dear diary

it's been years and i still have nightmares.

i find consolation in change. it brings me comfort to imagine you wouldn't recognize me if you saw me today.

still, sometimes i think about what i had and what i lost. some nights it makes me want to cry. some nights i do.

i find desperation like my own in the last dying scream in 'translating the name.'

i'm embarrassed by my mistakes and i yearn to feel understood.

i worry my actions will haunt me. i wish that i could have done differently. i want to curl up in a ball and sob.

at least i look good today.

the midwest in retrospect

i remember november first, twenty-fifteen

i remember being hospitalized

and i recall what happened after, but the events leading up to it are much foggier.

the only visitor to my room was the cop who had booked me in october for being a stupid teenager.

that year, i had dreamed of running away:

i would move to vermont or somewhere, far away from everyone i knew

and i would change my name and let my hair grow

and i would stop trying to be someone else

my great american midwest teenage story ended

when i moved back to barrhaven

and the reality of my less than ideal situation hit me full force.

today, i live in the best possible version of that dream

separated from the people who hurt me by miles and miles

without ever having to give up myself.

i don’t need to keep suffering for my story to be worth living.

i deserve community and love and belonging.

and i am home.

growing up

as a child i learned that my pain and trauma were only valid if what i had experienced was worse than what anyone around me had ever experienced. growing up means allowing myself to feel that pain without the need for external validation.