Abyss

Adventures are meant to be followed, explored, experienced. 

Fears are meant to be conquered, turned into opportunities and strength. 

Communities are meant to support, build and grow. 

What are you meant to be?

Remember those who are around when you break 😌🥰

I'm still learning. Advice was given: be more vulnerable, be brave, take the risks and you will be rewarded. Okay, I was vulnerable once, told the truth, put myself put there went to party and I was taken advantage of. Yes, I drank too much and yes I probably should have phoned a friend but I had trust in humanity to not be the worst kind of unforgivable and it shook me to my core, it changed me. I reactted by hiding for two years, isolating myself from the outside world. I am a runner. I will admit that. And when I was ready to step out into the world again, I was changed: paranoid, timid, rageful, unrecognizable, my weight climbed up as quick as it went down and I am aimless. 

Now, I am home, back in the city where I was born and raised. I continue to be a total ghost surrounded by familiar strangers: my family. I believe this is my rock bottom for more reasons that can't be explained here.

They never made me feel whole, always different and label me black sheep. I want to leave. 

I am leaving. Next week, Monday I will be on a plane to Mississippi. I will reset. I will find my people, my person, possibly plant roots. I want to try again, become a different person again. 

Because that is life. Figuring out what works and what doesn't, figuring out where you fit and where you don't. The unforgivable acts of others should not stop you from overcoming the fears, finding your passion, finding where you fit.

I took a break for awhile, I learned a few good habits

still struggling with a few old habits

but I strive

it is life

i am here

now 

I am the last of the unfortunate four. If you believe ghosts can write, then this story ends with me dead. Or not. Possibly both. Definitely both because a person can be dead inside and walk among the living. I am dead without those three I wanted to follow along after them, take the easy way out but I am also a coward. I couldn't and I didn't. Instead, I held onto my death wish through college, through graduate and nursing school. I enlisted, asking for death. I became a flight nurse, the damn flight nurse anyone has ever seen. I worked through war zones, saw Josephine, Mitch and Tyla in some of my patients, I held onto my brave face and mustered up enough courage to move forward for them, even if I wake up every day wanting to die. 

I had my moments of happiness. 

I met a man: a strong, kind, rough-around-the-edges man and I almost allowed him to break down my walls.

Then, he asked about my mother. 

My mother: a sweet, ganja-loving, brave woman. Loose with her words but never her heart.

A little after Mitch's death, my mother had passed. I was years away from eighteen and I wasn't about to be uprooted from my home. I saved by stealing money from my mother's wallet since she started trusting me to cash in paychecks. Since I was seven-years old, I stole one hundred dollars from her purse each week. As long as she had her ganja and food, she was set. To say I was covered was understatement. She died the most idiotic boring way possible. 

She choked on a piece of hamburger. 

She forgot to chew her food.

Arriving home, I found her wide-eyed spread across the floor. I was not traumatized. I had a couple dances with death, it seemed to follow me wherever I turned. So, I dug a hole in the backyard. I said some words and I moved on with my life. No one asked questions and no police has tracked me down to accuse me of murder. The whereabouts of my mother was not asked. She never showed up for school events. I was not a problem child and she remained a homebody. My friends parents were obligated to speak to her only if a sleepover requested. All of my friends were dead at this point and Josephine's mother couldn't care less what her child was doing. 

She didn't come to the funeral. 

Some classmates from school and a few teachers came, but it was a small gathering. 

It made me wonder what my funeral turnout would be like. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? 

Anyway, that sweet man had to go. He poked a nerve and I was not prepared and I ran for the hills.

I didn't want a family. I didn't want a friend. They would all die eventually and I would have survivor's guilt.

I have survivor's guilt. 

The day I met Tyla, Mitch and Josephine, I was bored and new to the neighborhood. There was a playground in the community. Believe it or not, Josephine was first to welcome me. I remember her smiling, grabbing my hand. She introduced me to Tyla, while Mitch was busy digging in the sand. I do not recall what he was looking for but we all pitched in to help him search. I remember my hands being gritty and tiny particles went into places I hadn't planned but we laughed together. I don't remember what about but I was happy to make friends that day. I thought they were going to be lifetime friends, but that is why we are unfortunate. They took the best parts of me to other side and they were worth it. 

Although, I do not have an abundance of confidence in social setting, my tongue trips and twists my words and I tend to be the weird woman in the room: attractive but standoffish, I do not need your validation. 

Despite my flaws, I am fucking comfortable in my own skin. I am not your cup of tea, but I am someone's else sweet sugary everything. I have turn offs. I will ask you a question and if I do not like the answer I write you off immediately. Sorry, not sorry. 

I absolutely despise people who assume. You preach effective communication and how it builds a proper relationship, a strong foundation but assume so quickly about my character, you have no idea who I am. Based on your experience, this action, that saying: I am automatically a Karen, Toni, a simple reminder of your ex. Do not put your personal drama on me. I am not her.

I have my reasons for acting the way I do, being the way I am, saying shit that makes you uncomfortable. Be uncomfortable more often. Not my problem, you live in your comfort zone. 

I am a private person. I have a total of four friends. They are all loyal, decent, ride-or-die people so I know my judgment is solid and I know what I ask for is not difficult.

When you think you know what I will do next you are wrong, I take a complete U-turn and jump off a cliff with a parachute because I am not suicidal. I am a little bit insane, a little bit reserved, funny, observant, serious and wild. I am a wild card.

But you already stuck to your assumptions, so you don't hear what I say. It doesn't matter. To you, they are excuses. 

Okay, fine. 

I have enough confidence to say I don't need you. Building a connection with me is a privilege, only the patient, strongest, bravest, kindest, funniest person will prosper.

I know happiness is a mindset, doesn't come from material items or people. In my opinion, the wrong people can be detrimental to your happiness. But the right person, can keep your world alive, show you the heights of the universe and grow with you. It is a beautiful unimaginable.

These are the words from the brilliant Case Kenny. I wanted to share:

"Don't give up, give in to your truth.

Remember that your anxieties, your doubts, your fears...those feelings do not define your truth. 

Your truth is choosing to face them. Your truth is realizing that even though your feelings are ones you might not wish to have right now, then remind you that happiness has been waiting for you. 

Where you belong is where your truth is. And vulnerability is your truth. 

Find a sense of calm in knowing this 

Find peaceful stillness in knowing that right now, with each breath you are living your truth by giving in. Not by giving up, but by giving in. 

Because when you give in, you live in your truth. 

And your truth will guide you to where you belong. You truth, whatever it is right now, however temporary it is right now...is what will guide you to where you belong. 

Where you belong is a place where you are warm and at ease. At peace. Reassured that you hide nothing from yourself. You give up on nothing, you run from nothing, you bury nothing.

Where you belong...is a place and state where you feel every worry, anxiety, pain, doubt, fear and they hold less and less of a grip on you. Where the pressure isn't so heavy, where there's light after the dark, sun after the storm. 

It's a place where you are okay. Where life isn't so daunting. Where you feel weightless. Where you live your truth."

 ~Case Kenny. From New Mindset, Who Dis?

I thought about how to explain Josephine's story without adding my own bias. She wasn't my favorite person in our gang, but I do not believe it is fair to omit her because of my own emotions. She was a force. I admired her spirit and confidence. She walked around like she did not care what anyone thought. As you might of guessed, our gang of unfortunate souls withered down to two and since Josephine and I were not close in the beginning, the gang disbanded. 

By high school, I was tired. I was tired of a series of unfortunate events and I was e losing my sense of hope, despite the yellow ribbon dangling from my keychain. I could tell I was not the only one. 

When we were kids, Josephine would confide in Tyla, using Barbie dolls for demonstrations of where her father, half brother and uncle, visiting on the holidays, would touch her when her mommy was working. At that age, we didn't understand what sexual assault was, we didn't understand what abuse was, we didn't understand why our sworn protectors  would turn to hurt us. But as girls, we did understand what keeping a secret was. 

Josephine felt betrayed by Tyla when she demonstrated what she had learned to me at our next play session. She was amazed and excited to know about the wonders of her body. She did not know what a vagina was or what it meant, how the spot between her legs could exist without her knowing. Although this new knowledge stirred her curious mind, she still worried about Josephine. 

"You should have seen her." Tyla said. "She said she was unsure."

"What do you mean?"

Tyla shrugged. "Unsure about her daddy or her brother giving her baths and washing her but I told her a daddy is there to keep you safe when mommy is away. Mommies are better at some things than daddies."

Tyla had two loving parents who would move mountains for her. Of course, this is what she believed. I didn't blame her. 

I believed a father and brother could be portrayed as a protector in the family dynamic--until this. 

My mother was a sex positive parent. She taught me at four years old where a penis goes when trying to create a child like me. She taught me the difference between my vagina, vulva, lipis and clitoris. She made me watch sex educational videos to avoid any follow up questions about penis size, foreskin and sperm. She explained to me where a man could touch, but not allowed to at my current age. Josephine and I were the same age, so my curious mind had been peaked.

I asked my mother. "Can a daddy and brother touch my vagina?" 

I remember my mother moving from the kitchen to the living room like lightening, grabbing my shoulders, her eyes full of tears but her lips was fixed tight, her voice stern and motherly. "Who? You tell me who touched you! You tell me right now!"

"No one." 

"Then why all of sudden ask me such a question?" 

I remained silent. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble. I was not supposed to know. 

My mother was a resilient woman; she literally shook the truth out of me. 

"You tell me. Right now. Right now or no more playing with Tyla." 

Shaking involuntarily back and forth, I spilled the peas. "Josephine's daddy, brother and uncle touches her when her mommy is away." 

My mother released me, frozen in place. I don't remember what happened next, but I remember the consequences of telling a secret. 

It was a week before Thanksgiving break, I remember because I was looking forward to showing my mother a hat I created in arts and crafts. I was wearing it out at recess when the storm came in. I was coming down the slide as Josephine appeared. No hesitation, no words were said, no time to prepare. BAM! My first punch in the face and I didn't see her rip up my Thanksgiving hat, but there it was in pieces on the ground. This is where the rift between us began. 

If you ask Josephine today, who was the person that ruined her life? All fingers point to me.

No Thanksgiving would ever be the same, no more family dinners, no more family vacations, no white picket fence dream, her family imploded. 

My mom told her mom and the next thing we knew Mitch was giving his lunch to Jospehine. Despite her best attempts to exclude me from the gang, our pain was overwhelmingly formidable granting stronger bonds than the iceberg sinking the Titanic. It was awkward at first, sitting diagonal at lunchtime from that Sucker Punch fiend but Tyla reminded me Josephine was going through an ordeal, hurting more than her mind could grasp. Being the bigger person is revenge enough.

Josephine's mom was this travel agent/realtor/big CEO. The details of her job was unknown to me, but I knew she traveled around the world. She depended on the father to make lunches, buy clothes, make dinners, deal with school administrators. So, when he was thrown into jail, you would expect for the mother's priorities to change. You would think she would come home, comfort her daughter, step up as a mother in which she did for the span of three weeks before flying out the week before Thanksgiving. 

Mitch explained this to me later in middle school. He would never admit it, but I think he had a crush on Josephine. When she started dropping weight because she refused to eat the lunch, he started making her turkey sandwiches from home. When Josephine started to talk suicide, he would change her tune, start making jokes and flirt. On the days, he avoided his mother in the parking lot he walked Josephine home safely, they did homework together, planned pranks together. 

When Mitch was killed, it was heartbreaking. Josephine was the last one standing at his grave site, on her knees sobbing obnoxiously loud. 

I kneeled next to her, staring at his gravestone. "Eugene." I read. "Remember we used to tease him about his middle name. Ew ew old man Eugene."

She stopped crying, filling the air with awkward silence. I continued on, mimicking Mitch's voice.

"Old man with all the wisdom, experience and getting all the ladies." Then I whispered to Josephine. "But we all know he just wanted one." 

She smiled for a moment then probably remembered she hated me. "What do you want?"

"Make sure you are okay. I'm not okay." I confessed. "We are the only two left." 

"No, you are just left. There is no we." 

"Tyla and Mitch would have wanted us to let the past go. We made a pact in the sandbox and it is the only reason why we are still here today--"

"Shut up! Don't you talk to me about Tyla or Mitch! You don't know! You are nothing! You are pathetic. You don't mind your own fucking business and we all pay the cost for it!" 

I experienced one of those out of body moments. I remember time slowing down, watching my arm raise to assist my fist in connecting with Jospehine's eye. It was exhilarating a defining moment in our relationship going forward.

We finished middle school as enemies, making our lives more unfortunate than they already were, but it gave us a reason to wake up in the morning. When Jospehine threw a party and invited everyone but me, I spent the night plotting my revenge. The next day, I borrowed one of Mitch pranks. I stole the lock on her locker and replaced it with an identical one. She was late to class trying to figure out the combination, which earned her detention for two days. She responded with gossip, a game of rumors. I beat her at your own game, spreading pictures of a young Josephine eating dog food on her kitchen floor. 

That's the thing about having an enemy who was a childhood friend. You never know what secrets they may have in their arsenal. 

I believe Josephine realized this, so we mutually agreed to pretend we didn't know each other. Out of sight, never in my mind and my name was lost to her lips forever. 

Until biology. 

We were fucking lab partners. 

Ever dissected a baby pig with an enemy?

Did you stab them? I couldn't. I envy you.

We had to do lab assignments outside of school. 

We met at the library.

I did the work. She giggled at her phone. 

It was good until presentation time. Jospehine loved to be the center of attention, perhaps because she never got it at home. Sorry, bias. Anyway, she disappeared on presentation day and I did all the work, so you would think the presentation would be easy but I am amazed I didn't pee my pants in front of the class. I hate public speaking.

I demanded an explanation. I went to her house to be faced with sobbing Josephine. I knew something was desperately wrong because when she opened the door. She hugged me. 

My father died. She said. My father died. 

I wasn't sure she was relieved or heartbroken. She never made it clear. She continued to sob and my rage dispersed as her tears poured on my shirt. We weren't friends, but I hugged her like she was one.

"I'm sorry." She uttered, before pushing my out the door to slam it in my face.

I remember standing there, frozen in place. Her emotions gave me whiplash and I was utterly confused, but I traveled home. The biology project was over and I expected us to go back to peacefully co-exisiting. 

Jospehine had other plans...

On April 9th, Jospehine was found floating face down in the riverbank. Apparently, she jumped from the highway and a fisherman found her. She was wearing Mitch's jean jacket I used to steal. 

I was called to identify the body. I found this a strange request. Her mother was available. She was absent her entire life, go figure. Turns out Josephine named me as an emergency contact, she had my name in her wallet. Me, my name, my number, me, the person who ruined her life. 

Jospehine was a complex character. I will give her that, but till this day I had no idea why she would have chosen me.  

It has been a week since I challenged myself to eliminate Netflix, Hulu, Starz and other binge worthy streaming networks. I failed within two days. I cracked. The temptation was too high for Season 15 of Heartland. It was worth it, but not the point. I realized going cold turkey from my so called addiction was not feasible. So, I changed my viewing content. Instead of romantic drama series or true crime mysteries, I began to watch Money Explained, The Mind Explained, documentaries will teach me instead of kill my brain cells. I felt less guilty and my time didn't feel wasted. It opened doors to new avenues benefiting my future. I ordered a book online about real estate investing and ways to increase my cashflow. Also, I discovered my emotions are related to my actions, which is why I eat my feelings. My next challenge: when feeling stressed or sad, I will exercise or take a walk. *Cross fingers* I am a work in progress. 💋

I like to self-reflect when I feel my world spinning off its axis.

I dig for depth. 

I want more.

I can be more.

I can do more.

I scratch at the surface. 

What's underneath?

What's great?

What's missing?

What's preventing me from having more?

What patterns control me?

What are my triggers?

What makes me think I can have more?

Because I am fucking unstoppable.

I love me. ❤ 

I want to design my life.

I am done just surviving.

I control my next and last moments. 

That's a start.