That it haunts me to know I cannot move forth
And to move the vase of flowers
To the closet from the window
They’re so perfect the iridescent green holds onto the water droplets as a struggle.
Well I won’t stop it, just infringe it.
So, don’t mock my hair, which is fried from
Colors and burnt on the ends
For an artificial high.
Haha – I don’t think so.
Not another happy ending when I am
Standing in the cold, smoking a cigarette,
From the cheapest brand I don’t enjoy
Give me your oversized sweater and flee
I won’t stop you
I merely seek warmth and comfort
And snowy kisses on a mountain
When we occupy your dreams
They will transcend into reality
Until we’re actually there with the manmade
Snow fluttering all around us
And we drink our cocoa
At separate, stringent tables
Do not forget to pray for those
Who do not seem fortunate enough
To experience such a dream like reality.
Who knew we were so lucky to hold our own
But please do not untie my dress
I quite like it hanging there from my assets from my mother.
So just allow it to adorn me for now.
The weekend is almost over anyways
So, we’ll be heading back to mundane
Soon if there are no obstacles
And no more forks in the road.
One thing that I know is that I don’t remember growing up and hating my body. When I say this, I mean all the way through adolescence and most of high school. Sure, there were spurts of time where I would start to feel self-conscious about something here or there, but I never thought about it.
First let me paint you a picture. Growing up, I wasn’t exactly the smallest girl on the playground, but I didn’t have too much baby fat either. My thighs, calves and butt had some…substance to them. I was a happy kid, however; shy but happy. In high school, I was never one to “flaunt my stuff,” but I never developed the body issues. At least not yet.
It wasn’t until later in my high school career, after a couple of devastating romantic blows and some back handed remarks from people close to me, the resolve that was held in my mind started to crumble around me.
Suddenly, the dark brown hair that fell to my shoulders, that I sometimes cut to fun shorter lengths was no longer cute – it needed to be red, or blonde…hell, even blue. I became obsessed with tanning; my pale, clear skin was no longer good enough. Never bothering with makeup before, I began heavily painting my eyes with black eyeliner and other colors. I even became so obsessed with my image that I started smoking.
But the biggest effect this shift had on me was the attention I paid to my weight. I was no longer satisfied with the little extra bits of me there was to love. That is when the unhealthy behavior started. So, on top of the fact that my wild streak was just starting to take off, my brain decided to throw in this fun side issues in the form of binge eating and a small case of anorexia.
I would go through fluctuating periods of not eating and eating way too much – and when I was eating, it was nothing but junk. I was constantly smoking cigarettes to keep away the food cravings. I wasn’t even exercising, however. I spent most nights partying, so the strain on my body continued to pile up. And this was only the beginning of the troubles.
I can’t begin to grasp your fingers
Too large for mine
Small dainty fingers
You don’t care, you cover me up
And hold me together just like the glue
You used to fix my elephant
When you were my hero and I was upset
The clothes are too big, too baggy to hide my new-found beauty
It is tiny and cold and pale and yours
You will wrap me up in your arms
Because it’s still too cold for one as frail as me.
Your arms are too big
So, I’ll be content to swim in your embrace as long as it’s you.
This feeling of concern about self-control is bleeding through the cracks;
I hold onto one single breath
I can’t let go because it hurts; and the whole thing is twisted.
A topsy-turvy occurrence of confusing circumstances controlling the night around being
Keep in touch with your soul
Fragmented shards flying through
Transcending all that is known
In and out the grains of fabric
That clothe the reality that surrounds the iridescent particles of color that put together my body
And it frames my world with swirly rips from my heart.
Freak out the crazy, push it to the back, no longer alone.
Just keep me alive.
Everyone’s life; grains of sand and clay
Broken pieces through the cracks.
Might as well not let them slip while you still can.
It’s all a little bit more entertaining when you place it in that order.
So, lock away the box from my dreams in your nook.
Do me the favor and never let me see them again.
Alcohol was easily defined for me as a lubricant for my social awkwardness. It started right after I graduated from high school and was forced out of my comfort zone. As I already reminisced, my freshman year found me at Eureka College. It was only a 45-minute drive from home, and with my car on campus with me I had the luxury of escaping back home. This allowed me to only approach the first year to my college experience with a ten-foot-pole.
I had a hard time connecting to people. For the first time, I was in different settings, trying different things and meeting new people. After growing up in the same town that I felt safe and comfortable, I was suddenly hit with crippling anxiety. I couldn’t just talk to new people. I couldn’t be the outgoing, fun-loving person I thought I was. Any party at school I attended, or any time I ate lunch in the cafeteria, it was like my entire body was an exposed nerve.
The comfort of alcohol was like an answer to my prayers. It literally gave proof to the term “liquid courage.” Suddenly, I was able to talk openly with people. Small talk was no longer something that left me frozen with fear.
It brought on something new that I wasn’t used to either. Most of my life, I was never the girl that stood out. I was never exactly the center of attention at parties – or most venues, for that matter. And then, thanks to alcohol, all of that changed. Laugh out loud memories, connecting with new friends and getting hit on by guys that I would have never thought.
At the time, it was fulfilling because I thought these were the types of memories I should be making. I thought that if I spent too much time alone, or being anti-social, that I was doing something wrong. And my anxiety did nothing to help with my feelings of isolation from others my age. I would spend time reading, writing or watching T.V. and wondering if I was doing enough to cultivate my social life. It was this internal struggle and my desire to fit in and – yes, I will admit it – desire for attention that pushed me even farther into the party scene.
One thing to note is that partying is not an uncommon theme from my hometown, so between my time at school and driving home to visit new groups of friends, I was pushing my own limits of what I was comfortable with on all fronts. My alcohol intake began to grow every night I drank, and then the number of nights I drank became more often each week. And so far into my experiences drinking, other than a few…. adventures I decided to go on, I was just having some harmless, young fun.
It began as harmless fun, but I clung to alcohol has the fun in my life and the only method of entertainment. By the time I got to NIU for my second year, it was a crutch that I leaned on heavily. I was able to make friends, but my focus was obviously not on my studies as I fell deeper into the bottle.
When I walked in the room and eyes fluttered my way,
And my ears turned red,
I remember today,
How it felt to feel naked and be scared of the world.
In a place long ago, before I had grown in
I place my finger on the memory that bleeds so badly.
It gushes and gushes with remembrance I no longer wish to hold
Even though I know I have stored it away,
but not for long.
I will use it against you
when you threaten those things,
When you threaten me for death and even for living.
That doesn’t scare me, don’t be so bullheaded.
I may take a lot of things and place them under my hat,
Even though it is falling apart.
So what I ask is this: What is the idea?
When I am all huddled and frightened of things
That happened in dreams, and places that don’t touch me.
What is it then that holds onto my wrist and measures my size?
Only because that’s what I like to do,
You can find it queer but at least I’m not the one who thinks highly of himself.
I take a needle to my eye and draw within it the thread
That I have sewn and cared for and created for so long.
I tie it in a knot around the things I have seen,
Those are held in a place in the dark corners of being.
Through the tunnel out of hazel that you didn’t see coming
is when you’ll be slapped in the face
for questioning the things that you have.
Like the pretty questions of who is sleeping there
and how can I get away with such things.
Well, do not ponder for long on the ideas
I have held in a pocket in my pants that fit all too tightly.
Isn’t that what you wanted?
A simple reprieve…
How about the book written about the secrets of you and me?
Thank me now for not being a blabbermouth
And respect the fact that I hide in your lies;
behind the new girlfriends but before the story of your drinking.
Keep it all in order, and it will all be okay.
A part of me still feels like the 18-year-old girl who had the world laid at her feet, so many opportunities to choose from. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have ended up in a good spot and have finally found myself in a place where I am extremely happy. I also don’t believe in regrets — I have lived my life. I am chock full of experiences – some good, a lot of bad.
I suppose when I was 18, and I was granted the full liberty to go and do whatever I wanted, the overwhelming urge to go-go-go became a visceral need. Luckily, I was young, and surrounded by other young people growing up in a town with little entertainment to offer.
Pressure was mounting because of senior year, and the pinnacle of my life’s work – getting into a good college and making my family proud – was finally on the horizon. Never in my life did I think that I would start shrinking away from the challenge.
We were climbing in my two-door cavalier ten people at a time to go on all-night adventures, fueled by crappy Denny’s coffee and cigarettes. Hiking trips in the bright rays of the sunrise, down by the river front or up under the bridge to overlook the highway. Only wearing light hoodies, worn down moccasin shoes and our hair too disheveled for our own good – because at the time, that was what looked good, you know.
We were having too much fun running amuck to do any real damage, but there wasn’t much focus on my future or concern about anything past the night ahead. And while that worked for the time being, when it finally came time to pick a college, I used my lame relationship that would only last about a month longer as an excuse to pick a college close to the area. I even tried insisting on living at home during this time.
Lucky for me, my mom pushed me out of my comfort zone and even though I ended up at a nearby college, I did end up living in the dormitory there. It was my first college experience, but it was mine.
I know that the people in my life who maybe didn’t understand those late-night adventures with my friends during those adolescent years saw this time as “the turning point” for me. This is when I turned from the girl who barreled straight-ahead towards her future with no fear to someone who proceeded with caution, and clung to the familiar.
My dream was to always be a writer, and while I was out there living my life, and I was still writing, some might say that I wasn’t as focused as I needed to be. Some could argue that these experiences helped form me into a more well-rounded person. Experiences can help fill in some gaps, and move a person forward.
This was a time where everything was exciting to me. I started off every day feeling fabulous. I had a couple good friends who would ride-along with me, encouraging my whirlwind ideas and enjoying the late nights, heavy eyes and couch surfing.
When my high school graduation came and went, so did any sense of responsibility. Starting the night of my graduation, drinking copious amounts of liquor became my famous past time. I had made some new friends who would have everyone over to drink at their apartment regularly. This began a whole new phase for me, and if the people in my life thought I had hit a turning point before….they hadn’t seen anything yet.
It’s a sad truth that through our lives, as we construct the building blocks of memories in an ever-changing landscape, that the scenery starts to change. We don’t expect for these foundations to slowly fade away; until one day they are no more than wisps of nothing.
I miss the beach off the gravel track, with the morbid nickname. The river water would do its delicate dance, lapping at the edges of the world as our footsteps found their way.
I miss the tunnel that never ends. In the darkness, when we all grab hands and run until our lungs could burst with the urgency of it all; and the echoes fly around like birds in the sky.
I miss the hidden field, where cars and bikes and civilization couldn’t reach. The warm sun beating down on the soft grass or lying back on the blanket to count the stars winking back at us like old friends.
I miss the skeleton houses on the lake, decrepit and old and filled with the lives of people before. Where we would climb over nature to snap the best photo shots and zoom in on these forgotten homes.
I miss the spot under the bridge, where the colors splashed across the canvas with purpose and meaning. And our fingertips turned blue from the paint, but it was ok because we were creating our own worlds.
I miss the ledge that overlooked the city most of all. Where I spent so many nights sleeping, and talking, and dreaming, and exploring, and fighting, and loving, and hoping. And while I knew the nooks and crannies of the city below, from up above I still felt the magic of possibility.