A definition

What does it mean to be alive?
Most people say breathing, but I'm ready to believe otherwise. The moments to which people attribute feeling most alive-- the moments where you feel you are really living-- are when your breath is taken away or when you are out of breath. Neither of those things involve breathing.
If breathing is the determining factor in whether or not a person is alive, then how can I be sitting here, feeling the rise and fall of my chest, yet feel so terribly not alive? With every inhalation and exhalation, I feel the pressure within me escalade then subside. It throbs in tandem with the thump thump of my heart, propelling the blood that surges through my veins, bringing nutrients to my lungs, collecting oxygen to pump into my blood stream, at which point the cycle repeats itself. Over and over again.
I am caught in a cycle that needs to be broken. It is a foggy glass ceiling, a cramped locker, a straightjacket.  I can see there is something outside of where I am, but I can't tell what it is and I can't break through. I've been crammed in a corner all my life by a bully, but it's hard to fight the bully when she is yourself. I feel emotionally and psychological restrained to the point of it becoming physical.
My feet pace while my legs fidget while my back tenses. My fingers jitter while my hands wring while my arms slowly contract. So much energy rushes under my skin. I can feel the blood pounding, pounding, pounding through me, and I just want it to RELEASE! I want to tear myself open and let it all come out. I want need to be able to feel something flow out of me, pour out of me, until I can see it before me and just SCREAM at it. YELL at it for letting it take control of me. Beat it and punch it and kick it and throw it and cut it and burn it until it is all gone. Forever. And I will feel free.

Free.

What does it mean to be free?

One Month

It has been a month since my last post.


I have been so busy I've hardly had time to eat and sleep, though I figure I would feel less busy if I were not a freshman. Over the past 30 days, I've rollercoastered from happy to complacent to miserable to happy, around and around. I've wanted to curl in a ball and die. I've felt like the prettiest girl alive.


Ultimately, though, I do not know what to write.

hungry.

my stomach aches, and my vision

blurs until i have to focus on what

i'm looking at in order make out

definite letters and shapes. my

body needs food, my body is so

hungry

but i can't get up. i don't have the

energy to leave my room and go

get something to fill me. i've put

off eating this long- all i've eaten

today is a latte, yogurt, and two

Pop Tarts- so is it even worth it to

muster up energy i don't have just

to prowl alone, like an animal lost

from its pack, to find a little bit of

food?

it is late and my stomach's pain

blurs with the writhing of my

heart within my brittle form. why

should i appease my tangible

body when my heart cannot be

appeased? why should i taunt

myself like that? if i could, i would

feed my heartache. and if could, i

would make the aching inside of

me, the ever present aching within

me, go away forever because this

aching is more overpowering

than any physical hungry i have

ever felt. there is no remedy for

when your heart is hungry, for 

when your shelves are bare,

dust accumulating from waiting

for love to fill up its empty space.

so i'll close the pantry shelf and

sit in my room listening to songs

of passion and lost paths, suppressing

my bodily hunger until i wake

tomorrow morning, hoping i'll feel

just a bit more... together.

My heart is blonde and brands a sparkly guitar.

If I had to pick an artist whose songs consistently resonate with me, I would pick Taylor Swift. Go ahead and ridicule my taste in music, you pop-country haters. I laugh in the face of ridicule. [Muahaha.] Her words so eerily parallel with my life, it's almost like we have an ESP connection. Like we're the same person. With the exception of her being ten times more gorgeous than I am, and with the exception of her actually having a dating history, I listen to her music, and hear myself.

I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale.
I'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet,
Lead her up the stairwell.


If you could see that I'm the one who understands you,
Been here all along, so why can't you see
You belong with me.


He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar,
the only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star.
He's the song in the car I keep singing, don't know why I do.


It goes on and on... and I love it. Her music is real and relatable. I can cry to it, or it can lift me up.

Thank you, Taylor, for putting into words what I can't always articulate well.

To the Boy Who Sat Next to Me,

To the boy who sat next to me today as I waited for my flu shot,

I never asked your name, you never asked mine. I didn't catch your name when the pharmacy assistant called it, and I don't know if you happened to catch mine when she did the same with me. When I think of you, there's no name associated with your face, but I do know that you have big brown eyes and shaggy, dark brown hair.

I also know that you're a sophomore in Pitt's business school and belong to AEπ. You hail from the state of Virginia, but also have some family who live north of Dallas; our little bonding moment over Dallas was fun. We're both flying to Dallas for Thanksgiving on the same day, and you said, "Maybe we're on the same flight!" You recommended that I book the supershuttle instead of taking the 28x; I thanked you for that advice.
You waited almost half an hour for your flu shot.
You are a swell enough person to carry on a conversation with a complete stranger.

Maybe I'll see you around campus. Maybe I'll see you at the airport in November. Maybe I'll never see you again. No matter whether or not I see you again, I'm glad we crossed paths.

Thank you, boy who sat next to me. You made my day just that much brighter.

(k)not

i am not a writer

my thoughts are all in
knots
and i like to pretend
(that writing will untie my stomach)

i am a fake
because i lie to myself
about myself

i am not a singer

i am not an actor

i am not an artist

i am not anything because

i do not know who i am




[i hate when i refer so much to myself it is self-centered arrogant ugly]


i am not a writer

selfish

As I groggily awoke from a nap this afternoon, and the rain hit pitter patter, pitter patter  on my window, my solitary presence on the bed slapped me like a bitter circus monkey with a wet towel. [bam, bam! mockery and bitterness *diddlydeedeedee circus music*] No one lay next to me, no one had been lying next to me to begin with for that matter, my body couldn't tell if it was warm or cold, my neck was sore, and my head still pounded with the intensity it did before I nestled under my blanket over an hour ago. An Advil and a nap of respectable length with only lackluster results... disappointing. But what else could I have expected, really?

*  *  *  *  *

young gentleman, n.

Someone who would fill that empty space with his whole being, not just with his body (I would ask for a boy if I just wanted someone to merely take up physical space). Someone to put his arm around my waist as I drift to sleep. Someone who will have his arm around me still as I stir from my slumber to the comforting tempo of his gentle breathing. Someone with whom I can stay enwrapped as the rain falls pitter patter, pitter patter, so that we'd keep each other warm and content. Someone who would massage my sore neck and kiss my forehead to "help the headache go away."

*  *  *  *  *

The lady thinks I'm still in love with him, I'm sure.
But I'm not.
The lady does not know I have an obsession,
But I'm sure I do.
I'm obsessed with the idea of what happened
(or what did not)
(or what I did)
(or what I did not)
(or what he did not tell me)
(or why he did not tell me)
and it haunts me
and it infiltrates me
and it breaks me down
to the point of I Don't Know Myself I Don't Trust Myself
so I Don't Trust
other people.

circles

"You must love yourself before you can love anyone else."
"You must love yourself before anyone can love you."

I want to
love.
I want to
Love.

I want to love myself because I love someone else and because he loves me.

selfish.