how.do.you.deal.with.a.broken.heart?

you cry and you scream and you act pathetic. you skip out on showers and you lay in bed for days on end. you have pity parties. you get irritable and you push everyone away. you cry in bed. you cry in the shower. you cry in your car. you let your heart ache. you let the pain throb and pulse through your entire body. you blame them. you blame yourself. you blame the world. you pretend you are getting better, only to have a relapse. you drink irresponsibly, in hopes that you'll forget them for one night. however, this will only back fire and you'll end up crying harder and trying to drunk dial them. you consider giving up on life. you gather the strength to get up and take a shower. only to break down once you start the water. you attempt to completely remove them from your life. you can't bear being around anyone or anything, because everything around you reminds you of them. you watch romance movies and listen to love songs. you have your good days and your bad days. you distract yourself at times, and other times you sit semi comfortably with your misery. you wait for them to come back, no matter how unrealistic that is. you wait until you wake up and the sun shines a little different. the wind grazes you and there's a slight spring in your step. one day you catch yourself laughing genuinely. and things seem okay. you go out with friends and family again, except now you're not distracting yourself anymore. you'll still have those saturday nights when you sob, but happiness will grow again. it just takes strength and patience.






am.

woowza.

it's ridiculous how much two people can think alike.
it's crazy awesome!
i love it!






am.

.dyingwish.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!
I love you a thousand times, and I never want to be without you!

A.a.m. I love you.

.sh

truth,is

new friends are always great!
i have met a ton of people and always have a grand ol' time.
but it always comes back to you.
i would give up any friendship for you.
i always imagine what could be...
i could be sharing a bed with you,
seeing your bright face everyday,
and being your wall to fall back on.
i know they say high school is just high school,
and friends will come and go,
but i need your friendship.
i need you.
i'm perfectly fine with just one best friend.
you.
i love you.



am.

.happyday.

today is a great day! i love it! there is absolutely nothing bad about it. i got my pt test done and scored the best yet! i got my classes done and now just twooo finals! i'm gonna study most of the weekend... or maybe i'll just drink and study from sunday on. :/
but! i'll study either way. i'm so excited for semester to be done! and i'm sooooo happy. i know my grades won't be the best due to my slight depression the first few months of school. but i bounced back! and i realized pleeeeenty of life long lessons and i couldn't be more happy... bring on the pain, life. i ain't scared of you anymore. C: oh! and bring on the homework school, cause i'ma gonna rock yo ass next semester! aaaaaand bring on the toughness, ROTC because i'm ready for it!

beautiful day.

sh.

.words.

My breathing came in short spurts. I could see the finish line and I was not about ready to slow down. Two and a half miles later and I was almost there! Come on, Sarah. Just a few more steps! I had just crossed the finish line at the state cross country meet my eighth grade year. I had managed to place 47^th out of 120. I was feeling proud, minus the epic barfing sensation that was in my stomach. I was squirming as they herded us all through the gates like cattle. My excitement was cursing through my veins to see my family, especially my mother. I was certain that this would be the time that she would proclaim she was proud of me in front of everyone. Unfortunately, I did not know what was to come and if I did I would never have set myself up for disappointment.

The slow-moving line definitely was teaching me patience, but as I busted out and found my family I was really only looking for one person. Our eyes met. We both maintained eye contact as congratulations were being passed out by close and distance family members. For some reason I did not care what anyone had to say but her.

Her lips started to move, my stomach dropped as she said, “Well at least we know what you need to work on for next year.”

She laughed and hit my shoulder…

I was once told that actions speak louder than words. In my younger years, I may have believed this to be true. Fists got the point across. Not speaking to someone for hours on end has proven itself to be a very valid point-maker, however, now that I know the meaning to twenty-five percent of the words in the English language, my beliefs have changed their direction.

My whole life, I have been walking a path that I assumed my mother would love for me to be on and, if you knew my mother -hard-ass, stone-cold, heartless- you would understand the perfect terminology to refer to her by. Basically she is never pleased. No matter how hard you try, how deep you dig, it is still not good enough. I spent the vast majority of my time trying to make an impressed expression appear on her face; unfortunately, all my attempts were failures. It was not until I realized that I would never reach the heights my mother desired, that not only do words hurt when spoken, they also destroy in silence.

I sat through years of yelling and screaming, disappointment and frustration, before I realized that words truly mean everything. My mother’s bitter words stung like a bitch, bit like a snake, and ate away at my main sources of functioning, being my heart and brain. However, as they were eating my insides raw, I finally learned how to use them to my advantage. No, I did not use them on any one to make myself feel better; I simply let them flow out of me and on to that thin slice of wood. You could say that when I realized I could express anything and everything I wanted too without any criticism, it was a blessing in my life, a savior of some kind.

My realization about words came around the time of my freshman year. Fifteen years of growing up to strive to be the perfect child your mother wanted, or perhaps needed, definitely was taking it’s toll on me. However, all I would have to do is write, sing, or do whatever I could that involves words and I would be okay. My freshman and sophomore years, I started playing with words that others wrote, simply because I was not quite smart enough to think of any on my own. I was new to this whole “colorful words” concept. So naturally, I was a lyrical maniac. I quoted lyrics all the time. I sang all the time. I even created my own songs. I gave myself fully to my savior. I do not believe I would have made it if we would not have found each other and it was in each other that we both grew.

As my writing developed, my relationship with my mother started becoming more distant. I became an upper classman in high school and my whole mind set changed. I did not have to spend my life pleasing her. I needed to be me. When I was going into my junior year of high school, I finally realized that. My words became unstoppable.

My writing style went from ‘clearly a freshman’ to ‘insanely sick’ and if you do not know the lingo, my writing became good. Markings on my paper leaned less towards criticism and more towards the A+ every child loves to see. Words became my best friend. Of course, no one but my teachers would be aware of this because I do not tend to use them as efficiently in casual conversation as I should. However, writing brought my mind to unthinkable levels that even surprised me. All my emotions I would love to share are written in various ways on various sheets in various notebooks. I love to write. I have loved it since my junior year and I am passionate about it.

I think it is safe to assume that my infatuation with writing will never lessen. Through all of my childhood I blindly believed that words had no impact on a person until the day reality came and sucker-punched me in the stomach. Looking into my mother’s eyes and seeing silent letters scroll across her pupils brought me to believe that words are everything. Words, in their conniving ways, have always been there just waiting to be used for the good or the worse. It is these inanimate objects that saved me from the fires of Hell. They are my sunshine on a rainy day. I am fairly certain I will be escorting words down the path of rough terrain that they call life until I keel over and stop breathing. Writing and just words themselves have helped me get through some sticky situations throughout my life and I do not intend to stop using the words that supposedly cannot hurt.

hold.on.

come on skinny love just last the year.
pour a little salt we were never here.
staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer.
i tell my love to wreck it all.
cut out all the ropes and let me fall.
right in the moment this orders tall,
and i told you to be patient,
and i told you to be fine.
and i told you to be balanced,
and i told you to be kind.
in the morning i'll be with you,
but it will be a different kind.
cause i'll be holding all the tickets
and you'll be owning all the fines.
come one skinny love,
what happened here?
suckle on the hope and lite brassiere.
sullen load is full so slow on the split.
and i told you to be patient,
and i told you to be fine.
and i told you to be balance,
and i told you to be kind.
now all your love is wasted,
then who the hell was i?
cause now i'm breaking at the britches,
and at the end of all your lines.
who will love you?
who will fight?
and who will fall, far behind?





am.

.canvas.

when i look back on my life, it's not that i don't want to see things exactly as they happened. it's just that i prefer to remember them in an artistic way. and truthfully the lie of it all is much more honest because i invented it. clinical phycology tells us trauma is the ultimate killer. memories are not recycled like atoms and particles in quantum physics, they can be lost forever. it's sort of like my past is an unfinished painting, and as the artist of that painting i must fill in all the ugly holes and make it beautiful again. it's not that i've been dishonest, it's just that i loathe reality.





am.

.mygreatestmemory.

i fucking miss you.



sh.