A Note to Myself in 2015

Become that better person you’ve always wanted to be.

Continue to unlearn problematic behavior and attitudes.

Strive to reach your daily goals, career goals, life’s goals.

Be kind to everyone and anyone you can.

Be compassionate, the world can use some of it.

Have a sense of humor, you’re own kind of humor, no one has to understand it, but laugh anyways.

Get healthier- hydrate until you are a water Goddess.

Keep providing yourself mental and physical wellness.

Last but not least, keep moving forward.

(c) 2015

l |ephant

Your life is a delicate thing

human life is such a delicate thing

As I was walking out of my apartment last Sunday, an older man pulled up on his bike by my garage elevator asking if I knew Christopher*. At first, I wasn’t sure who he was referring to, it took me nearly a while to connect he was asking for my neighbor across the hall.

“Yes, of course. I know Christopher. He’s the kind gentlemen staying across from me.”

The older tanned bicyclist then proceeded to ask if I knew that Christopher passed away about a week ago and he was here to pay his respects to his ex-wife.

Shocked with a deer in headlight moment, I was washed with sorrow as this man continued to share what had happened.

“I’m his salsa instructor. The man loved to dance,” he said looking at me through his sunglasses.

“I received a call from Christopher about a few weeks ago that he was diagnosed with pancreas cancer, then I got another call with the news he passed not long after.”

Saddened by the awful news, I sent my condolences to his friend-slash-instructor, and went on with my day.

That entire Sunday put me out of my element. Though Christopher was an elderly man, he was still rather healthy. I’ve seen him work on our Home Association Board, and on weekends I’ve seen him cleaning up our garage from the freeway debris. It felt so sudden, I could hardly process the news. It reminded me human life can be delicate. It can be volatile. It will make you happy one day as you’re sitting having dinner with your loved one, then the next you could quite possibly take your last breath.

For the past week, I’ve been terrified. What if this happens to me? Though Stage 1 is hardly harmful or fatal, could I become the unlucky ones that never saw it coming?

Without being able to shake off this incessant fear crawling on my skin, I told myself that I have to at least try to make a bigger deal out of my life as I still have it. Because I’m not a kid anymore. Life is real. Illnesses are real. I am not longer that invincible child jumping down from the monkey bars knowing if I got cut, someone would give me a bandaid. There’s no easy fix to anything once you step into adulthood. People get sick and loved ones pass.

My life, as reckless as I’ve been treating it, is a delicate thing. But what’s within my control, is how I choose to live it.

 

 

*Christopher is a pseudonym.

And then I lied to myself, just as I always did

I’d lie to myself the same way I’d lie to my friends.

To make them feel better during their moments of suffering. I couldn’t assuage their grief, but I could inspire courage in them to move on…

Help them ease the pain clouding their every detrimental feelings.

So I lied to myself like I had lied to them-

“It will be better, you are strong enough to withstand this”

Even though I knew very well, it doesn’t get better. It will get worse. There will come a time where I will cry longer and harder than I have now, and that’s okay. Because I would rather be hurt, cry, and eventually move on, than live through anymore toxic days without a modicum of change.

..and I’ll keep lying to myself, till things actually get better.

The phrase, “Fake it till you make it” never felt truer.

 

She left and I lost my home.

It hurt so much it felt like all the air was vacuumed out of my lungs.
The slightest movement a struggle.
Tears poured like hurricane as my eyes lost vision during the drive home.

Home…
What a foreign concept when love slowly eludes us.

“Home is where the heart is” they said.

So, where is home now?

My stomach had a nervous pit.
My hands shaking with anxiety.
Head spinning with fear that it was all one-sided.
All at once, it hit me.

It was one-sided.

She’ll never love me the way I loved her. I never once walked out on her, but it was so easy for her to pack up her things and walk away.

My breath of fresh air had been contaminated with her greed for the allure of others. She wanted more, and that honest truth left me feeling worthless. I couldn’t give her what she wanted because she’ll always be chasing butterflies where the grass is greener.

So where do I begin?

I found this poem maybe 7 years ago and saved it on my computer. Sharing it to the world (:

So many thoughts,

I don’t know where to begin,

I’ll start from my heart,

and what I feel within.

I still have feelings,

which haven’t changed,

because when you left me

my life was re-arranged.

I used to cry

so many times a day,

but lately those tears

have been fading away.

I am hoping that

my brighter day soon will come,

and maybe, just maybe,

I’ll find that special someone.

Yes, it’s been hard,

but I’m getting back my life,

I’ve even managed

to put away the knife.

I will find someone

who’s right for me,

who loves me

and lets me be all I can be.

Yet the thought of you and her,

is tearing me apart,

because you will always have a special place

in my broken heart.

Do I still love you?

Yes, I do,

but another part of me

is getting over you.

I never thought I would say this,

but I simply have to confess,

with each and every day that goes by,

I love you less and less.

I just wanted to be with you,

but now you’re gone,

and the time has come

for me to move on.

You meant so much to me,

in fact, you still do,

from the bottom of my heart

All I have is me | 4.6.17

What made it okay for you to tell me everyone is depressed when I finally confided in you that I’m terrified I could be?

What made you think it would be alright for you to just brush off my confession as though it didn’t mean anything?

I’m so spent of actually opening up my mind and feelings to others and having them not listen. They hear. They sigh and they respond. But they don’t listen. They don’t sympathize. They certainly do not understand.

I cry all alone in my apartment, and you ask me why I don’t reach out to you when I’m sad. You make me feel bad saying I could’ve called or texted you. But the truth is, I have. I’ve asked for help, I pleaded for you to listen, and you treated me like a child. You brushed off everything I told you and pretended I’ll be okay. You tell me everyone’s going through the same thing, but they’re not! They’re not constantly praying to be healthier in six months. They’re not begging to some unknown power to change their fate. So what’s the use of calling you now when I’m sad again?

Now when I cry, I curl up on the floor in this lonely living room. Then I remind myself, back touching the cold bleak wall, all I have is me.

 

 

“but some part of it will always not feel right”

I was trying to explain to her what she could not grasp.

I wasn’t unhappy in my relationship by any means, maybe just stuck in a conundrum.

“It’s like there’s a bottle and a cap, and no matter how I try to screw on the cap, it doesn’t seem to fit perfectly –

It still functions as a bottle in that the cap screws on and nothing will spill out nor would anything fall in. The bottle still works, but some part of it will always not feel right.”

That was the best way for me to explain my conundrum.