Dear Younger Self:

I take one glance at you, and the first words that come to mind are weathered and worn. You have been through so much and have had it sheltered in what you had considered your safe place. I know you were so young so there was no way for you to fully conceptualize the magnitude of everything that was happening to you as you were developing.

Waking up and dragging yourself every day was a struggle. You would beg and plead to just stay home as to not face what was going on with you in school. I could look at your face and see the visible stress that your childhood was causing you.

You went to school only to get teased and laughed at because of your disability. Something that was not your fault and no one else’s fault. You were being neglected and left behind by teachers and the people who were meant to be there as a building block in your life seemed more like a roadblock.

Because of the neglect I felt, my typing teacher called a meeting to tell my mother that I smelled of urine. My mom got visibly upset and said that if I had the help I needed, this meeting would have never had to happen.

I would say that this situation was the turning point that caused you to go downhill as far as depression is concerned. I look back on that version of you, and the first thing I recall is the bags under your eyes from no sleep and your disheveled hair from an obvious lack of self-care.

I can clearly remember when you were begging your mom to let you stay home from school to avoid the overly emotional load and toll it took on both your mind and body. Your parents had to continually remind you of how far you had already come and that you only had a couple of months left.

I knew from the way that you were struggling that months would feel more like years. Thec days were grueling, going from feeling like you were someone important to the feeling that you felt like you didn’t matter to anyone.

These mood swings had your depression declining in every sense of the word. So much so that you had begun to wonder if life was worth living anymore. You came home every single day to put your Lifehouse “No Name Face” CD on and cry your eyes out because the lyrics of every song had an unusual tug on both your heart and mind. You had never felt a connection with a band like this, and you knew that it was something very special. So special in fact that the lyrics from the song “Simon” can be credited with saving your life and bringing you back to life in a way that would become nothing short of a miracle.

As you move on in your life and graduate from high school, this is when you begin to see significant changes in both your behavior and mental health status. You had never experienced such a positive feeling before. College was a turning point when you had a great interest in your social work studies and were fully immersed in techniques to help others while also becoming a better person and working on the prosperous adult you were working so unbelievably hard to become.

Your grades were excellent and you were feeling like a brand-new person in all aspects of the word. I believe that college can also be credited with your positive decisions to keep going no matter what roadblocks you have yet to face. There would be numerous ups and downs, but the good news is now you know how to handle them in appropriate ways.

You should be immensely proud of yourself. You rose up from the very bottom of depression, only to rise as a more confident and loving human being. You did what a lot of other people unfortunately don’t end up doing, and that is surviving the worst moments of your life. You still do not give yourself adequate credit. You are so strong; your strength is your pinnacle. Not enough can ever be said about the way you have chosen to live despite the fact that your disability has taken over your body and stripped you of your once-treasured independence. You always tell others that your patience and laid-back attitude are your secret to happiness, However, I feel that your strength is your real superpower. Give yourself the credit, it is not arrogant when it is the truth.

The past still haunts me when I pull into certain places. I can still feel your grip. I thought I made amends with it, but it still makes itself known as a horrible nightmare that won’t go away. It’s been seven years now and it can still make me cry. You probably don’t even remember.

I had been running errands all day and had to stop and use the restroom. The closest one available was the one I didn’t want to stop at. Damn! That would mean I would have to go out of my way to find a different one. It had been seven years since I had been in that gas station. God, I don’t want to go in there. This is so stupid! Jesus, it’s been seven years. That’s it I’m going in. I am so tired of you still dictating where I go. You probably don’t even remember.

So, I parked my car, and stomping my feet I went in. As soon as the door shut, I was brought back to that night. I honestly don’t remember why you even got mad. Wait it’s the reason you always got angry. Jealously of some made-up thoughts or ideas in your mind of me being with someone else. The funny thing is I was always with you even when I didn’t want to be and that was a lot of the time. I remember you dropping me off at Walmart and threatening to leave me again like you did. So I ran to that gas station. You probably don’t even remember.

You would do that a lot drive around endlessly never taking me home. I felt like I was in your car for days staring out the window…oh wait I was. I remember you asking me “What are you doing?’ I said, “reading all the signs.” I thought if someone could hear me then they would know where I am and maybe they will find me. You know if I ended up dead. You would then threaten to leave me at some faraway place with no phone and no money. Standing there in the parking lot helpless and hopeless. You probably don’t even remember.

God what is that smell…oh I’m still in the bathroom. I was pretty sure you were going to hit me again. So, I locked myself in that nasty stall, so I felt safe. Then the knock came along with your voice and as scared as I was, I let you in. Damn, why did I always let you in? You pushed your way in and grabbed my neck and shoved me up against the wall. I honestly can’t recall what you said. My mind just shut down and then you left. I slowly opened the door and went out I didn’t see your car thank God. So, I ran to Walmart only to find you there. Looking left and then to my right not a car in sight. Damn, why did I always get in? It’s finally starting to fade the memories of you. Thank God I can’t make your face out I guess my brain is shielding me from you.
You probably don’t even remember.

Why can’t I love him?
He makes me all tingly in the morning leaving me begging for more.
Why can’t I love him?
His Cheshier smiles draw me in and hypnotizes me.
Why can’t I love the way he kisses me?
As if my kisses alone are the fountains of youth to my soul.
Why can’t I love the way he speaks?
With that accent that leaves me like putty in his hands.
Why can’t I love the way he cuddles me in his arms?
He shields me from the world.
Why can’t I love the way he laughs?
His laugh Ignites a spark in my heart that brings me pure joy.
Why can’t I love the way he takes care of me?
He makes me feel safe for the first time in a decade.
Now tell me why I can’t love this man.

Today I was driving rushing and running on my 30-munitue lunch break. Hurring to get back to work to eat my fried shrimp and for a moment I thought I saw you. For the first time I didn’t get scared. Anxiety didn’t run the show, and I didn’t have to stop my mind from going down that rabbit hole. Instead, I parked the car smiled to myself the biggest smile and almost cried. Not because I am sad but because for the first time, I didn’t get scared. I realized just how strong I am and the scars that you left have healed. I didn’t get that pit in my stomach, and I didn’t lose control. I held my head high, stood my ground and I didn’t have to fight with my former self. For the first time in 6 years, I didn’t get scared. Anxiety didn’t run the show, and I didn’t have to stop my mind from going down that rabbit hole. Today was the day I realized I was free.

To express and not to impress.
That’s what my wardrobe mantra has always been.
My insecurities, my assets, my emotions, my sartorial choices. My clothes have always been about just me.
What I wish to is what I wear.
Wore them pants wide with arrogant pride while most felt pressurized to snuggle into those skinnies.
Dared the unforgiving jumpsuit before it pole-vaulted into it’s current fashionista glory.
Fashion trends may fail but personal style always stays and slays.
Fashion has copycats but style is unimitable. Fashion runs the risk to look frumpy, style is consistently classy!
My clothes have always been my strongest mode of self expression and hold the power to strip me.
Strip me of my fears, my vulnerabilities, my facades and expose my inner moods and eccentricities which can be quite scary!
I have always looked at my style as a metric of how well I know my body. I realize my body is ever evolving with age and hence organically so must my style.
For what fits may not necessarily flatter.
I let no brand, no magazine , no nobody tell me what befits me. For that is my mind and my body’s prerogative only.
I shall always be my own fashion house, my recurring muse , my own runaway supermodel and most of all my own worst critique!
As I contemplate color blocking warm and cold, throwing some solid pattern on prints , or experimenting with unconventional hemlines , I would like to do so with complete abandon of external validation.
For ultimately it’s always about what the final look does for me and never about how others choose to see.

Dear little me,

This is not even a dream that you know you have yet, but oh how I wish I could tell you how brave you are going to be one day! How you will burst out of the role you think you are meant to play. A lot has changed since we were small, but the goodness inside you was a part of it all.

In your twenties, on a seemingly random day and not in any way planned, you will get to come out to mom and dad. Notice I said, “get to,” because for awhile you will think that no one needs to know. Being honest with ourselves about it was such a fight in the first place. Then gradually we told a few safe people, dear friends and allies who embrace us fully as we were. And we feel so lucky. But there is still some fear in expressing it to others, including some family, so we steer clear.

But then, on a day that did not start of grand and then continued to feel like it was getting more out of hand.. when mom tries to ask you what is going on inside, you start to open up about some questions and doubts you’ve been hiding. Then all of the sudden, without any warning, you blurt out, “Oh and by the way, I’m not straight!” It was probably a bit jarring.

You wait for the questions and badgering to start, but instead they let you talk and they listen with fairly open hearts. After that, I’ll be frank, it is not sunshine and roses. Along the way to understanding there have been plenty of bumpy roads.

And I know what you are thinking, because I think it a lot: why did we get lucky when so many do not? I wish I had an answer to that query, but the truth is that sometimes the answers can be very elusive and maybe some answers do not exist. There is a lot we still do not know, but let me scratch something from the list.

I know I am not a mistake, and that I deserve acceptance and kindness. I believe that is universal, no matter what some may say in their blindness. And while I am still growing and changing and discovering myself, I am learning not to hide away on a dark, shaded shelf.

Hugs to you, little one.

I was browsing through “My Mother’s Story” for a prompt. Not for my mother, and not for the children I don’t plan on having, but for me. I am my own mother in many senses.

“What was the hardest period of your life and why?”

My instant thought was “in a sense I am still living it, yet it has passed many times”.
It’s recurring. I am plagued with anxiety and depression many times for many reasons.
It never completely leaves me; sometimes it’s just managed better. It’s like keeping it in a box in the attic.
Then a trigger or a stress, consciously or not, just opens the attic door. Scours through the piles of chaos. Finds the box. And of course, proceeds to dump all of its belongings in every bit of the house. Messy messy I feel.

Right now, I am exhausted. Drained. Sad. Far from content. Miles from happy.
I want rest – not from sleep, but from life’s stresses.
I need clarity; a sure direction on where I am going.
I desire joy – self acceptance, motivation, calmness.
I’m yearning for change – beach, sand, sun on end.

I am the type of tired a nap doesn’t shake.
I’m so uneasy that a hug doesn’t help relax me.

Is this what a quarter life crisis feels like?
And although 75% of people in my age bracket experience this, does that actually make it normal?
Even more unsettling.

So I’ll take this day as both a win and a loss. Winning because I’m making it through with every bit of life inside of me. Losing because I know times have been and will be better.
The stable me will return. She will strike again with her optimism, free spirit, and bolts of energy.

Until then, a restless girl I will be.

Dear readers,
Living your dreams is something we are told to do as children but, the second we realize what our dreams are, they seem impossible to achieve. Nursing school is hard, 4 years of medical school, 4 years of residency, you graduate to be a teacher only to realize teaching is not all it’s cracked up to be. But, with the right support of your friends and family, your dreams are possible! You will become the neurosurgeon you’ve always wanted to be. You will be that special education teacher you’ve always dreamed about. My only advice I have is to Live Your Dreams and Never Give Up!!