Sady Lady, reporting to you live from 2024 and I came back to 2012 to give you the official tour,
of your life as we advance with some spoilers. I heard you’re the big 1 8 and in good fashion, I’ve come to report that you have found your passion.

Is it a designer? No, that’s too flashy. Perhaps a biased journalist? No that’s a little too sassy.
You went for a more reserved path but you enjoyed the process, you take your overthinking and put your non-verbal skills to the test.

While pursuing a Central Pennsylvania secondary education, you went through one big obstacle that left you wondering if this is really your station.
It was your first “failure” to start your freshman year, you even started to wonder “damn should I even be here?”

However, through the grace of Jehovah, you found another avenue to explore. You were still a tech head, but you learned the origins of the first motherboard and it wasn’t a bore.

Even though you weren’t ready to program yet, majoring in the technology adjacent “computer forensics” was your best bet.

Since you were a kid, you loved puzzles and electronics, who knew in your adult age you’d end up learning the “phonics.”

Binary, hexadecimal, Encase, and FTK, are some of the software that helped you along the way.

For four years, you learned the ins and outs of the ever-growing advances technology yields . Alas! Your senior year came around and you had the opportunity to show how skilled you were in your field.

Dr. Barrett gave you an independent study to do research of your choice. It was like she read your mind, and your dream of studying the inner-workings of the famous SONY PLAYSTATION 4 allowed you to share your voice.

10 weeks of research, reporting, trial and error, you produced the final result and became the bearer of all your efforts in front of a crowd. While it was nerve racking, you had to give yourself a bow.

Fast forward to 2024, you are still present to write about your dream, and I hope this poem gives you some gleam.

What you learn is that success isn’t always a likely occurrence
However, the knowledge you gain should give you reassurance.

You even took up a new hobby writing about your inner interests and thoughts. Even found some cool recipes to put in your pots.

All this to say to the younger self, achieving your goals won’t always be available on a book shelf. Never look back and your future looks bright. Always remember to say a prayer a night. Even when the journey looks dim or blue, you have a great future ahead of you.

Sincerely,
Cece circa 2024

It’s been a while, I am a bit rusty at this. Please forgive the errors and step into my shoes for the moment.
I’m an insomniac. I have been, for most of my life. I never understood quite what caused it, but it stated in my early childhood. It started and stemmed from Fear.
Most of the time, it starts out with tossing, and turning, thoughts in my head running out of control until I can no longer stand the pace in which they are going. I roll, and I roll, toss, and turn, then I grab my phone, and I scroll.
As I scroll through the many stories, posts, and automatic ads, I see all of the beautiful people, living their beautiful lives, the screen before me stops at a writing contest.
A writing community, by the name of theunsealed. For the moment, my eyes ached and burned, I wanted to turn away, instead, I hit that button.
That button, was the very button, that led me to the greatest group of people and jumpstarted my healing journey through writing. Clicking that button, was the start of my dreams coming true. The minute that she responded to my question.
I didn’t think that I would ever become a published author, and often felt that I had let my Grandmother down. I had given up on writing in 2009 for personal reasons. In that moment, there was a spark of hope.
Negative thoughts often come with the package of insomnia. My dreams always seemed so far out of reach. I had been struggling with my past trauma, and in an instant, I was able to organize the jumbles of letters together into a beautiful story. Each of them, became my truth, my story, my power. My dreams coming true.
Each of the 5 books that I have been published in will tell my story. In poetic sadness, and in hope. Each of my entries came from my heart, and my insomnia Unsealed.
It’s a blessing and a gift. To read my words on paper. To receive the email that my entry has been chosen to move on. That everyone, is how my dreams came true! My heart will forever be filled with gratitude for all of you.
Keep writing beautiful ones. Keep writing.

I received death threats
from my subconscious.
Inviting racism into the foreground
of painted images where black fathers are missing.
( A centerpiece to Black cultures downfall /
an essential fabric worn by criminals)
Wanted posters plastered to define
what black culture is and was.

My subconscious reminds me of enslaved
woman drowning children in murky waters
to hide from slavery.
It caused me to question what defines Black fathers.
Are they parables? These quick spurts of nostalgic
temperaments in surrealist dreams.

Are they the attention to hang nooses
around the necks of family codes for a better living?
Are they abandonment that draws the line of division
to multiply family issues and keep these conundrums a
foreshadowing of my future.

I think they are a call to greater
pastures. A pair of shoes that need the soles
of a savior. A message to heal the wounds
of distant ancestors who live in me.
I awoke from my dream as a father to-be
encapsulated within imagery
of my family to be.

Dear Friends Simply Hanging On,

I had trouble thinking about a dream or goal I had that came true that I would feel good writing to you about.

I graduated from university with highest honors but I went through a hell to achieve that goal that I would rather have no one else repeat.

I had a beautiful wedding that I was proud of because I planned it almost entirely on my own while working 50 hours per week at my job, but now I am divorced after eight years of marriage. The wedding clearly was not a long-term success.

I landed my dream job, writing law that would affect mental health care, but working there mentally and emotionally broke me to the point where I am disabled and unable to work ever again.

The dream I had that came true, that I am actually proud of, is living to age 40. I did not expect to live nearly this long.

My suicidal ideation and attempts began when I was 14 years old. Given how often I was injuring myself intentionally, it is a wonder that I lived to walk the stage at my high school graduation when I was 17.

My adult life often treated me harshly. I was in two long, challenging relationships. It took me seven years to graduate from university. Twenty years of intermittent employment were a huge challenge before I finally accepted that my mental health conditions severely limited my ability to work. I have been a patient at the psych hospital 18 times from the ages of 15 through 40.

When I feel any danger to my own life, I make it to the psych hospital quickly. The psych hospital is the soft place to land so I can give up the fight with the part of myself who wants the pain to end so badly that they would rather not exist.

My resilience and incredible will to live vastly outweigh my many urges to end my life every single time. I get up off the ground more times than I fall.

For many years, I have tried to fight the urges on my own. Sure, I went to therapy and took medications, but I was not completely honest with my care team. I put on a happy face because that was what I thought I was supposed to do. I even laughed and cracked many jokes throughout my life to maintain the facade.

I had a lightbulb moment eventually during one of my multiple psych hospital stays at age 36. I realized I had to be honest about how I felt and advocate for myself to get what I needed. I also had to get honest with myself and stop seeing the negative in everything.

I have had many challenging life events from ages 36 through 40. Divorce. Relocation. Death of a parent. Career loss. Bankruptcy. The list goes on.

I choose not to see these as negative. I feel incredibly blessed to have experienced all of this. I feel grateful that I could live long enough to tell these tales. I could not have endured any of these challenges had I ended my life while I was in high school.

Life is quickly looking up for me. There are still challenges, but I know I can handle anything the universe throws my way. Making it to age 40 has been fantastic. In fact, I spent my 40th birthday in the psych hospital, surrounded by an understanding care team and a handful of kind patients. It is not how I envisioned celebrating 40, but it is certainly a creative way for my birthday to be recognized.

I have plenty to live for, although I have little money and I cannot work. I set many goals, such as learning new skills and hobbies, meeting people with common interests, and getting back to my first love: writing.

If you have lost the will to live, please remember that things do get better. No emotion lasts forever. Try to imagine yourself five, ten, twenty years from now. Where do you want to be?

It is a dream come true that I have made it to 40 years of age. My next dream is to reach 50 years. I hope you become grateful for your life, too, if you have not already. I am telling you with absolute confidence that it is possible for you because you, too, have an unshakeable will to live. It is in your DNA.

However, if these feelings of despair persist, please call the crisis line in your country. You do not have to endure this alone.

The life you’ve fought so hard for is more than just a dream.

We both know you’re the most solid on my team.

Greatness is your birthright; you’re a true visionary.

I admire your power; it is nothing short of extraordinary.

Once I got to know you, I knew we’d be unstoppable.

Nothing in this world can stop us from doing the impossible.

When I faced my deepest, darkest fears, you never chose sides.

With you, I’m an open book absolved of pride.

I’m far from perfect, but I try my best to do what’s right.

I no longer want to be a shadow of my former self; I was born to shine bright.

I recently received my college acceptance letter after a 6-year gap.

I took your advice, trusted my intuition, and built a better mousetrap.

I was shocked by the news; I know you’re one proud little girl.

I promised I’d make it up to you; it’s your dreamworld.

Continue working towards your goals; the results will come to fruition.

Always believe in yourself, and God will place you in position.

Not everyone is lucky to experience someone like you.

You’re truly one of a kind in all that you do.

I’ve learned that good things come to those who wait, but everything comes at a cost.

Are you willing to sacrifice what’s making you comfortable to gain more than you lost?

Learning fast
Thought I would apply
Not knowing what would happen
Or if I would get in
Or if the world would come crashing down
Thinking too good to be true
Then got that email
That email that would change everything
The ability to do something bigger than yourself
To the bigger name actors
To the lights surrounding you
To the chance to build connections
To the nicest people
Not the never ending drama
To the people you’ve gotten to meet
What you’ve gotten to create
Knowing you were apart of something
Seeing your name rolling away
Knowing the people that made it possible
To the great times
To the hard times
To the things that make it worth it
To see it on screen
To the birthday boy celebrating
To the cupcakes and singing
To the fun times and laughs
To the premieres and dinners
Trying to enjoy it before its all done
The excitement of finishing
From start to finish
Oh how proud you’ll be
What you accomplished
Can’t believe its over
Till next time

Dear Unsealers,

My dreams so it seems
Always happen in steams,
Moments overflowing with love.
But believing in dreams
Can lead to extremes,
So, remember the stars up above.

Care for yourself,
And realize you’re worth it.
Then help to tell others,
They also deserve it.

A dream’s what we make it,
And I know for me,
My dream is to live,
Completely
Free.

When you’re young, people often ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s an exciting puzzle, and the bigger the dream, the more enthusiasm that meets it. As you grow, however, the pressure behind the question increases, and the vigorous responses are fewer and farther between. It was in this stage of life, when the world seemed to demand I pick a career and stick to it, that my notion of dreams took an unexpected turn. After all, at that point, my dream was to simply float around- a dirty, long-haired, guitar-strummin’ hippie. Boy, was that boy in for a surprise.
Although I still chafed at the idea of picking a permanent job and becoming part of what I saw to be a messed-up machine, my mentors got through to me. My scholarship shouldn’t go to waste. What harm was there in further learning?

Enrollment in the university meant declaring a major (there’s that pressure again), and in a fateful moment, I realized that teaching wouldn’t be the worst thing. After all, my English teacher had lit up my life dispelling the darkness that threatened to edge me out. She equipped me with beyond brilliant books, the power of the pen, and sent me to do some digging- into my hurt, into my power, into my truth, into my purpose.

If I could repay the lifesaving gift of a teacher who cares, well, that would be something. And, hey, summers off? Hippy time! Thus, a dream became more practical, but also so much more complex.

I got that dream job (even if it took a while to realize it), working at a Junior High, in the sweaty hormone-filled halls of the school so mid they call it middle. Despite the shenanigans, I sincerely loved it- the fruits of working with young people are incalculable. I had a great team of support around me, but it was still so heavy. And so hard. I felt like a complete failure many times those early years. Visualizing handing in my keys became a pastime.

And yet, it was my dream. Was that the secret? That embracing the reality of a dream makes your dream a reality? Seemingly at the same moment that these thoughts began to bubble in my brain, I received word that I would have to transfer to a different school due to student numbers and budgetary concerns.

Leaving the dream that I’d just begun to build? Fortune allowed me to keep a job, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d been dealt a losing hand. The change, as always seems to be the case, was brutal. I struggled and longed to return to my home school. A colleague would retire in the spring, so there was hope.

If I could only hold on for a year.

That mentality had me living a half-dream. I didn’t realize this until spring rolled around, and I did not get my dream job back. This ironic twist had the potential to crush me, but instead I stayed strong. I was the key factor in my dreams, not my circumstances. I decided then and there to reclaim and build upon the dream: to be fully me and more importantly to start rapping for my students. That single choice changed my classroom and my life in ways that could (and hopefully will) fill books.

3 years later, the principal of dream school 2.0 informed me that the graduating class selected me to speak at commencement. This was the class. The group of kids who caught my first rap. Who saw me, believed in me, and helped me recreate a dream. Those were the students who witnessed my decision to lean into vulnerability, to own my expertise, and to unapologetically love myself. I couldn’t wait to have one more moment together on our serendipitous journey.

I mostly kept to tradition and filled the speech with cliches, cheesy jokes, and of course, life advice from Shakespeare, but I couldn’t resist signing off with a rap. Standing on that stage, spittin’ bars in front of those kids- who’d grown so much, who’d made me so proud, who’d driven me so crazy, who’d helped me build a new home- now that was a moment that makes you pinch yourself.

So, yes, I’m living my dream. Still, I wish more people asked me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

To My Beautiful Youngest Self,
We did something we never thought possible. All those nights counting the years, days, hours, and minutes until we turned 18. Our journey was not easy; we faced not just physical attacks, but spiritual ones as well. We spent many nights crying and praying that someone would come and remove us from this nightmare. We left The Cult.
I am proud of you because you hung on. You knew early on that this was not our “Truth,” but when you are a victim of manipulation, abuse, and bullying, you did what you thought was best. You learned to “play the game” to survive—smiling when told, never speaking about the physical and emotional abuse. You did this to avoid further abuse. There was a time that you considered doing the unthinkable, but you were determined to move beyond that.
You rebelled in ways people wouldn’t have understood, but I do. School was your form of rebellion. You prepared us by creating lifelong friendships, even though you were warned not to. It was as if you already knew these friends would be important later. Did you know? I smile to think you had a plan.
When high school ended, you were ready to leave at 1. Unfortunately, you were guilted into staying longer because our grandmother, now living with the family, was ill. You were told how helpful it would be, and that family was the most important thing. You loved Grandma so much and didn’t want to leave her. So, you stayed—miserable, but you stayed. After a year and a half of turmoil, you made the ultimate decision: you left. I remember the day like it was yesterday. Your plan was impeccable.
Everyone was sitting in the kitchen when you announced you were moving. They looked at you as if it were some hilarious joke. What they didn’t know was that for the past year, you had been plotting the Great Escape. In your bedroom, you didn’t have a bed; you bought a used sleep sofa a year prior. When asked about it, you said you wanted your room to look like a living room so that when friends were permitted to come over, they could sit and pretend they were in your little apartment. You had started buying items for a small apartment, which you hid in the Hope Chest Grandma gave you (We STILL have that Hope Chest). One month before your announcement and departure, you had put down a deposit for a small studio on the other side of town.
No one believed you. They tried their best to guilt you by using our grandmother, our baby brother, and, of course, The Cult. They continued to disbelieve you until moving day, when you had a U-Haul, had those lifelong school friends help you pack all your things, and left.
For a while, we were at peace. We lived life, went to movies, met people, hung out, and just learned what it was like to be a normal person. Unfortunately, things happened in our lives, and we felt this was a spiritual punishment, so we returned. We honestly thought things would be different. They were not. It was more miserable as the judgment for leaving the first time was harsh.
Then one day, it happened. We had an epiphany. It came in such a way that we believed it was in our heads. But it was true. That day, we got up, left, and never returned. Finally, we had our FREEDOM!
Each time I think about those moments, I smile. I want to thank you for your resilience, wisdom, and ingenuity. My heart fills with a pride I cannot describe. It was all you and only you who brought us to where we are now. Anytime I think I cannot deal with something; I think of the moments YOU made it all happen.
I thank you and love you so very much.
Signed,
Your Older Self

I wrote a poem. I turned it in.
My teacher read it with a grin.

He seemed so pleased, I thought he’d cry.
A tear was welling in his eye.

He smiled so wide, I have to say,
I knew I’d nail an easy ‘A’.

He chuckled, and I felt so proud
To hear my teacher laugh out loud.

He held his sides and read some more
He wound up rolling on the floor.

He giggled like a girl, and then
Stood up and read my poem AGAIN!

He snickered, snorted, shouted, “D’oh!”
“Excuse me kids, I gotta go.”

His face turned red as off he ran,
Still snickering, to use the can.

He didn’t make it there to pee.
My poem came back. I got a D!

Twenty years later…

As I look back, I realize
His laughter really was a prize.

I kept on writing through the years.
And made a name amongst my peers.

I dreamt of being known worldwide.
“And now I am,” I say with pride.

My dream was not a quirky whim.
I’m published now because of him!

p.s. I wrote a funny poem while in detention during my senior year of high school.
It made its way to my English teacher’s desk, who gave me extra credit. Unfortunately, she missed the submission deadline for a national high school poetry anthology.
I hope to share that poem in another challenge through The Unsealed.

Has it really been thirty years
since that first trip to the Bahamas?
Since I had to white-knuckle
turbulent skies and roiling seas?
Wasn’t I afraid to make such
a journey alone?

Did I expect my singlehood to be
satisfied by the billions of
stars in the night sky?
Or by that diamond tennis bracelet
I purchased, no longer in style?

Did I think my loneliness would
be relieved by my friend, Tom Clancy?
Or maybe by the stateroom upgrade I
was offered as a first-time cruiser?

Was it desperation that led to
sex with a stranger I picked up
among the pulsing and gyrating
of the disco?

It was courage.

If you had told me when I was seventeen that I’d be thirty-seven years old, seven years divorced, single and on a trip to Bali, Indonesia in the spring of my thirty-seventh year, I wouldn’t have believed you. I wouldn’t have even heard beyond the word divorce and got to the fun word, Bali. Instead, in a full-fledged teenage frenzy, I would have shot into fight mode, words flying out of my mouth like a gamer’s quick-twitch thumb on their controller’s trigger. I would have thrusted my virgin heart forward and valiantly proclaimed my ability to fall in love and stay in love is much greater than those with broken love pacts. I would have told you that I’d be one of the foreverers, that I’d “get it right” because I’m different. I’m special.
What a thing for that on the cusp of adulthood girl to wholeheartedly believe. And I don’t say that shaking my head in disbelief at wide-eyed, sweet, yet senseless little me. Rather, I say it because the “special” part and the “I’m different” part of that seventeen-year-old’s sermon were spot on, just not for the reasons she assumed.
She had no idea then how brave she’d become to keep looking Fear in its blood-red eyes and try for what she wants whether that be romantic love, a career, a destination, or a dream, again and again in a world that has become less and less forgiving. She had no idea that the first boy she’d love at seventeen would still be her big love touchstone at thirty-seven, and for good reason. (Her picker was spot on at seventeen.) She had no idea the why of her special or her brand of difference, but she knew it was there inside of her, and to this day that insight at such an early age is impressive to me.

She wouldn’t have believed me if I told her she’d go through two starless years not believing in love or at least not believing love would happen to her (again). She wouldn’t believe me if I told her the way the last man treated her. Everyday a fire drill. Stop, drop, and roll up what’s left of your self-esteem into a microscopic ball so he can’t see it.

She’d say, “No, not me. I know all the big dreams I dream up when I climb onto my parents’ rooftop after everyone falls asleep are meant to be. And they don’t include a fucked up he.” She wouldn’t say it like that though, she’d simply say, “Nope. That’s not me!” but the above sentence would be what she means.
She wouldn’t have known where Bali was on the map. But she wouldn’t have known her way around any map that didn’t lead to her already mapped out dreams.

From the time of counting her stubby fingers to tell someone her age, she was a professional at three things:

1. Watching what grown-ups closest to her did wrong in relationships
2. Promising herself she’d do love right
3. Playing a sport

She told herself she understood love because she understood sacrifice, dedication, loyalty, teamwork, and the innate value of clear communication from the lessons of her favorite game. She knew in order to win the work must be done together. She also knew to love was to know something more massive than yourself then sweat, bleed, and cry for it when you must. She wouldn’t need to know Bali because it wasn’t yet a pin in the canvas of her dreams. All she knew was that she’d be a professional soccer player one day and she’d fall in love (for real as she’d say) and there would be no need for a D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

She didn’t realize there should or even could be a life beyond the promise of these dreams.

And so, keeping in mind what she didn’t know and her aptitude to dream, I think seventeen-year-old-me wouldn’t be so bummed out when learning about thirty-seven-year-old Bali tanned me. At least, not after I explained how much wider her dreams could be.

I’d tell her, you didn’t become a professional soccer player. Although, my girl, you got remarkably close. Some might say as close as one could come without getting the full dream.

I’d tell her, you didn’t fall in love and stay in love. At least, not yet. Although, my girl, you’ve been in love a handful of times. And it was every bit as delicious as you had hoped.

I’d tell her, don’t worry, you still find your way onto rooftops and dream colossal dreams and make up silly inventions and laugh until your belly is sore with glee. You write poetry and look people in the eyes when they speak and walk tall even on the days you feel so very small. You continue to care too much (exactly enough) about everything. You become more confident than you give yourself credit for and more filled with grace than ache although you often won’t admit that either. You grow into a human who is every bit as powerful as you once dreamed. It just looks different than you imagined. Nothing about that is less worthy of celebration.
And she would be heartbroken and transfixed by her future self at the same time. Then after a long pause, she’d say something like, “so I’m a foreverer after all.” Shocked and caught off guard, I’d say, “What do you mean?” And she’d say, “It sounds to me like I am forever falling in love with different somethings. Isn’t that, right?” I’d nod my head yes and agree.

Then she’d smile as bright as her white-blond hair and say, “That sounds like a foreverer to me.”