sometimes i write notes to myself on my phone.
sometimes i know these notes are total crap, some are fucking genius.
these notes are mushy, cynical, profound, misinformed, elitist, and asinine.
some of it is poetry and a lot of it is just fucking bullshit i tell myself thinking i’ve come across something new.
this is my place to post this.
this is me 100% raw.
this is going to be where i don’t care about your opinion because it’s not your life.
and while i hope some of it does resonate, it doesn’t matter to me.
because this is where i will go, 6 months from now, looking at why i am who i am
and why my life is turning out the way it is.
i want to write. and i want to write without the worry that i will offend
or have to censor myself.
so if you cannot respect that, please remove yourself now.
i don’t know if i realized
the extent to which i miss
sitting alone against a house
and paying so much attention to the words that drew me in
and you asked me tonight
when i had written last
and i had to search my soul for a good memory
of paying attention to the words i have to say
and maybe that’s why i love to see love blossom
as it was so eloquently put
because the times i’ve paid attention
were the times you drew me in more than words
in this winter cold
where the world perfectly aligns with the sky
i’ll sit here and sing my song to you
while listening for things
that speak back to me
and let me know i’m not ready for them
half the details
are filling my thoughts,
not thinking past what is put right in front of me
because i take things as they come
and live day by day
so what’s wrong with planning for the future?
do i hope to have nothing there waiting for me?
I am in a rut. The funny thing about being in a rut is that I can tell I’m in one, but don’t know why or really how to get out. But I always come out eventually – so that’s good right?
I think I’m having a creative meltdown where I’m thinking that what I’m doing is not good enough. I just have to remember to take it one day at a time. One thing after another. It will not always be perfect, but it will be and it’s better to be than to not.
Creativity will be the life and death of me.
When I was a little girl I never planned my perfect wedding, I never pined over princes. All I wanted was just to fall in love with the perfect man, so I made a list of the qualities that would make him my soulmate. He would be smart, kind, and funny. He would keep me on my toes and challenge me to be the best version of my self each and every day. My perfect man would love dogs (OBVIOUSLY), he wouldn’t mind that I can’t focus for more than a few minutes at a time, and he would show me the sides of myself I never knew were there. He would be tall, dark haired, and so handsome.
When I was little I never planned my perfect wedding, because deep down I had to know that it could never compare to the celebration we’ve planned here today. I didn’t pretend to marry a prince because I had to know that he could never live up to real life. I dreamt of the perfect man, so God waited until I was ready and then He introduced me to you.
I’ve always said the tattoo on my wrist was my reminder for knowing love. Every time I look at it I can’t help but to see how you fit each category.
You are my Raya. My best friend, my soulmate.
You are my Ahava. My anchor, my promise.
You are my Dod. My great romance.
You are my true definition of love and you are perfect.
I vow to always care for you, to listen (or at least try to), to give you my heart, to celebrate our triumphs, to keep trying when we fail, and most of all, I vow to stand by your side forever and always.
I’ve been depressed for a few weeks. I didn’t realize it, but I guess how would you even know when you’re in the middle of it?
For me, it’s never been an overwhelming sense of dread. It looks more like waking up later and later each day, letting the dishes pile up, doing the bare minimum to keep going from day to day until it’s this overwhelming obstacle to overcome. I get so stressed and don’t handle my emotions so I take them out on people around me.
For me, being depressed has never fully looked like what I think of when I picture depression.
But I should have known when I wanted to write. I should have realized when I kept thinking of all the things I should be doing and choosing to watch netflix or sleep instead. I should have known when I kept spending money I literally don’t have, going negative in my bank account just because I didn’t want to feel responsible.
Old patterns die hard, my friends.
But this morning I woke up and got out of bed at a normal time. I prepped for my meeting, I’m doing laundry, I will shower, put on makeup and try to make a good presentation. This morning I finally cleaned the house after weeks and weeks of letting it pile up and feeling bad because it got so far. This morning I put on my headphones to a good song. Then I realized what the last few weeks were like when I looked at my dogs and realized how unbelievably blessed I am.
I don’t know what it is that puts us in these funks and I definitely don’t know what it is that brings us out of them. But I guess it doesn’t matter as long as you get out. As long as you can come back to the light.
At some point, I turned my ears off
stopped listening to the music that soothes my soul, the people that I cared about, and to my heart’s desires.
At some point I turned into something that I always thought I was far from
holding the biggest pair of headphones to tune out the world, with nothing else playing
except the swooshing of an ocean that doesn’t exsist.