Home

Home isn't a house. It's not even a place at all. It's not a place or a person or a sight or a sound. It's not something you can direct yourself to. Home is not something you can pick up and hold. It's a feeling. 

Home is a road trip with a banging soundtrack. Home is walking into a room that feels brighter and warmer than the one you were previously in. Home is a smile that lights up someone else's face after you've told a witty joke. Home is happiness. It's excitement and joy and optimism. 

I don't think I've ever been this homesick. I can't recall ever reaching for those feelings so strongly. I'm grasping at air, stretching my arm far out to only to find that there was nothing there. Because home isn't anything tangible. 

I think I may be searching for the wrong thing. I'm looking for something permanent, something I know I'll never have to live without. But my whole life, I've just been flying by the seat of my own pants. I've taken whatever road I came to and wandered down it, willing to find whatever lays at the end. And there's a certain beauty to that. 

There's a kind of excitement that I find in not knowing what will happen next. It's terrifying, but what's the point in living a life that isn't a little reckless? At least it's not boring. 

This homesickness can't last much longer and I know that. I know that I'll find that feeling in little every day things someday soon. I know that I'll have that joy in my life and I'll love every day for its own reasons. 

I'm optimistic at this moment. I'm hopeful because I've learned that most of the time, things have an amazing way of working themselves out. And if they don't, I'll make my own way through. Nothing has killed me yet. 

Maybe I'm looking for home in all the wrong places. Maybe I need to stop grasping at air and let home come to me. Maybe I need to live more in the moment and let the future come and the past be. Maybe I can hold on to this feeling for a while. 

This new outlook is inspiring. I want to live in this moment and this mindset for the rest of my life. I love it here. This is home. 

I hope this isn't the best home gets for me. I hope everything feels even better tomorrow, or in a week, or in a year. And I have faith that it will. And that's home. 

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.