have I even loved

I once loved with a love

that was desperate and craving.

He was my whole life and my world.

But dependency uncovered his manipulation

And besides, I was still a girl.


I once loved with a love

that was fun, wild, and free.

We would laugh, and the passion ran rampant.

But as time flew along

and I changed my address,

I noticed no romance, just friendship.


I once loved with a love

filled with fire and fury,

of confusion and passion, no trust.

But time after time

as my heart lived in frenzy,

It was blatantly, simply, just lust.


I once loved with a love

filled with laughter and comfort,

good food and warm hands and that smile.

As the saddest loves go,

he was here, I was there,

and we loved for just a short while.


I loved a man once.

I could have, I think.

A friend through all of the others.

We said “yes, someday”

but Someday never came

Brokenhearted, I search for another.


I love and I love

and every time thinking

“this is real love, I know, I can feel it!”

I don’t know if I’m wrong,

but I’m sure as hell scared

of only knowing it’s real once I leave it.


I guess I should start making this into an actual personal blog before I head to the Peace Corps, not just a platform for my angsty writing.

A snapshot of my life right now: I work 7 days/week. Three jobs. I nanny for two different families Monday-Thursday and work the front desk at a yoga studio on the weekends, and various weeknights as I’m needed. It feels somehow incredibly stressful and also fantastically organized and regular. It’s a lot of work, but it’s also a lot of stability. Also, I’m broke and want to pay off my credit card and have at least a small bit of savings to travel with throughout SE Asia and hopefully New Zealand/Tasmania. That last destination is more of a pipe dream.

I usually write in the mornings before work, or read or fill out forms for the PC.

Evenings are filled with work, friends (less so now that we don’t live in the same house), or alone time. This usually consists of Netflix, face masks, and my favorite mead.

I like my life. It’s stable which allows for personal growth. I am also very excited to get going and start my next chapter. This year has been very difficult and not that I’m running away . . . but I’m definitely ready to go.

It feels good to be alone. This is the longest I’ve felt alone since maybe high school. I feel that I’m on the precipice of something big. Something probably very difficult but also revolutionary in my life.

I’m ready and waiting.

no going back

It’s never about getting back to you

to the person you were before you knew him,

before that trauma, that move,

that death or rebirth.

It’s never about finding yourself again.

As if you could lose you.


You are always becoming,

always moving and shifting.

It is difficult to hear

and even more difficult to understand

when you have become someone you don’t know,

someone you hate.

“I don’t feel like myself”

Too bad. You are you,

even when you don’t want to be.

Even when you pathetically deny it.


Maybe it was your fault.

Maybe circumstances or events caused you

to become this pitiful Thing.

It doesn’t matter why, once you have Become

something small and scared

who doesn’t trust herself,

or anyone else.

Uncertainty drips from her mouth like drool.

Her firm Yes’s and No’s muddle into “I guess”.

Irritability sidesteps in front of her

every time she takes a turn,

and becomes her only face.

You hate her,

you are her.


You cannot get back to the person Before

because you have already Become.


But the best part about becoming,

when you stop foolishly attempting to get back,

is that you will Become again,

and again,

and again,

until you can sit with yourself and admit

that she is you and you are her

and you have Become so much since that terrible Becoming,

that you are easy for you to love.

what have i done

I have lived in the Devil’s Triangle,

I have loved deeply without return.

I have sat with loneliness surrounded by friends

And have spoken with ancestors alone.


I have sipped wine around a fire.

I have drifted in the sea under a full moon.

I have sat by streams in a silent forest.

I’ve seen a garden sown with love in full bloom.


I have cried from joy and laughter.

And have few times accepted death.

I have looked in the eyes of a creature so kind.

And shed tears as it took its last breath.


When I start to think life is simple, mundane,

I make lists of the things that I’ve done.

To remember that no matter how much this list grows,

There is certainly more yet to come.

the time i almost drowned

The feeling of drowning.

Of going down, down, and reaching the seafloor in surprise, only to look up and realize how far you are from the shimmering surface.

To think, “oh, I’ve gone too deep. What have I done? I certainly will not make it this time.”

Your world is water.

You kick and kick with desperation as your chest strains once, twice, three times. Your entire torso has become a pumping, wanting heart.

You will drown. You will not make it.


The winter closes in.

You have not seen the sun in weeks, months.

Your skin crumbles and cries for moisture and warmth.

You cannot remember the last time you felt joy, the last time you left your bed for anything but work.

You think, “this is it, the last winter. I’ve gone much, much too deep. I certainly will not make it this time.”

Your world is despair and indifference.

You read, you write, you hate it all. You surround yourself with creative pursuits, friends, family, love, and you feel nothing. Empty.

You will drown. You will not make it.


And when you have held your breath for longer than you knew you could, you hold it for a moment more.


You break the surface and gasp.

What was silence is now chaos of color and sound. And the sun, oh! The sun.

You’re taken under again after barely a sip of air, shoved down. Silence again.

You resurface.

All you feel is the sun on your face.


Suddenly, you are being held. By the water, the despair, the panic.

Now it holds you, lifts you.

The water laps at the edges of your eyes. It rolls down your face, your neck, into your hair. It is everywhere, and it holds you.

You thank both the heavens and the depths that it now holds you.

And the sun.


The joy, relief, spills out of you.

You suddenly want to smile

and you do.

You suddenly want to laugh,

and you do.


I want cotton candy and pizza. I want continuous bowls of mac and cheese. I want to watch 50 hours of Netflix without moving from my bed.

I want to keep him in my life.

There are many things that I want that I know are not healthy. He’s more like a fresh pressed fruit juice. It looks healthy from the outside, it’s marketed as healthy, it tastes delicious, there are very solid arguments for why it could be considered healthy, and then you glance at the nutritional facts and realize 8oz. contains 57 grams of sugar. It’s a bit of a shock.

Realizing that he is unhealthy for me was a bit of a shock.

But I want it!

Want somehow feels like such a strong justification for continuing unhealthy behaviors and keeping toxic people around. My brain is positive that it is not a justification. My emotions have not yet agreed.

I start in with the faulty logic; maybe I can go back to the way things were. Get over the emotional gut-punches again and again and stay friends because I love having him in my life. That makes sense. That would work. I’ve done it before.

Oh and I want it.

I mean, he doesn’t really seem that unhealthy. And to be honest he’s got some really good reasons for why he’s so hot and cold. It truly makes sense when he says it. He’s just confused! He loves me in the best way he knows how. He’s right. It just doesn’t make sense for us to be together right now. But he does love me. He wants me in his life. I’m so incredibly important to him. And oh how I believe him when he says that. He believes himself too. It’s not a lie.

But faulty logic is just that, faulty.

I can finally see how unhealthy he is for me. Notice I did not say malicious. He has never been malicious. Toxic people almost never are.

My emotions are finally catching up.

I love him and I want him, but I know this is no longer a justification for keeping him in my life. At the end of the day, if I will ever love someone else without reservation, he cannot stay.

My mom didn’t let me eat candy everyday when I was little for a reason. And now, she supports me cutting him out of my life with the very same reasoning: she loves me, and wants what’s healthiest for me. She wants to watch me grow and change and better myself (even if the initial denial makes me weep for unattainable gummy bears and unattainable time spent with this person I love so deeply).

I can now turn my attention to focusing on the love I have surrounding me from my mother, my father, my sister, my best friends, and strangers who will inevitably turn into something more. With such focus on this healthy and stable love, he will eventually fade from my attention, and I will feel free.

keep pretending that you love me and I’ll keep believing you

I hear your words. I hear your words.

I hear your unspoken pity.

I hear you say it’s inconvenient for us to be together.

I hear you not say that you desire convenience more than you desire me.

I hear you say I’m ambiguous.

I hear myself confess my love for you over and over and over again.

(how could I have actually believed it was my fault you were not expressing love for me).

My “ambiguity” turned out to be your ignorance for my words, and your horrifying apathy for how your actions affect those who care deeply about you.

I hear you say you know that you’re bad at communicating.

The understatement makes me laugh.

I hear your inflection when you want the conversation to end. When my words inspire not love but discomfort.

I hear your selfishness when you tell me how much I mean to you, how much you love me, and your shock and embarrassment and backtracking when you realize I actually believed you.

By the way, when you became distant and I asked if it was something I did or if you were simply uninterested, the correct answer was “there’s someone else” not “you’re pushing me away”.

There’s always someone else to blame.

I do not hear you say that our dreamy January evening was all too easy for you to enjoy and forget. At least I know now, so I can stop finding comfort in the memory of you in my bed.

I do not hear you tell me that you changed your mind about loving me. About wanting me. This was something i was supposed to figure out on my own, right?

I feel your fickle, childlike “love”.

But only when it’s convenient of course.

I do not hear truth from you. I never hear truth from you.

I don’t hear anything. There’s a ringing in my ears.