that middle aged men get when talking to naive teenagers.

I was as blase as I possibly could have been when I said, "Nah, he's not my type." My cheeks were flaming red by the time I finally walked out of the Chemistry lab. I wasn't fooling anyone - Mr. Brown knew I was head over heels for this guy. And he was right.

I stayed up day and night thinking about this guy, wondering if he was thinking about me. I constantly daydreamed about what we would do together if he possibly liked me as much as I liked him. But I knew in my heart of hearts that he didn't. He didn't stay up at night wondering what I did that night - if I stayed in or went out with friends. He didn't fall asleep thinking about how happy he could make me.

But I was so infatuated with him. Everything he did was just another reason for me to like him more. I was naive, I was fourteen, and I was in love. 

The school year ended and summer greeted us with open arms. And suddenly, Lucas was back in my life again. A few days before my fifteenth birthday, we ended up making out thanks to a game of truth or dare. 

And after that, I was seeing a hell of a lot more of Lucas. He was over almost every other day. One day in July, we started playing poker. We turned it in to a little bit more than a game of cards though.

Somehow, we decide that when Lucas won a hand, I would feel up on him. And when I won a hand, he would feel up on me. I looked forward to those games every time I heard my doorbell ring and saw him standing on the porch. This continued on and on and on until the Christmas of my sophomore year.

In the time that we were fooling around, my feelings soared for him. He was all I ever thought about. As far as I was concerned, he was perfection. Everything I had ever wanted and everything I ever would want.

When Christmas came around, I didn't see him for a while. I thought it was just because of the holidays so I didn't pay much mind, although I did miss him. But by mid-way through January, I still hadn't seen him. 

He ended up showing his face a few weeks into the new year, but I didn't see him nearly as much. Now, instead of staying up thinking about all the romantic things he would get for me, I stayed up thinking about what had changed. Was it me? Did I do something wrong?  Was it my fault? Did not even like me as a friend anymore?

I was confused and heartbroken. By March, we hadn't fooled around since Christmas and I had only seen him four or five times. Then, halfway through March, my best friend Justin threw his sixteenth birthday party.  Surprisingly, Lucas was there. I didn't expect to see him.  Usually he wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with guys that were younger than him.

I was nervous. I wasn't exactly sure how to approach him. And, at this time, I was dating Shane. I had been dating Shane while this whole Lucas thing was happening. But I didn't know what I wanted. Shane was easy. Shane liked me. And I liked Shane. But I had history with Lucas. And I wanted to see where it would go. I should have stayed loyal to Shane. And I know that now. But I got this rush with Lucas, like he was where I wanted to be. Like he was home. And the Shane thing wasn't serious - not serious enough to tell anyone about, anyway.

So I walked up to Lucas and put my hand on his back and smiled at him. He smiled back. Just as I was about to open my mouth and say something, he walked away. As if the smile was enough for him. We had acknowledged each other's presence and he didn't need anything else. 

I was sad. More than sad, I was mad. I was angry that this guy I used to sabotage my relationship with Shane could drop me so easily. I wasn't anything to him. Just some girl he fooled around with a few times months ago. 

For the rest of the night, I let that anger fuel my fire. I danced the night away with my friends, hung out by the pool, and laughed louder than I usually would. I tried my best not to look at Lucas during the whole party. I wanted him to believe that I was as unaffected by him as he was by me. 

I let myself glance over at him a couple hours later and he was dancing with a girl I played soccer with in the varsity team at our school. She was in my grade - a year younger than Lucas. And she was pretty. 

And it's funny because the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Lucas had a "type." Soccer girl and I both had a lot in common, starting with the fact that we obviously both played soccer. But beyond that, we were both tall, a little big-boned, and had long brown hair with a bleached streak in the underside of our hair in the exact same spot. I mean, it was weird. That's not a coincidence.

Lucas started dating soccer girl by the end of spring. That was fine. I just threw myself into my relationship with Shane and I told myself that I wouldn't look back. But I did.

I still do, every now and then.

It's hard because we live in the same neighborhood. Although he left my school to go to some private school in the city after my freshman year, I still had to pass his house everyday to get to my house. He lives on the first street in my neighborhood and I live on the last street. There is literally no way for me to get to my house without passing his.

And every time I pass his house and his car isn't there, I have to wonder where he is. Who he's with. What he's doing. All these scenarios pass through my mind and it fucking blows that the days of me pulling up to my house and seeing his bike in my front yard are over. In the blink of an eye, we weren't even so much as friends anymore.

It's been almost five years, and every now and then, I still think of my first lost love. For a long time, I thought about Lucas constantly. I hoped and prayed that I'd pull up to my house in my rusty old Jeep and see his little coupe pulled up outside. But that rarely happened. He officially had bigger and better things to do. I was pushed aside to live a better life.


But now? Now I'm nineteen. I'm no longer the naive girl I was five years ago. We haven't had a real conversation since and I've barely seen him. When we do run into each other, it's awkward and strained, even now.

And that's okay. Because five years ago, he dropped me for a better life. And three years ago, I dropped his memory and the hope that he'd return to my life so I could focus on what I had. I was happy without his weight.

What cracks me up now, though, is that he's a total deadbeat. This sounds so wrong and terrible, but it's almost like I beat him in the long run.

Five years ago, I was pining after him. But five years from now, I will be a pharmacist. Ten years from now, I will be living the American Dream with a beautiful family in a blue house with a white picket fence.

And he won't have moved an inch.  He'll still be stuck in a dead end job trying to figure out who he is and what he wants to do.

He may have left me in the dust all that time ago, but I fucking won. And better than that, he lost.