To My Younger Self

To my younger self, and for the young ones yet to come. There’s a lot of weight in being able to love yourself properly. There’s life changing, breathtaking, endless possibilities in allowing yourself to be wherever you’re at, 100% of the time. Even if that somewhere is in the floppy untied shoes of a pimple faced teenager, that feels so uncool next to all of the “actual cool kids”

We are young, and we are naive, and we are so desperate for independence. We are desperate to leap from the nest, with outstretched wings, ready to tell Mom and Dad off, believing we are ready to be on our own. But, I’d say to you, wait a little longer. Hold off just a little bit longer. Let your Mom kiss your head and hug you tightly. Let your Dad tease you about your silly teenage ways a little longer. And if your parent is a single parent, well, wait even longer. Ask your parents for help. They love you, and want the best for you, even if it’s not what you think is best. Because in no time at all, you will look back, and that time will be nothing but a vapor, a memory that you can’t even remember properly.

I look back at me as a kid, from what I can remember. And honestly, it kills me. I wish I knew that I was loved. I wish I knew that I didn’t think I had to sell myself short with the hope that someone would notice me. I wish I didn’t waste all of that time, lying to my parents faces, hiding behind fake smiles and a fake personality. I wish I wasn’t so hard on myself. I wish that I had learned that I was good enough so that I would value the friendships I had instead internally battling with anyone I thought was better than me.

I wish that I had known that it’s okay to speak up when someone hurts you. I wish that I had known that I had the ability to change the course of my life just by speaking up, becoming brave, simply by asking for help. I wish that I had known that if a man touches me “there or there” that I could tell an adult and I didn’t have to be scared and that I wouldn’t have to perpetuate a cycle of abuse for years, even into my adulthood.

I wish that I didn’t need more than two hands to count the number of friends who have died, living to fast, too eager to grow up that they forgot to slow down. I want to bring them into the future with me, but all I have are memories. Fragmented memories.

To the younger ones who are reading this: Slow down. The world will not go on without you. There is no one on this earth that is worth forsaking your happiness, dreams, hopes, and peace of mind for. There is no one that can love you better than your parents. And if you don’t have any, then think of someone who loves you most, even if that’s yourself. Life is so short. It’s a vapor. You, believe it or not, are not invincible. You can be broken. You can die. One day you will look back, and you will wish, just like me, that you had slowed down just a little more.

Enjoy each moment to the fullest. Hug your family members, whether they be blood or by choice, a little longer. A little tighter. More often. Forgive when you can, and always move forward. Don’t lose yourself trying to be someone else. You, are one of a kind. Infinitely valuable. Ridiculously talented. Exceptionally needed. Eternally wanted. You are bright, beautiful, and full of life.

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To My Younger Self

The October Air

3 years ago I overdosed on a load of pills. It was my last attempt at committing suicide. It’s crazy because It didn’t work. LOL. I was inpatient at this hospital where my socks always got stolen and where people would wake up in the middle of the night screaming and yelling about how Obama was out to get them. There at the hospital, 2 hours away from where I live, I met my plug, the weed man, who just so happened to live 10 minutes from me.

When the dust settled, I found myself four years out, questioning who I am and what I want to be- where I wanna go and what I want to make for myself. Hope has never come easily for me. It’s not something that stirs inside of me. I wouldn’t call myself a dreamer. I don’t dream. I live realistically and aim for the best. If I hope anything I hope that my life doesn’t implode on me.

I’m learning to navigate my emotions like a ship in the storm. A lot of people would say don’t let your emotions effect you. That’s been my problem all along. I haven’t let my emotions affect me so much so that I can’t even figure out where they begin. But I’m figuring it’s worth a shot.

Four years ago, September 2012, was the first time I tried to commit suicide. I spent a few weeks in the hospital, only two leave for a day and come back. When I walked outside it was a crisp October day. Hurricane Irene was coming through. I hadn’t been outside into freedom for weeks. As my friend Ricky picked me up in his fancy camaro to take me home, I almost fell apart. Being outside was amazing for me. I saw the clouds and I felt the cool fresh air. And though it took some time for me to grasp, I found that the October Air brought me some much needed clarity. So here’s to October. And here’s to hope.

The October Air

When It’s Time To Write

When it’s time to write, I sit before my computer screen for quite sometime. I twiddle my fingers nervously, trying to decide if I am truly brave enough to say what I am thinking. Fifty million topics flutter across the chalk board of ideas in my mind-  but I quickly erase them all, too afraid to write what I’m thinking because it makes me vulnerable.

I have been a blogger for 5 years, and it’s always nerve wrecking as you realize that you are a story teller- of your own story. My story is neither graceful nor pretty. It’s full of tragic mistakes that brand my heart as I seek a God to mend and restore. Lots of tears and lots of process, but it’s mine.

I used to blog with the hopes of impressing  my hundreds of followers with my love for God. LOL. That is so gross.  Now I blog, knowing I am so fragile and breakable. That my writing is for my own sake, to help make sense of my story. I’m writing for my health, because talking just won’t do.

My name- Ariel- means lioness of God. But I’ve been nothing but fearful. But I am learning the importance of my voice and my sound. I am learning how to be free.

So when it’s time to sit down and write, more than any other time during the day- i feel brave.

 

 

When It’s Time To Write