Tag Archives: truth

Missing you.

We make assumptions in life. And some days, you wake up and an assumption that you’d grown used to, suddenly isn’t so stable anymore.

It’s been over five years. Five years, nine months, and thirteen days if you want to be exact. Years that have changed me through heartbreak, transition, and opportunity. And I know they’ve changed you too.

Almost six years of silence.

I woke up this morning with an assumption firmly set in my mind. An assumption that told me there was no hope. An assumption that promised I would never again hear your voice or your laugh, I would never again see your face, I would never again have your friendship.

I woke up this morning to a very subtle change. And I could feel, can feel, it reaching for me. I can feel it’s thin, cold fingers, I can feel the brittle nails, wrapping slowly around my heart. This monster called ‘hope.’ Begging me to give in.

But I know hope. And hope is not to be trusted.

Didn’t you teach me that?

It was probably a mistake. It probably meant nothing to you. You probably thought I wouldn’t notice. You probably didn’t give it any thought at all. You probably didn’t mean to cause my assumptions to waiver.

Five years, nine months, thirteen days, and I’m still…

Missing you.




I don’t like being around people when I feel like that. I feel like I’m infecting them.

I can feel waves, like heat, radiating from me. This bubble surrounding me that those standing too close are trapped within. I feel their awkwardness when they can sense something is wrong but don’t know how to ask. I can’t make eye contact with them but I can feel the stolen glances they brave toward me. I can feel my silence- it’s palpable. But I feel enclosed in my own gloom.

And my thoughts make me ache. It’s your choice to feel this way, you know. You just have to stop. You’re making this hard on everyone, you’re ruining their time. Choose to feel better. It’s your fault you feel this way. You’re not doing anything about it. You have to do something about it. It’s your fault.

And then there’s tears in my eyes.

It’s your fault.

And it is. It is my fault. I should just smile. I should pull myself up by my bootstraps. It doesn’t matter how. I should just do it. I must be choosing to feel this way – I must be.

Just relax.

Just smile.

Just feel better.

Just talk.

Just act.

Just be better.

Just choose.


Missing you.

Someone asked me the other day how I ever could have been friends with you.

For once, I tried to put myself in his shoes. Really, in their shoes. Because I know he wasn’t the only one. I knew how… hard you could be. I knew, vaguely, how other people saw you.

And I listened as he tried to explain why it never made sense that you and I were friends. How it never made sense to anyone. He said the same about another one of my friends too. Honestly, he doesn’t see much clearly. But I understand what he was saying. I mean… sort of. I understand what he thought he saw.

But that’s just the thing. He didn’t see you. He thought he did.

But he didn’t see the first time you spoke to me. I sat there quietly, just like I always do, and you made conversation with me. You know, I don’t remember the moment I first meet someone. Most of the time, you just wake up one day and you’re friends with someone and you can’t remember the moment it started. But I remember you. Because I could tell you…saw me. Do you know how rarely that happens?

He also didn’t see the time I had to deal with a death surrounded by people I barely knew. You were the only person here that I could tell. He didn’t see the way your face fell when I told you. You had no reason for your face to fall. You didn’t know them. But you let yourself feel my pain.

He thought he saw you. And maybe he did. But it wasn’t the real you. It was the hard you. The you others couldn’t see past. The you people were afraid of. Who pushed people away. Who constantly built up your walls, higher and higher. But he didn’t see that crack in your walls. Just barely big enough to let a grain of sand get through. And I got through.

I just… I didn’t know how many layers of walls there were. Not that that would have changed anything. Okay. Maybe it would have. Because I do hope I would have fought a hell of a lot harder than I did at the end.

What terrifies me now is that I know you’ve pushed me out. And you repaired that crack in that one wall. And your walls got higher. Stronger. And I’m… terrified you won’t let any one else find another crack. I’m afraid you’ve repaired them all so perfectly that no one else will even be able to think about getting through to you. I’m afraid you wake up every morning and take a walk around the wall, a bucket of mortar in your hand, and fill all the cracks, even add another layer of cement where you think it might be weak. And then, when you get a chance, you go out an buy a few more bricks and make the wall thicker and taller. And it’s just this ongoing process where you make sure that no one sees you.

Which… I don’t even think you see you. Actually, I know you don’t. Because you choose to see the you other people see in you.


Not me. Other people.

Because you never believed any of what I told you.

Oh, what did I tell him? When he asked why I had ever been friends with you?

I told him he never saw the you that I did. He didn’t see the way you talked to me. The way you cared for me. The way you were literally there for me whenever I needed you. I told him about the time when, at four in the morning, you were begging me to come outside to talk because you knew how badly I felt. Because you knew how much pain I was in and you knew I needed to talk about it.

I told him he didn’t actually see you.

Missing you.



He is the kind of person who just makes you laugh. He has a good heart and he’s a total goof and he makes you feel better just by talking to him. He’s marrying one of my good friends this summer and they make such a wonderful couple and I can’t wait until I get to see them start living married life together.

They’re the kind of friends I hope I’m friends with forever, you know?

Anyway, I don’t know him as well as I know her, which is fair because I lived with her for a year and a half. I have had a couple classes with him, but we’ve never really talked a whole lot outside of those classes.

The other day though, we ran into each other as we were walking back to our apartments and I remembered I had a couple of books I borrowed from him, so he followed me upstairs. We stood in the living room for a while, talking and laughing, because, again, he’s a total goof. He told me stories of his fiancĂ© and how he got the ring and it was really adorable because he just loves her so much!

Then, I’m not sure what line of conversation got him to this, but he was suddenly in front of me, pointing his finger in my face, as he told me how great I was. And I tried to roll my eyes and laugh him off, but he refused to be put off. He kept saying all of this nice stuff about me, a lot of which I don’t remember now.

Part of me refused to even listen (which is probably why I don’t remember a lot of what he said) because I don’t believe it. Or I can’t believe it. Or I refuse to accept it. I don’t know.

But part of me really appreciated it. People just don’t talk like that, you know? They don’t give really personal and sincere compliments. I mean, surface level and slightly deeper compliments, sure. Of course. But real compliments? The kind that compliment you as a person? Your character? Your heart? People just don’t do that.

Maybe we should.



I don’t know how to be anyone but who I’ve pretended to be. What if she’s not even me? How is it that lying is easier than the truth?

You know how it’s said that the truth will set you free?

They never said the implied.

Deception will trap you. Trap isn’t a strong enough word. It will ensnare you. It will shut, lock you in. It will make you it’s slave. I have somehow, amazingly conditioned myself to not give a single thing away when I’m lying. To not give away any emotion without my full consent to do so. Shock isn’t betrayed on my face unless I want the person I’m talking to to know I’m shocked. I have learned to wear a mask so realistic it isn’t questioned. I have learned to be indifferent when everything inside me is screaming.

And that is terrifying.

On one hand, I could make an excellent spy and am still blatantly confused as to why I have not been contacted by the CIA or FBI or The Lightman Group to harness my natural abilities.

On the other hand, how useful are these ‘skills’ if I can’t control them? If they control me?

It’s not that I live a lie. I am truly the person most people see. But it’s like the tip of the iceberg. There is so much that has shaped me, that has defined who I am, that is miles and miles below the surface. And… I can’t bring it to the surface. I tried today. I tried to talk myself into it.

What are you so afraid of? I asked myself over and over.

And I had no real answer. When I’m asking myself that again now, I feel…. surrounded by something. I’m stuck. There’s something inside of me. Metal jaws. Two doors intricately intertwined, never meant to be broken.

It’s like I’m a mime; there’s this invisible box around me and I try to bang on the walls and it doesn’t even make a sound. The walls don’t shake. And I’m just here in the enclosure with nothing but my spinning thoughts. And goodness, how they spin. I’m dizzy trying to think straight.

How have the defenses I’ve built up become so strong that even I can’t break them?

I’ve said the words before. How can I not say them now?

I painted over my blue skin

I trained myself to be green

Then I snuck into the forest

And did my best to not be seen

I met other green people

Others yellow, red, even blue

At night, I painted on a new coat

I didn’t know what else to do

I got used to being green

I learned to fit in my new skin

Every once and a while, I wonder…

What would it be like to be blue again?



The voice coming from my lips didn’t sound like my own. It sounded foreign. From some other girl.

I don’t know. Maybe that’s what happens when you force yourself to talk to someone you barely know.

You know what I’ve realized lately? I don’t tell anyone everything. Even my closest friends. I tell them all lots of things but I don’t tell a single one of them all of the things.

None of them know about this blog. Actually, out of the four people I’m thinking of, I don’t know if any of them would read this if I told them I had it.

Sally might. She’d probably read an entry or two. I tell Sally a lot. I think I tell Sally almost everything. Just not a couple of things that I’ve got locked in the vault inside of me. But she and I are a lot different. And we can be real with each other. I think she’s the first friend I’ve had that I can be truthful with when she’s offended me in some way. Usually I bury it until it goes away (which is really just a lie because things don’t o away until you deal with them). She scoops ice cream for me and I give her the space when she’s being high strung. We’re really nothing alike but we accept each others quirks and flaws. It’s pretty great.

Betty wouldn’t read it. Unless maybe I specifically asked her to. Betty drives me crazy. We were best friends in high school. Went off to different colleges but… Her mind is stuck in high school. Completely. She seeks acceptance and, from what I can tell, she’s… Almost desperate to get it. We barely speak any more. I actually told her about something in the vault once but I’ve regretted it ever since. She thinks we’re still best friends, and we always will be friends. But… She’s like my annoying little sister. She can’t seem to have a conversation without saying, “hey, remember when?” And I do remember when but… I want to live in the present. I wish i could fix it, for her sake, but I really… Don’t want to.

Pete probably wouldn’t read it. He might if he was bored or something. My friendship with Pete is easy. He’s great and adorable. He’s the only guy I talk to about guys and he talks to me about girls. He’s very charming and he knows it. For Pete, I just want to be safe place. Too many of his friends that are girls end up liking him. With me, he doesn’t have to worry about that. I love cuddling up with him on his couch and watching a movie without any pressure. And I love letting him talk to me. A lot of his friends are girls and they talk his ear off and he doesn’t really just get to vent or tell his stories or explain himself. So I’m there for him for that. But I tell Sally and Cooper more than I tell him.

Cooper might. He’s like a brother to me. He’s that best friend that I insult all the time and he does the same for me. And we have a fair amount of sibling rivalry going on. I tell him most everything, except I’ve never talked about guys to him, no matter how much I want to. And he doesn’t get to hear about what’s in the vault inside of me either. Out of the four of them, I feel most comfortable. My favorite memory of Cooper was right after I had a minor car accident and was very shaken up. I went to his house and he came outside before I’ve even to the front porch. He looked at me and didn’t say a word. He just opened his arms to me and held me for a good moment. We get each other.

Wow. I love my friends. I’m pretty darn blessed.