The dust has only just begun to fall,
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling.
Spin me ‘round again and rub my eyes.
This can’t be happening.
I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.
I loved you
harder than I hated
and that’s how
I knew I was
To my friends: I want to apologise for those times when I said I would pray for you and I didn’t. The times that you asked to have coffee, and I was too ‘busy’. The moments that I could’ve asked you how you were doing; but I didn’t because I was afraid of your answer. When I wasn’t the friend that you needed me to be.
To my family: I’m sorry for the times I yelled back at you in anger, when you were doing the best you could. For the moments when I didn’t give you a chance to explain, when I brushed off your expressions of love for me. I’m sorry for not taking the time to try to answer your questions about this God that I know.
To my acquaintances and the people I pass on the street: I’m sorry for turning away, for rushing past and trying not to see your brokenness. I’m sorry for the stares, and the judgements I formed, even though we’ve never met.
I’m sorry for the times when I’ve said, verbally or not; ‘I’m Christian’ but I haven’t acted that way. I’m sorry for not loving, forgiving, and serving you the way that He does me.
I’m just like you, a sinner, with struggles and faults, I’m sorry for ever holding myself above.
His grace and mercy are the only reasons I’m still here, asking for your forgiveness, saying that I’m a sinner and I’m starting fresh, trying each day, not to say that ‘I’m Christian’, but to love, serve and forgive like Christ has done to me.
I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control. I was on the pill until he found them in my purse.
I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem.
Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo.
When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to.
And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe.
I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy.
I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.
Florence + the Machine - Shake It Out
my clarinet is starting to smell like old wood — my mom thought a cat lived inside of it ( i think it’s the most beautiful piece of African wood but i could never make beautiful sounds)
nor can my stomach make beautiful sounds in it’s torrential nightmarish outbursts but the real nightmares in my head are some sort of extraordinary; scary weird (but not demonic) and leave me awake for hours on another planet where i want to tear my flesh off
in the morning i am left wondering how every year has slipped away wearing all black in the shadows without me noticing that it’s stealing my whole life little by little. i am the youngest and the oldest girl in the world!! how can it be that someone so stupid already has a list of confidential lessons learned to give to her daughter?
i hope to god she’s just like me; hates herself enough to love herself and loves herself enough to hate herself but not too much not too little —
because i’ve been dissected and my pieces are clipped under a microscope but escape is inevitable in the teenage years. escape? hand me a pen and paper and wait for my hands to shake them to dust; my only weapon is just a distraction (how sad you would say)
my hair has already grown out and scissors to my hair is like watching my parents divorce a hundred times: indifferent