pushing the envelope

Cold & lifeless yet demanding in your absence.
Imaginary shackles have left bruises and im drowning.
Hold my breath in a bathtub because
silence
is obtained when your spirit can hold
water.
In your indecision to admire me i found self-hatred.
"i'll never understand you" i whisper as mascara has more courage than i do.
It runs from where it sits & again i am
naked.
Hatred turned into lust which in
black and white
is synonymous with love.
And like all the stories should have ended
Alone
seems better in the end.

Cheers

Last year when I turned 20 i cried.

"Half way to 40" a dear friend of mine told me a few days prior. 

I cried because I am terrified of growing up. Independence is all I have ever craved yet I am so scared of adulthood. 

Since that dreary day last February I have grown up more than those tears could have ever known. And honestly, I wouldn't like to go back even though it has been a stretching year. Thats the polite way I saying it's been real freaking difficult. 

People have a funny way or making or breaking our lives. And we have a funny way of allowing them. 

Disappointments. 

Surprises. 

Let downs. 

Hand written notes. 

& silence. 

I think the people we surround ourselves with have too much control over our hearts. Or not enough. 

All I want is to be able to look back, on the last 365 days, next year & say that I am confident I did all I could to love where I am at. To embrace heartache, to learn from disappointment, to laugh at the small things & pray no matter what. 

I sat in stats tutoring a few weeks ago frustrated & angry. Profanities colored the air as I contemplated dropping out. My tutor told me something that stuck, 

"The only thing you have control over is your attitude & work ethic" 

So the next year I want to keep both positive. Not only that, but remind myself to think positively. To be up for the challenges. 

Perspective, humility & a grain of salt for my 21rst 

The stop

I moved the dial to the last notch to complete my combination and opened the tiny, golden door.

I saw the backside of a small, white envelope. 

The automatic door behind me had just closed and my calf muscles hurt from being on my tiptoes. I was alone in the mail room as I flipped over the piece of mail to see whom it was from.  

My knees gave out & the back of my coat scraped along every nob as I slid down the faces of strangers mailboxes. My eyes filled up with tears and I sat holding onto the only part I have of you close to my chest with my legs pressed up against my forearms. 

Stupidly happy I wiped away the tears and ripped into the envelope. 

Your messy handwriting made me laugh. All of the sudden I flashed back. I see you sitting in front of me, turning around every time Miss Vandercook faced the board. I was so bad at geometry but you promised to help me. I see lunch time & weekends. I see your small white truck and you sitting across the table from me while I wept & ate too much. I hear your name called and see you walk across the stage. I see your living room as we cleared a space the night you taught me to fight. I see Stanford & IV lines. Diagnosis after diagnosis, you were my constant. I see summer nights and laughter. So much laughter. 

I was brought back to reality when I heard the door open at the other end of the hall. 

I cussed and stood up. 

Wiped my tears and walked to the bathroom. 

I climbed onto the counter and indulged in more tears. 

Boot camp heart break. 

Long distance heart break. 

Growing up heart break.

Heart break. 

You agreed with me that you wish we didn't have to be adults so soon. Let's go back to high school. You're home in 25 days and you're certain North Carolina is a day trip from pa. 

I miss you. So much that I can't think about it or i have episodes like this. I flash back again to all the times I came to you a mess, crying over some boy or some argument.

 I see your bedroom, a disaster, and you taking off your necklace. Your Saint Christopher charm was on a silver chain and you wrapped it around my neck. 

"It'll all be okay, em. I promise you that. 

I tucked the letter in my coat, splashed water on my face & left. 

It'll all be okay. 

Coffee shop Confessions

I stood in the corner of the coffee shop, being bluntly met by the bitter wind periodically due to an odd amount of foot traffic. 

His words spilt over the table as he was open & raw. Transparent & vulnerable. 

We are from two very different walks of life. Passions, desires and goals. Our lists would never have a common bullet point. Yet, as he shared his soul, his bruises and his very heart beat I found it mirrored mine. Different circumstances yet they had molded similar reactions. 

Every time the door opened the back of my legs felt the wind peirce through my dress pants. He continued to share and I was given glimpses into his life. The similarities blinded me momentarily and instead of the Real Feel 3 degrees on my legs all I could feel was the same harbored hurt and simultaneous emotionlessness I have had at the deepest of my being. 

"I'm a mess, it's not pretty at all Emily" 

These words stood out to me and demanded my attention. 

Sometimes, the church gives off the assumption that believers don't have heart break. That they don't have deep, dark scary nights of lonely. 

Assumptions, as we all know don't ever make anyone look respectable. 

Being a mess has a negative connotation. 

Messes are beautiful. Messes mean that you have lived, you have been passionate about something. Perhaps destructive, but your fire is not out. Being a mess means you know there is a better tomorrow. Meeting yourself in the darkest corners--allowing them to take your breath away & being okay. Being okay with not being okay. Being a mess means that you are loving, living & reaping in the rewards and consequences of doing so. 

We are too scared to feel. 

We are too scared to be. 

We are too scared to admit that we are not okay. 

We need to embrace mess. 

We need to love without bounds. 

As we finished our conversation I was convicted to be more transparent. More real. 

Don't be afraid to be a mess. 

It's beautiful, I promise  

12 weeks they feel pain, do you?

We dream.

We dream of a time where rescuing a child from Haiti 

Costs less than killing a baby since "he left me" 

We dream of someone to look beyond the drama 

& to just love this baby momma. 

We dream of a person who will take the "Christian mold" & shatter 

Whatever conservative means. "all hearts that beat should matter"

We dream of being different in other people's lives 

Those mom's hearts broke as they said their goodbyes. 

We need to live in the shadow of grace 

Extend this love as loud as the judgment they face. 

We are to dream & love without bounds.

We are not the jury, judge or High Priest. 

He placed us as light not to condemn or throw mud. 

We dream. 

& she dreams. 

they dreamed & he dreams... 

So let's live like He dreamed. 

Aisle seat

Oxygen masks dropped and I began to uncontrollably vomit. My eyes had rolled back & I lost all control of my body, convulsing. My mom, I can only imagine, thought the worst.

As the mask was secured around my head my breathing began to come back. As the plane glided across the clear blue skies above Nevada the captain came over the loudspeaker. The plane was soon landing. The arrival was just like my seizure, unexpected. 

A team of paramedics awaited in the airlock & I stumbled off the plane. As I watched fluorescent lights pass over me as we rushed through the Southwest wing of the Las Vegas airport I lost the ability to breathe at a normal rate: hyperventilation consumed me. As I was locked into the back of an ambulance the man assigned to me asked me to say my ABC's backward, this was to get my breathing back to a steady pace. I had other plans as I asked him to marry me. My mind was clearly not functioning properly. 

I wish I could say I remember the yellow oxygen mask, seeing my mom cry or even asking someone to spend all of their days with me, however I do not. That's all hearsay, repeated to me from my mom and nurses shortly after I arrived in the ER. 

I can remember that. The curtains were striped. A transparent blue, almost the same color of a Dasani water bottle, and a vibrant pink. Identical to bubblegum. There was a SpongeBob marathon on & my room had a tv. I remember it took 11 tries to get my IV in. I had lost all my liquid while still seated in 23B and had not replenished yet. 

I remember my mom calling the airline and scheduling a new flight home to SJ. I remember the first words she said to me, "baby doll- are you okay? I thought I lost you" verbatim. 

I was so hungry. 

I remember being discharged and not wanting to get back on a plane, I begged for sleep aid & the pleading worked. 

I remember a sweet nurse giving me saltines and a Sprite. I had to throw the Sprite out before Security and I cried. 

I remember going through the airport in a wheel chair because I was so weak i couldn't walk & I remember climbing underneath a row of chairs in our gate to hide from the blinding white lights. 

4 hours. 

A 2 hour plane right & then home. 

I hate flying, and I think the anecdote above explains why. More so, I hate being vulnerable. Releasing control is a difficult task for me, in any area of life. 

As this semester begins I know I'm going to be drowning. I knew this when i submitted my transcripts this summer to go back to LBC. 

Sometimes you have to be pushed around, get lost, and then pull yourself up & realize it will all be okay. 

I believe in the power of laughter & the power of words. They both easily captivate me. 

I want to laugh more this year, no matter how many assignments are due or books needs to be read. I want to never be too stressed to speak truth. I want to keep writing. I want to be faithful to be thankful. 

I don't remember when God intervened and the man in 23D was a doctor. I don't remember the paramedic who talked me down from that personal mountain. I don't remember my moms fear or pain. 

But I can clearly see He had a plan. 

I land in PA at 6 Eastern time and start school on Monday. 

Here's to not seeing the plan but being willing to see the good in it, no matter how badly you just want to cry. 

Laugh a lot. 

Write more. 

Love louder. 

Pray often. 

Seek wisdom. 

2 0 1 5 // second semester.  

Even still

My thoughts drown in you.
Yours have forgotten me.
As I gasp for air & to lose you,
You've already thrown me out.
Sounds and smells and photos.
They take me under and I'm starving.
"remember me!"
As if shouting will bring you back.
As if begging will change the past.

We pretend we are fine.
Those four letters never really mean much.
I still cry sometimes.
Tears of anger, maybe.
Of hurt, yes.
But my soul still loves you.
Even when you forget me