NYE.

So I didn’t do anything glamorous or Instagram-worthy tonight for New Year’s. I didn’t dress up or have someone to kiss at midnight. Instead, I played cards with my housemates for about four hours. We rang in the new year with half-drank beer cans and wine glasses. They aren’t the coolest people, they aren’t perfect friends, we don’t always get along, and we definitely don’t always like each other. But they love me and I love them. They support me. And they make me laugh until it hurts.

So maybe that’s what I need this year. To surround myself with the people who are already in my life. Not better people, people who have more or do more or give more.
I don’t need to be in search of something else.
I have everything I need right here.

Hopefully this makes sense. I’m about 6 beers in so all bets are off, but it feels right.

I hope 2017 gives you light, love and happiness. Happy New Year.

On the edge.

Do you ever feel like you’re on the precipice of something great? Something life-changing? Maybe not in a Hollywood kind of way. Much smaller than moving far away to follow your dream. The kind of change I’m talking about is more like making a better choice, being kinder, or making more room in your life for love. Still just as momentous, but possibly less dramatic.

I feel like I’m the edge of this kind of change. Teetering back and forth between possibility and stagnation. If I was just brave enough to take one step forward, to move one foot in front of the other,  I’d be happier, healthier. But I’m timid. Not quite scared, because I know I can do it, but just wary. Wary of change, nervous about what might be. One step forward and it could all be different…

Here I go.

Like A Fool.

We take a chance from time to time and put our necks out on the line. And you have broken every promise that we have made. And I have loved you anyway. Took a fine time to leave me hanging out to dry. Understand now I’m grieving so don’t you waste my time. Cause you have taken all the wind out from my sails. And I have loved you just the same.

We finally find this, now you’re gone. Been chasing rainbows all along. And you have cursed me when there’s no one left to blame. And I have loved you just the same.

And you have broken every single fucking rule. And I have loved you like a fool.

Forgiveness.

I’m moving on to the next chapter of my life in about a month and I want to forgive myself of some things before I do. I always forget that it’s okay for me to make mistakes. I need to spend more energy exercising forgiveness instead of blame & doubt. Here it goes…

Sarah, my dearest, my only.
I forgive you for not being as motivated as you’d like to be. I forgive you for getting in your own way too often. I forgive you for spending so many years hating your father. He left this world knowing just how much you love him.
Sarah, I forgive you for causing emotional pain to that one family because you made a couple stupid, really dumb mistakes. You were 21 and you’ve learned.
I forgive you for not loving yourself more. I forgive you for slicing your leg open with a blade for a year. You were trying so hard to hate yourself when all you needed was love.  I forgive you for not being smarter, prettier and thiner. At the end of the day, you are beyond wonderful just as you are.

I forgive you for all of this and so much more.
I love you.

By the glow of the laptop screen.

I pull my hair to one side of my head.

I scratch my forehead.

I sniffle a bit because I was just crying

And I think of you.

I close my eyes and count my breath

In for four, out for five.

My nose itches.

There you are again.

I feel the weight of my laptop against my knees.

I tap my thumb against the track pad.

My wrist hurts.

Stop. Please. I’m trying my best.

I look at the time.

11:26pm.

Sunday.

I run my fingers over the keys. The i, k, o, l, m, p, t, .

Are you here yet?

Oh please, come find me.

Reasons Why!

I’ve been having trouble committing myself to regularly going to the gym lately. I’ve lost approximately 15lbs since January, but I haven’t been to the gym in the past week (or two). SO! I need to make a list to remind myself why going to the gym is important.

  • I like being able to breathe easier.
  • I want to meet my weight loss goals for February.
  • I don’t want to give up on myself. Again.
  • I don’t want to end up like my Dad.
  • I like the endorphins that I get from working out.
  • I want to set an example for my brother–that committing yourself to something can and will achieve real results.
  • I want to look DROP DEAD SEXY in that bridesmaid dress come August.
  • I like being at the gym, just not the getting there bit. And that’s okay.
  • Working out now could literally be a life or death matter.
  • I owe it to my past self and my future self to continue to work out.
  • I want to treat my body well. It has gotten me through so much.
  • I would like to live to 100.
  • I want to see my future kids grow up. I want to meet my grandchildren.

Hopefully, I can keep referring to this list to remind myself of my why I need to get off my bootylicious bum and get on that damn treadmill.

 

Cheryl.

I learned of the passing of someone who went to my high school today. She was 22.

I wasn’t close with her. I didn’t know what her favourite colour was or where she went to university or even her last name. But for some reason,  the news of her suicide felt like someone had punched me in the gut. And suddenly, I felt the air leave my lungs. I was so heartbroken for Cheryl.

I read the news on Facebook on a break during class, so I didn’t have time to learn more about Cheryl or why she had died. The news of her passing sat in the back of mind throughout my day. I think I was waiting until I could have time to myself and try to figure out why she felt the need to leave this world.

So, after class I went upstairs to the library and I started looking for her. I needed to know why she did it, why she wanted to end her life.

I started with her Facebook page and I was able to flip through her profile pictures. No obvious signs of trauma. A few angsty-teen pictures, but those are fairly standard. Then I found her blog, on this site called Media, and I read through her posts. I found one that she had written about her mother. Cheryl’s mother, too, had passed away from suicide.

Another punch to the stomach.

I was almost in tears as I read through her deeply painful and incredibly vulnerable account of the hole her mother had left in her life. How her last words to her mom were “get well soon, okay?” I read about how she had to suffer through what seemed like an unbearable funeral and how her mother had left her family a note. This blog post lead me to her Twitter page, which lead me to her partner’s Twitter, which lead me to the outpouring of love for Cheryl.

Tweets about condolences, fond memories and hopeful resting places. I had given up fighting my tears at this point. This beautiful person, this human being, Cheryl, had so many people that loved her, cherished her, and wanted her in their lives.

After about 45 minutes of this vortex of social media lurking, I had to stop myself. Why was I doing this? I didn’t know her–I’ve never said two words to her. This wasn’t normal. And yet, my heart ached for her loss. I felt the world lose a little bit of its light because Cheryl was no longer here.

I’m still not sure why Cheryl’s death impacted me so. Maybe because I see myself in her. Maybe because we went to the same high school and she was so incredibly young. Or maybe because the loss of my father is reflected in her death. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful I got to experience, if only briefly & through a computer screen, the amazing, talented, thoughtful and passionate person Cheryl was. She seemed to be an absolute beam of sunshine and compassion in this world and I’m so terribly sorry that she felt the need to leave.

I said a little prayer to her on my way home. I wanted her to know that she is loved and missed. I wanted her to be able to find peace. I told her that if she needs to hear a good dad joke and play a round of cards that she should find my dad. He’ll be there.

 

Rest easy, Cheryl.