Insomnia.

I’ve been lying in his bed for 2 hours now. Not kept awake by the brightness of my phone. Not tapping my foot to music. Not having a late night conversation with anyone. Just staring at the blank, popcorned ceiling that’s 10 feet above my head. 

I’m alone; alone with my thoughts and that scares me. It scares me to death. I can see it: the words ‘this isn’t going to work’ are repeatedly scrolling in front of my eyes. Late night emotions do get the best of me and, trust me, I truly try not to let them. 

I take deep breaths and try to push everything out of my mind. Every thought, every bad desire, every word, but I myself am not strong enough. Each letter gets bigger and bigger until all I see is white. I’m now in the state of mind I’ve been trying to avoid all night. It’s only 11 p.m., but it feels like 3 in the morning. 

I began to close my eyes. I see each negative outcome of the decision I need to make yet I need a positive one. I want a positive one. Rolling over onto my right side, I am embraced by the arm of my boyfriend. I look over, see his silhouette and it’s the most becoming thing I’ve ever seen. He’s dreaming and I don’t want to wake him. He kisses me on my forehead while he’s asleep and all of a sudden the white screen that previously obscured my mind, vanished. 

I began to realize that controlling my thoughts was effortless in my sinster mind. 

An image of that white house centered on a green, spotless plot of land flooded my mind. I can visualize him and I there in the kitchen, cooking dinner and singing along to those sappy country balads that he loves so much. We’re smiling. We’re goofy. We’re happy. 

That’s what I want. 

That’s what I need. 

Insomnia is always going to be a problem for me. It’s how I decide to deal with it that matters. I can either dive deep into my mind and overthink matters or I can choose to obsess over the good things. It’s essential to have a good mindset before finally falling asleep. Dreams can make you or they can break you. I need to learn to take control of what I meditate. 

Having the right person sleeping in bed next to you at night is always the path to good dreams. Always practice good dreams. 

7 words

I thought I was in love. Well, I was in love. I fell out of it and let me tell you that’s worse than any other feeling in the world.

When I finished my first semester in college, I met someone. Someone I thought I could easily spend the rest of my life with. He was sweet, caring, passionate, funny, and all of the things I looked for in a man. He was determined to make something of himself – and that was the biggest turn on of all.

We talked about getting married, having children, what kind of house we would live in, what breed of dogs we would have and if we could get a cat (or four); none of which 20-somethings should be even thinking about.

As our one year mark hit, I was completely and utterly in love with him. I began learning more and more about him: how he reacts to certain situations, how he handles stress, how he deals with rejection. The deeper I reached into his mind, the more I realized he had the same problems as I did.

I’m not one to go and discuss my mental state with any romantic partner, but with this one, I felt like since he was opening up to me I would give it a shot too.

When I finally told him how scary my depression and bipolar disorder had escalated, he was completely supportive. I was relieved. I didn’t want him to think I was some suicidal emo freak who couldn’t control her thoughts.

Everything was going fine until the week I broke down. Those 5 days were the worst days I’ve ever had. Monday, I was extremely happy, I felt loved and wanted and appreciated. Tuesday, I was suicidal, wondering why everything was happening to me all of a sudden. Wednesday, I felt empty. Like no one was ever going to be here for me. Thursday, I felt productive and certain of my success. Friday, I just felt sad and unappreciated. When I tried to talk to him about it, he had nothing to say to me. He told me to “get out of [my] mood or leave.” Yeah, those exact words. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t emotional. I was actually hurt.

The next day, I decided to pack up my things and leave. As I was taking my belongings out to my car, he begins to throw all of my makeup and clothes outside onto the steps that lead out to the driveway. Might I mention it just rained and the steps had mildew and mud on them? I was hysterical. His roommates were home, they were about to throw a party and people were starting to show up.

I was so embarrassed. Not only did people think he was kicking me out, but all of my stuff was getting ruined and broken. I saw a side of him that I’ve never seen before and I wanted nothing to do with him after that.

We broke up after a year and a half in October of 2016. Those first few months being single really scared me. Will I ever be in love again? This is why I don’t open up to people. All of this is my fault. I shouldn’t be so emotional all the time.

It’s now March of 2017. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. I rarely have suicidal thoughts anymore, I don’t even really think about my depression. I’ve moved on. Anytime he texts me, I don’t feel angry or upset – I feel nothing and that’s exactly where I want to be. He’s just another person who led me to where I need to be in life. He was a stepping stone. A mere lesson to teach me not to settle. To find the right person to spend my life with but also not to rush it.

Honestly, I’m grateful for him. When he said those 7 words, I realized that I deserve so much more than what I think. I’m a queen and I’ll be damned if I’m going to settle for someone who isn’t willing to take on the problems of her kingdom.

Never not used to having privacy.

Everything between extremely vivid descriptions of my sex life and drugs I had taken/ingested/smoked filled the pages of that tiny maroon journal my dad was holding in his hand. He looked angry more than anything and I knew immediately what just went down.

As a high school student living with her super chill mom and tight-lined Army father, things weren’t always relaxed, but, routine. Wake up, marching band rehearsal, school, club meetings, more band rehearsal, homework, dinner, shower, sleep, rinse & repeat. I seldom had any time to make dumb mistakes and have fun with my friends. At times, it really sucked but it paid off when I found out I was graduating with a 4.3 GPA. I could practically get into any school I wanted right? Well, I couldn’t tell you that because I am a horrible procrastinator.

My whole dream in high school was to get accepted into Texas A&M University. With my SAT and ACT scores, I would’ve been granted automatic admission, if I had actually applied. Yep. I literally waited until the last day to apply and then our WiFi went stopped working; ergo, I never applied. I ended up looking at other schools that I would like and I ended up really liking Texas State University and The University of Alabama. I applied to both; was accepted into both so I chose TSU. I would have chosen Alabama but my father’s Hazelwood Act did not cover out-of-state college tuition.

Fast forward a year later, I have a quarter of my bachelors degree completed and I’m back in Houston for Thanksgiving. My whole family is celebrating with some food and football. I ask my mom if I can go to the corner store for a pop and she says sure. I leave and make sure to grab my ID and debit card because I’m actually going for cigarettes.

I made sure to throw my cigarette remains out of my car window a few blocks down from my house because I definitely did not want to get caught smoking. As I pull up in the driveway, I see my dad crossing him arms and staring me down like he’s about to pull out his 47. Walking closer now I can see an object in his hands. It’s MY FUCKING JOURNAL! The first thing that comes out of his snug mouth is “nice to know my Hazelwood is paying for you to smoke pot and have sex.” Then he tosses my journal on the floor, stomps inside and slams the door.

I am in complete shock. I don’t know if I should be pissed or embarrassed or guilty. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks: my journal was locked up in my dresser drawer in my room – in my sacred place. The one place I can always come to if I need anything. My own fucking home. I am legit pissed off now. I ran inside and confronted him (crying all the while) about how this was a complete ridiculous thing for a grown man to do, to read my private and honest thoughts and that it was a total invasion of my privacy. I had never felt this way towards anyone before. For a moment, I actually hated him.

To give y’all an idea of how inappropriate my journal is, here’s my very first entry (names have been shortened to protect privacy):

“August 19th, 2014

Wow. Today has been crazy. A lot, & a lot of shit has happened…start from the thought that today was my second day of college. First, I had to wake up at 7:30 for Bobcat Preview. That lasted until about 4:45. I invited Z, my Instagram friend (we met yesterday) to go to Walmart with me. He insisted we take his car, so we did. I bought stuff for my dorm, he got condoms and a pregnancy test for a friend (he didn’t have sex with her), we left, and stupid dumbass me put the wrong key and broke the ignition. Fuck.

Speaking of fuck, I lost my virginity tonight!! & I gave Z like two blowjobs too. I’m glad we aren’t in a relationship, it would just ruin FWB anyway. Sex didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. I bled a lot, but he washed it all out. He said that I am beautiful and my body is perfect. I know he was only saying that because I was naked on top of him, but I know he meant it.

For the first time ever, I have felt like I’m sexy, really sexy. For once, I was proud of my body and showing it off. We just decided that we’re doing it again on Friday. Hopefully it’ll hurt less this time, and I can focus on enjoying having sex. I love it. Friends with Benefits is such a great idea.”

I know this seems like a typical college girl’s diary, but imagine you writing this and your dad reading it. It only gets more descriptive as the pages turn, so it’s not exactly ideal. I hate picturing my dad’s expression as he reads each page…it’s so embarrassing. I really wanted to make sure he always looked at me as his little girl and not some foul-mouthed slut but hey, what can a girl do?

This whole fiasco took place in 2015. It’s 2017 and I haven’t really spoken to my dad much, nor has he apologized for reading it in the first place. I will never forgive him until he breaks down and expresses an apology. Petty? Yes. Understandable? Yes. Relatable? Probably not.