to live.

I’ll have all the fun I want to have today.
I’ll worry less about a future I’m uncertain of.

I’ll tell them how I feel.
I’ll cry until my eyes and head hurt, until it feels like I can’t breathe.

I’ll admit my mistakes and apologize to those I’ve hurt.

I’ll love myself more.

And I won’t do it tomorrow or the day after.
No.

I’ll do it today.

I’ll do it today because I’m not sure of tomorrow.
I’m not sure I’ll get to wear my special brown maxi dress or try boba in uni with the friends I just made.

I’ll do it today because what if I don’t get to tell them how sorry I am?
What if I don’t get to tell them how much I didn’t mean to do the things I did?

I’ll do it today because what if my room doesn’t look perfect for all the content I have planned by tomorrow?

I won’t ask for forgiveness tomorrow.

I’ll do it today.
I’ll do it right now.

I’ll stop waiting for the perfect time to live.

I’ll tell my grandma how much she means to me, and maybe I’ll finally allow myself to get hurt trying the things I’ve always been scared to try.

I’ll forgive myself for not knowing the things that only time and people could teach me.

And I’ll finally allow myself to live.

Because it would hurt if I was alive but didn’t live.

I’m angry at God.

It’s not the type of anger from a situation that you know will soon turn into a testimony.

No.

It’s one laced with disappointment and frustration

I wasn’t always like this.

I wasn’t always angry and distant all the time.

Before this year happened I was happy.

But now I can’t be happy for too long, something always steals my joy.

The devil comes to ‘steal, kill and destroy’ and Jesus restores hope.

I’ve heard this line before.

But where is God?, the same God the Bible mentioned will comfort those that mourn?.

‘If I ever needed you, I need you now’.

I said this in prayer when I had no where else to go and no one to turn to.

I turned to God and He didn’t answer.

Im not writing this in hopes that you’ll understand and sympathize with me.

I write this in hopes that there will be evidence of me trying

That there will be proof of my faith,

I’ve prayed, and fasted and waited and prayed again and again and again.

And still nothing.

‘If you ask in faith and believe that you have received it then it shall be yours’.

I hold on to this like it my second skin,

But I’ve asked and I haven’t received.

Is there something I’m not doing?.

It’s getting harder to believe that God is hearing me and seeing me.

Is God watching me hurt and suffer?.

Is God choosing not to do anything about it?.

‘Everything happens for a reason’

What’s the reason why Im unable to sleep because of the thoughts that haunt me every night?

What’s the reason my heart is constantly heavy and my eyes teary?

What’s the reason why I’d rather be dead than alive?

Dear God,

If you can hear me at all.

I need you, and I need you now

Leaving names out of this in hopes that he never finds this let’s  call him Easy that’s what he reminds me of.

It was easy, easy to believe that he liked me—I mean he said he did.

Easy didn’t make his intentions clear initially but there were subtle acts that made it very clear even to a blind man.

That should’ve been my first cue to leave.

But, I didn’t.

What about liking someone needs to be subtle?

Absolutely nothing.

Hes not inexpressive, Hes just not that into you.

It took me a while to realize but I did…..eventually.

it will forever fascinate me how almost immediately actions invalidate words.

Words?, they’re just words.

Easy made it easy to believe whatever he said and honestly I made it easier.

Reassurance, quality time,acts of service, I could go on and on about my love languages and you’d be surprised how many the people I’ve actually liked have done.

So what exactly did I like?

was it the empty words or the promises I knew were lies that kept me lingering even when I knew there was no sign of him in the plans God had for me?

or was it the fact that I purposefully allow myself to be delusional and have hope in “wishful thinking”?

whatever the answer is I definitely needed a wake up call.

I spoke too soon because I got one.

One too many.

Easy didn’t just ignore my texts and come back for days  pretending like nothing happened

he also reassured me right after to make sure there was a part of me that still wanted him

and gullibly?, there was.

maybe it wasn’t true that I didn’t notice patterns,

and maybe I’m choosing to exclude the fact that I noticed his inconsistency and irregular lack of interest from the get go

but mostly, for the reason I stayed.

because it felt nice to be wanted without doing too much.

Fortunately, unlike many others I woke up one day and called it quits by myself.

I might be delusional but I know when to wraps things up.

Easy didn’t have problems responding faster or communicating and sticking around,

He just wasn’t that into me.

And that’s okay.

and maybe I didn’t really like him, I just hated the fact that he didn’t like me.

Dear God, it’s me again.

We’ve had this conversation one too many times.

Except this time I can finally own up to my own inadequacy,

can actually call myself out on my shortcomings and hold my self accountable for the state our relationship is in now.

Dear God,

Thank you—thank you for loving me

And for allowing me to feel loved by you

I hope you can see me,

Do you see that I try?,

Do you see that I want to?

And I know that “wanting to” is simply not enough,

And I want to want more.

I want to do more.

Each time I blame the flesh but no,

the real villain is myself,

The real villain is who I already am.

I dislike this current version of myself,

The version that struggles to pray,

The version that allows herself to backslide,

The version that no longer prioritizes devotion

But mostly,

I dislike the version of myself I am without you.

I’d like to apologize for not seeing in myself what you saw in me—what you see in me.

I’m sorry I’m not who you’ve called me out to be, and I’m sorry that I keep falling back into the same things I prayed you’d take me out of.

I’m sorry I’m not enough, even for myself.

I’m sorry that no matter how hard I try this is simply a battle i might just never win.

But for most of it,

I’m sorry that I’m always sorry

I’m sorry I allowed my relationship with you to be the victim of my own neglective nature.

Daddy,

I want to do better,

To know better and love better

Help me.

Above all,

I never want to know a version of myself without you.

“nobody is perfect”

I’ve heard this a million and one times, but what’s the farthest thing from perfect?

Once you figure it out then know that that is who I am.

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be the rails under a moving train?

That’s kind of how my brain works, it’s about ten times slower than who I want myself to be.

To Serena,

I know of your struggles, your doubts and constant fear.

Fear of a future you are not even certain of.

I know of your thoughts, the ones that won’t let you live outside of them.

But most importantly, I know of the girl—the one you hope to be.

The girl with no flaws, the girl with everything already figured out.

“The girl I hope to be”

Perhaps she will forever be a fragment of my own imagination.

A girl with no flaws?

A girl with no regrets?

A girl who’s never had to worry about anything?

But these,

These things, they make you who you are.

And if you exist without them then,

who are you?

“The number of my scars are the number of my victories”

So finally,

The girl you hope to be does not exist.

The girl you are does.

Embrace her.

And maybe, just maybe the girl you hope to be will be a better version of the girl you are now.

Not a flawless one.

Just a version that allowed herself to see who she was beyond her scars.

Having so many things to say isn’t always the best thing, sometimes I said things I later regretted.

There are so many instances I said too little, others I said too much but above all, one thing was clear—I needed to stop talking.

I was 13 at the time, when I discovered that I didn’t always have to tell people how I felt and why I felt the way I did.

I was 13 when I realized I could talk to myself and still have said nothing at all.

It started when I didn’t have anyone to talk to, except Jesus.

Most days I would close my eyes and just tell him how I felt, other days I would write, I would write until my heart felt less heavy.

I told him about the things I did, and why I did them.

And just like that I wrote. Word after word, line after line, thought after thought.

I wrote, finally.

It felt like an escape, my escape.

Theres a settling feeling that comes with making a joke and laughing about it in your head, that’s how I felt when I wrote.

It felt like a language only I understood.

So why do I write?

I write because I get to talk to the only person that truly understands me, Jesus.

He knew me before I even knew myself, and knowing that is the better than the feeling of having both sides of your pillow cold at night.