Tuesday, May 5, 2009

"I have duckies in my back yard."


I hate this feeling.

That I need to do something, but I have no clue what.
So, I write.

Is this what being a teenager is? Or maybe being a poet?

This wanting to do everything at once, but not being able to?

Yesterday, my parents decided I was going to IC. In Jacksonville. 30 minutes away from here. This wasteland.

I love my friends here in Springpatch, but I miss the ocean. I miss the coffee shops, Pike Place, the rain, the evergreens and I guess I miss the memories.

Even though most of what I remember is the hurtful stuff. . . the beginning to the real madness.

I wanted to go to UW. I wanted to go there because there are cool little streets and funny people and all those random people playing their instruments on the sidewalk downtown.

Maybe that's why I wanted to go back "home".

Rachel said there was nothing there for me. No one. Not anymore.

I've been hoping she is wrong. That time will rewind, that I will unravel the past and things will be kittens and butterflies again.

Or maybe I just want to figure my brain out. I hate this feeling. . . I want to go back to the safety I felt during my last months in Seattle. It holds my best memories.

And my worst.

But now I can't figure out my past, not the way I wanted to. I will be living close to my parents.

I hate being me. I wish I could love myself the way I strive to love others.

I may be the TWLOHA Girl, but is it more than just cool t-shirts and my favorite story in the world? Does change really start with the individual, because I cannot love myself.

This is the dumbest blog in the world, and here I thought I was inspired.

Maybe I'll take a walk in the park tonight, after my parents have stopped stirring and have started snorring. Maybe I'll take a long walk and maybe I'll cry, if I can remember how. Maybe I'll even scream. I feel like screaming. . . but most of all I feel like melting into a puddle and letting Jesus hug me.

Which is pathetic.

Because He's a spirit now, or something like that, and His "hands and feet" (here goes the soap box again, geez, will I ever stop?) have dissipated into religiosity and judgementalism. If that's even a word, that is.

Will this totally childish longing ever cease? Seriously? Being held. . . having a father. . . I'm 17. I'm in college. I'm supposed to have myself half-way together, yet I'm crying over wanting someone to hold me. Pathetic.

But I can't stop.

It's like. . the cry of my heart, or whatever that cliche is.


Yes, I am taking a walk tonight, if I can escape. Maybe I will find Jesus sitting under a tree. Or maybe I'll just sit under the tree by myself and wonder what it's like to be loved.



  1. I know exactly how you feel, which you're not going to believe. I've been there, I've done that. I know the longing that exists for an old home, for the University that you always thought you would attend. You can still remember the way the gorgeous brick was laid downtown, and the way the grass on campus was always so green.

    You remember the exact shapes of the shadows of trees.

    that funny little monument in the middle of the park.

    the friends you used to play softball with.

    the youth group that met in an old apartment and sold microwave popcorn for a dime.

    the old red carpet in the church that was your haven.

    but, mostly...

    you remember your father and your mother, cuddling and hugging.

    you remember when you used to have a family.

    you remember friends who would never forsake you.

    you remember finding Jesus over and over again, and being so on-fire.

    you remember the way it felt to dance, when your parents were still willing to fund your dreams.

    you remember the way it was before slutty clothes and flirting.

    the way life went on before boys in closets and kisses hidden from prying eyes.

    remember the way it felt to stare into the river that ran under the church parking lot, before you had reason to fear someone pushing you in like they'd threatened so seriously.

    remember... the way it was before you bled.

    do you remember when your skin was unmarred, unscarred?

    But it's not like that anymore. Your family (or what's left of it) is telling you where to go to school, where to go to church. What to do, what to wear, what NOT to do... but they aren't really offering any support.

    It's been so long since I felt that my life was full of love. Been so long since I could feel Jesus' kiss. Been so long since my life didn't consist of day-to-day, concentrating on not cutting, losing the battle with the un-diagnosed eating disorder.

    But I remember.

  2. Wow.
    The stars will come out again.
    I promise.
    For both of us.

  3. *mr.cheese holds you*


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