I See You.

by Kori P.

I see you.

Sitting over there in the corner booth, a gorgeous girl by your side. You are surrounded by friends, love and laughter, but every time you reach for a drink, I see you.

I see you force the smile everyone fell in love with.
I see you hide the sorrow in your eyes.
I see you hide the emptiness in your heart.
I see you.

I am so sorry you didn’t know that I could see you. I am so sorry you felt you were fighting alone. The demons consumed you, and we all sat back and watched. For that I am sorry.

It was only a few days before your untimely death that you spoke about your will to live. Your will to fight. I mistook your fear for strength, how could I be so stupid? What could have been a cry for help was simply responded to with, “You got this” and “I’m praying for you” by many who truly did love you and believe in you, but we missed it. Somewhere along the path we were walking we missed the bread crumbs you were dropping. The clues that you were giving up, but not quite ready to let go.

At what point did the birds come? At what point did they eat the crumbs? This is something I must know, for you see, maybe I could go back to that time and draw a line in permanent marker. For then, you’d never lose your way. When it seemed all the crumbs were eaten, and you were too far gone, you’d see my marker trail and find your way back to us, to yourself.

But this life has no rewind button, we only live each moment once. We must breathe one breath at a time, one breath after another. You must never lose the will to take that next breath, for it is then you have decided it is not worth it.

That is what you did. You decided.

The way you took your life will forever haunt me. I live in this town; I drive past the place quite often. It’s as if you wanted us to remember your pain, the pain you learned to hide so well. I weep when I think of you standing there alone, note in hand as you came to terms with what you were going to do. My heart aches when I picture you scared and hurting. I am angry with God for not letting someone drive past you and stop you. I am angry at your close friends for not being there. I am angry, and it isn’t fair.

You let it beat you…control your mind and actions. The guilt I feel is unbearable. The pain is indescribable. It is an awkward empty feeling, a burning in the pit of my stomach. I want to throw up, scream, shout, run as fast as I can until the road runs out. Run away from it all. Escape it all. When will it end?

My friend I hope your soul has found peace. I hope you give comfort to those of us who love you and are mourning. Your name is one we will honor; your death will not be in vain.

Sweet loves that this reaches, I know you share my pain somehow. Perhaps you need someone to tell you they see you. If that is the case, then please know I do. Someone out there always sees you, you are never alone. Depression is real. Addiction is real. And we know that.

If you are out there then hear this, for you have choices to make.
Curl in a ball and pity yourself in a dark room with the curtains shut tight, that’s is fine, shut the world out. Center yourself. Find yourself. Find your worth. Pray
Scream and shout. Throw things. Pitch a fit. That is fine. Release the anguish so it doesn’t build inside

until you feel you have no choice.
Bust down the doors of the church after hours, seeking God’s face. That is fine. He will meet you at the altar. He always will.
Breathe, for this too shall pass. 
You are loved. You are worthy.

But my friend, if you decide nothing else, decide this:

Live.

Community Chat: How Can I Become Healthier?

Asked by Emery W. 

Let me start off by saying that I love myself. I made sure of that before making myself available for anyone to love me. Which is probably why I stayed perpetually single for so long. I know what I want, and won’t settle for anything less. Never have, and I probably never will.

With that being known, I visited the gynecologist for an issue that lots of women have; irregular periods. I’m usually pretty normal, but for the first time ever, I completely missed one cycle, and was over a week late for another. My first thought was, “Oh no, I’m pregnant!” An unplanned pregnancy, while a blessing, wasn’t something I ever imagined happening to me (hence the term unexpected). Alas, after four negative pregnancy tests, I knew there was a bigger problem.

I went through all of the options in my head; hormone imbalance, fertility issues, infertility, ovarian cysts. None of them sounded glamorous, but being the worry wart that I am, I had to find out. The night before my appointment I started spotting. Phew! My visitor was about to arrive. But still, I had to go see the doctor to see what the hold up was.

I get there, and the nurse has me do a urine sample, and has me weighed (more on that later). I then get a pap smear, and let me tell you ladies, I was not prepared for that. Oh my word, it was one of the most uncomfortable sensations I’d ever felt. After that, a blood test and vaginal sonogram, all of which turned up nothing. So what was the problem?

Let’s go back to when the nurse took my weight. The scale showed me a number I’d never seen before. 339. I stepped on the scale, and I currently weigh 339 lbs. This is the first time in 25 years of living that I’ve felt ashamed of my weight. I have always been a big girl; taller, wider, all-around bigger than everyone else. I’ve tried dieting, eating healthy, and physical activity yet none of them worked. Mostly because deep down I didn’t want them to work. I could still march, and I wasn’t confined to my bed, or to a wheel chair so I didn’t think it was a problem.

Now that I’m in a committed relationship, and surrounded by friends who love me, and accept me for who I am, I have had no desire whatsoever to lose weight. I’ve been happy. With the body positivity movement rampant, I began taking pride in my full figure, not thinking of my health, or taking into account warnings from doctors that I’m never too young to have a heart attack or a stroke.

Not only am I genetically prone to cysts, and diabetes is a running problem in my family, I’m now experiencing problems with my cycle that could lead to fertility issues. Children are definitely a part of my future, and as shallow as this sounds, I want to have a baby belly to show off.

A symptom of my anxiety is the tendency to stress, and when I stress I eat. I eat when I’m bored, I eat when I go out, I eat just to have something occupying my hands while I watch TV. I’ve always known that it has been a problem, but now I’m ready to look at myself and actually see that I need to be healthy. I need to lose the weight. I don’t want to be a skinny Victoria’s Secret model, my body’s not built for that. I want to be healthy.

So, I’m opening up the floor to responses and suggestions. I’m not afraid to say that I need help. I love myself, but I need to love my healthy self first? Leave a comment below! 

My Queerness + I.

by Shelby D.

When I was about four years old I realized that maybe I liked girls as much as I liked boys. It never fully registered because I always just thought I was naive and strange, but that feeling I always got in my stomach when another girl would brush my hand remained there throughout my adolescent years.

I remember being thirteen and all of my friends were starting to question their sexualities. This is the same time that being bisexual was becoming a trend—and it pissed me off. I had friends walking around saying they were done with boys and ready to date girls, but two days later they would be walking around the halls with a new boyfriend. One day they were gay—the next they were straight—and who was I to tell them who they were at that time in their lives?

Who am I to tell them who they are now?

During that time, though, when being bisexual was becoming a “thing”, I was struggling even harder with my sexual identity. It would be something that I would battle with until I was twenty two years old.

Turning fifteen helped me realize many things about myself; I was a horrible liar, I was growing even more overweight, and the boyfriend that I had held onto for the last three years was never going to change. But the one thing that I had realized about myself was that I was indeed bisexual, and it felt amazing to own it.

I have never been the type to be quiet about my identity, and I hope that is something I carry with me until I die. That is something I have to thank my mom for. You see, my mom identifies as lesbian. That fact alone has made many people question not only my existence, but my own identity as well. And with so many people wondering if her being gay had any influence on my identity, I began to question it myself.

I had embraced the bisexual identity for over seven years. Over this seven years I would stand up for myself and my community that it is more than possible to love more than one gender, and that you are certainly not going to hell for loving who your heart wants to love. I also spent a good amount of those seven years educating myself on the LGBTQA community—I mean, that was my community, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t I known everything there is to know about my people?

Well, I got a lot more than I originally had sought out.

Over the summer of 2015 it hit me that something was really missing from myself. I had just returned back to school after a year and a half off and I was finally taking classes that I was in love with. A few of these classes talked a lot about gender identity, which led me into a training program on how to be a better ally. I was already involved in the LGBTQA club on my campus, so I thought this would be a great opportunity. It ended up being a lot more than that.

I learned about what it meant to be two spirited, pansexual, demisexual, aromantic, and so much more. I found myself correcting people on terminology and verbiage when it came to my community, and I was so proud of myself! This effect lasted over the summer, and it left me wondering if maybe labeling myself as bisexual wasn’t the right fit for me at all.

Did this mean that I was a fraud? Did this mean that my experiences before this revelation were invalid and that I was just as fake as my friends in middle school? I had so many questions but not enough answers.

I finally accepted the fact that being pansexual was who I was, and saying that out loud felt one hundred times better than when I came out as bisexual. Everything felt natural and on course. Of course, when I told my friends there were all very accepting of it because they had already been used to my previous identity and they were always going to support me no matter what. When I told my mom however, in a long text about how I knew this wouldn’t be a big deal for her, I was surprised to hear how confused she was.

“I think you are just very passionate about this community and you are very loving”, she would say. “I’m just very confused, I don’t know what this means.”

It took me a very long time to not let her response bother me every time we would discuss my identity. I had spent so much of my life questioning if I really loved more than one gender because my mom was the same way, or if that was who I really was. But I knew who I was and why I identify the way I choose. Being queer and/or pan is so much more than the sexual attraction. It’s about the connection you share with others and the mind within the person. And that is what I have always been about.

I could give a shit in regards to the genitals you were born with; just be a decent human being and let me love you. Simple as that.

There will always be people that exist in this world that think those who identify as pansexual are just another breed of bisexuals trying to say that appearances don’t matter. As if we are secretly shallow creatures. Well, maybe your neighbor Susan is secretly shallow, but not me. My queerness uplifts me. My queerness is more than another fill in the blank. And my queerness is more than a debate on Fox News.

My queerness and I keep each other alive—without it I wouldn’t where I am.

Life With Social Anxiety

By Anonymous 

I am 25 and out of those 25 years I think that I was an outgoing person for maybe 13 of those years. Up until my teen years I was okay with making friends and hanging out with everyone I met, I didn’t care if I was disliked by anyone. I was on a quest through middle school to make as many friends as possible. I liked to make people laugh and feel as though I brought some sort of enjoyment to their lives. 

Then, high school happened and that all went out the window. Suddenly I was concerned about everything and everyone. Does my hair look good? Are my clothes fashionable? Am I ugly? These were daily questions I would ask myself and quite honestly they were questions that I had all of the wrong answers to. Out of nowhere I went from being a social butterfly to a curmudgeon. 

You would think eventually I would stop caring about peoples opinions of me, that would have been the smart move. It hasn’t happened yet and here I am at 25 years of age. It’s quite confusing really, I want to have social interaction but the second I go out somewhere I curse my existence and wish I would have stayed home. It’s sad when you get down to it, my constant fear of judgement makes my life about as interesting as watching paint dry. 

Maybe one day I will overcome this crippling fear but it isn’t looking good. I don’t make eye contact , I don’t smile, I walk with my head down everywhere I go and I will purposefully avoid contact with people just because I know that they can’t judge me if they can’t see me. 

What started all of this? That’s a good question but ultimately I don’t have an answer. I would assume my mind has hidden it away somewhere for me to never find as I’m sure it’s unpleasant. The kicker to all of this is that I’ve just accepted it. I don’t go out anymore, ever. The few friends I do have ask me if I want to go out occasionally and I turn them down time and time again. The fact that I even have friends is a miracle in itself.

Who knows, perhaps one day my social anxiety will leave just as quick as it came on and I shall return to my former glory as that funny guy who goes places. Yeah right, who am I kidding, I’ll probably end up as a crazy cat person by the time I’m 40. 

Stand Together + Conquer.

by Kirsten F.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine this morning about the two new cases of black men being killed by police officers. In my heart there was no anger, no sadness, but a fire. A blazing, hot, bright fire that is getting bigger and hotter than ever.  During our conversation I brought up the topic of movies and how people can cheer for the fair skinned hero/heroine (i.e. The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and many other movies that center around the oppressed revolting) but they NEVER understand that is EXACTLY what’s happening now.  Somehow the people cheering on Katniss and Harry and praising them on taking down “The Man”. Are the same ones screaming ALL LIVES MATTER, when another Black life is taken. They are the same people who believe in The Force and want to take down the Darth Vader’s of the world. Except those worlds are all fantasy and the one we live in … is sadly very, very real. There are people dying at the hands of those sworn to protect us. Our deaths are not receiving the justice they deserve because the powers that are in control don’t value our lives. 

However, those movies represent something, fight. They represent change, and courage… They’re showing you that we can revolutionize and be heard while still glowing in our blackness. We must not quit or silence our voices, we must not back down or stand divided. Wake up, this is the world that we live in, and this is the world that we can and WILL change. Laws can be changed, systems can and will be broken. We are all human, no matter what title you may hold. We are all equal, and none greater than another. With that being said how do people not understand that if we come together we can actually change our world. It’s so simple, and yes I do understand that they have big weapons, but there is strength in numbers and most definitely in spirit. Change doesn’t happen over night, nor does it happen without actual work being put in.  Don’t let your tears fall in vain, make them count. 

Rise up and continue to protect each other and our future generations. We can not continue to live if we allow this current world to be the only version. Our future children, and theirs to come after that deserve to live a life that doesn’t fear its end by the hands of those in charge. They shouldn’t have to fight to be considered valuable, because they already are. It is OUR job to make sure that they have something stable, something so solid that the foundation doesn’t crack. We have to undo YEARS of damage that our skeletons have caused, we have to be the ones to accept our karma and rectify it. I am not here to preach to you, or tell you what to believe in. I am here to offer an insight on where to begin, and light a fire underneath you. We deserve better, we shall make a difference and no matter if they tell you differently, YOU MATTER. 

Keep fighting, keep shouting, and let them know that if we go down, they’re coming with us.

BLACK LIVES MATTER. 

I Love You: An Open Letter To My Best Friend (part one)

Written By Emery W. 

“The One I Don’t Deserve”

Dear Best Friend,

We’ve known each other for a decade which is longer than I can say for anyone else I consider my best friend. We went through most of high school together, and for the four years I was away at college, we still remained close. Out of everyone I “left behind” in our home town, you were the only one who made an effort to keep me part of the loop. Sure, we each had our own friends we bonded with while the other was away, but we still remained untouchable. Until now.

When I moved back home, a failure, with my head hung low, you took me in, and made a place for me in this new life I didn’t know you’d created. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t comprehend. I was selfish for those years away. And now still, I feel like I don’t know how to fit into who you are. We know each other better than we know ourselves, and can predict each other’s actions and the outcome before the other makes a decision. Basically, we’re sisters.

In high school I was the older friend; the one who had all of the answers, made the grades, and graduated first. Four years later and things had made a full 180. You were the working woman, committed in your relationship, in bed on time every night, and trying to hold together this misfit group of people we tried to call a family. Yet there I was; no degree, no job, no car, and no direction. When did things change? How were we able to miss each other’s crazy party phase, virginity loss, and first tattoo? You made those memories with someone else, and so did I.

Through it all you remained the same ambitious, selfless, and caring person I’ve always known. But what happened to me? Sensible, smart, responsible Emery? I’d lost myself for almost four years, and thought I could gain it all back when I became the girl who moved back to her old time. No, that’s a lie. I never thought I’d get it all back. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be the one who had done it all, and tell the life stories. In reality that was you. It was always you who taught me about life even when you weren’t trying to. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.

I must confess that I spent a lot more time hating you than being happy for you. I wanted these experiences with you, but by the time we were together to have them, the opportunity was gone. I wanted to go out? You had to go to bed to wake up for work in the morning. You had the perfect relationship, another best friend to share inside jokes with, and people who knew you when you walked through the door. You were the reason we had a house to live in, and the car to get us where we needed to be. You had everything I wanted, and I had the friend to mooch off of, and that killed me. No, it KILLS me.

That whole time I used the excuse of being unemployed for my constant state of depression when in fact, it was me who hated myself for being jealous of you, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop because I needed someone else to place the blame on.

But then the worst thing in the world happened. People started hurting you and leaving you and lying to you. Hell, I was one of them. But still, you continued to be you, and showed them how strong you really are. You kept working, continued to pay the bills, and take care of everyone else. You may have been crying behind closed doors, but you never let it show. Not to anyone who didn’t matter, and one day I didn’t matter. That’s the day you taught me the greatest life lesson you never knew you gave me; never lose someone’s trust.

I may have gained it back, but I don’t trust myself to hold onto it. It’s that self-deprecating feeling you always tell me to let go of, but I can never seem to. There will always be someone else, but never anyone as close to me as you. You’re my homo soulmate, and the fear of someone coming between that is the most frightening thing in the world to me. I don’t want you to find another Oklahoma companion, or another person to have Grapevine adventures with. I don’t want you to have another best friend, especially one who’s already mine.

This comes off as so hypocritical and selfish, but someone spending our time together hurts, but once again, I’m not being fair to you. I’m trying, Best Friend. Really trying to keep you, but you need more than the sensible, stay-at-home type. I do too, which is why she is that person for both of us, but I’m begging you in the most organic sense of the word to not let her replace me because I swear she has not replaced you.

I write this as an open letter hoping you’ll read it, and knowing if you do you’ll cry. I know you’ll read the words ‘best friend’ in the title, and read it knowing it has to be you. Really, who else is worthy of such precious words? You’ll read this, and you’ll cry just as I’m crying writing it because you’ve known these words to be true though I never spoke them. You’ll comment or text me, and tell me you love me because you speak those words every time we see each other, and I know them to be true. I know all of this because I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s something no one else will ever be able to do. At least, until the man God created to deal with your crazy ass finally reveals himself. Even then, I’ll be jealous, and tell him I know you better.

I love you.  

I Love You: An Open Letter To My Best Friend (part two)

Written by: Emery W. 

The One Who Needs Me

Dear Best Friend,

I often sit and wonder what my life would be like if you hadn’t walked into it. Not because I have worries about our friendship, but because you’re the best friend that I communicate with the least, but may value the most. There’s an undeniable connection between us that is almost unexplainable to anyone except for us.

You know how you have a friend that’s so much more than a friend, but more like a sibling? Well, as I tell you all of the time, that’s who you are to me; my little sister. Not just because you’re younger than me, but also because, out of everyone I hold dear to my heart, you need me the most.

I’m sure much of that need stems from some experiences I’ve had and you haven’t, but a solid percentage also come from our individual characters. I believe that my true passion has always been, and will always be, helping people. You, my friend (and I mean this in the most unoffensive way possible), need lots of help. You know that I know you’re not crazy, at least, not in the committable sense of the word. You are one of the countless number of women who suffer from a low sense of self-worth.

This letter to you is a testament to every woman in the world who feels like they aren’t worth anything to anyone. You are smart; you have the uncanny ability to always see the best in people even when they’ve shown their worst to you. You’re the kind of woman that other women are jealous of because your spirit soars higher than most. I’ve seen you cry and I’ve seen you worry, but never have I seen anyone more optimistic than you.

You’ve done more by your age than I ever did when I was at that stage in my life, and sure, there have been mistakes and bumps along the way, but never in that time have you given up on humanity. There needs to be more people like you in the world; unjaded. Your heart is so big, and full of possibility, and even when you feel at your lowest, somehow, you pull some encouragement out to give to someone else.

On top of all of these amazing personality traits, you’re incredibly beautiful, but anyone with eyes could see that.

Our friendship is an example that opposites really do attract. On first sight, a lot of people would wonder how someone like me could have a great time with someone like you. I’m tame, sensible, responsible, a big sister in anyone’s definition. You’re young, wild, adventurous, and free. We equal each other out, and that’s all that really matters. Sure, at times it may feel like you need to be babysat or chastised for certain life choices, but that’s not the way the world works. You make a mistake, you learn a lesson, and you move on. 

I’m so ready to watch you grow in both age and strength. I promise I’ll be there through it all.