Heartache. She has many faces. When I had my heart broken for the first time it wasn't just a boy who stomped all over my heart, it was me who let him. No free pass for him though, he sucked. But, I can't put all the blame on him. He disrespected me again and again. My time, my body, my family, and I let him. Arguably my fault.

I was a junior in high school. Smart, creative, sarcastic, self assured, and self conscious of my looks. In a small rural school everyone knew everyone. My crush from the 6th grade was still my crush junior year. But after all those years he hadn't shown any interest. I was convinced I wasn't much to look at, wasn't worth anyone's time. But, that spring his number popped up in my phone. It kept popping up for the next two months, I was shocked. Did he like me?

This boy was an athlete, responsible, tall, and on track to be Valedictorian. A parents dream? So it seemed. I thought we had a lot in common, I thought he was quite a catch. I treated him as such, gushing over him to my friends, waiting on his every text. And maybe I should have see the red flags, but I joyfully ignored them. I was a naïve princess skipping through a forest fire, completely oblivious if you can imagine that.

At the beginning I think he truly liked me. But, looking back on it, that time was short lived. After a couple months he began to cancel our dates. "I'll pick you up at 5." I would spend the whole day getting ready, shower, shave, moisturize, stress. Five would roll around and nothing. My stomach in knots. After ten minutes or so another text would come in, "Hey I'm not feeling good, I can't come over." We'd do this little dance at least once or twice a week. Strange though, for all the times he "wasn't feeling well" he never missed a single day of school, or baseball game. But, like a young girl in love I ignored this.

My parents and brother saw right through this charade, trying softly to tell me this wasn't right. But, I ignored their warnings, happily planning date after date. Somewhere in this timeline he told me he loved me. That was the fatal shot. Nothing he did could make me question his words. "But he loves me." It went farther of course. I won't rehash what happened behind closed doors. But, the classic story of popular athlete and insecure girl, where no doesn't seem to mean anything isn't too far off.

So there I was, ten months into the relationship. Miserable, tired, angry underneath it all, and I still wanted to be with him. He was coming over on Thursday night. I was waiting for the text that he couldn't make it. But, I got a different text from a friend, "Hey just so you know, Scott was telling people that he's breaking up with you." Was I shocked? No, he hadn't said he loved me in weeks, but I guess I never took the hint. He picked me up in his grey truck. Opened the door for me without a word. I could feel it building up between us.

He didn't apologize, he didn't sympathize. Just said he was done, he didn't love me any more, and he really didn't want to try to work things out. Was this the part where he broke my heart? No, not exactly, he had broken my heart nearly every day for months. But this was the day I broke my own heart. I sat in that stupid truck with that mean, stupid boy and I begged him to stay, I asked him to love me, to try just one more time. How embarrassing.

It has taken me a long time to forgive myself for that day, for the whole thing really. I had spent my whole life thinking I was independent, smart, a girl with a good head on my shoulders. But, when a tall boy who I thought was a "good guy" broke me down and disrespected me in every way possible I let him right in. So, all of this goes to say, listen to your parents when they tell you someone is a piece of shit.

Obsession, she will bury you alive.

I met this poison flower the summer I turned 17.

She crept inside, and made herself at home.

I was alone a lot that summer, with raging anxiety, she took her shot.

At first, I skipped a few meals.

Not much food in the fridge anyway.

My room was my fortress and the kitchen was miles away.

It didn't take long before I noticed.

The body I had ignored for the past 17 years had started to change.

The mirror was giving me compliments, and the demon in my head cheered me on.

As time went on, with her encouragement, I started going days without tasting a thing.

Nobody seemed to notice.

After a few months they did notice, looking at me long enough.

They mimicked my mirror, "wow, you look great", they'd say.

It felt good. Better than I'd ever felt before.

Every time my stomach growled it felt like an accomplishment.

Every time I said no to a meal, snack, dessert, obsession patted me on the back.

"Well done" she told me.

"Just you wait" I thought.

I got a gym membership, no friend or boyfriend to tend to.

I ran for miles on the treadmill, stepping off only when I worried I'd pass out.

Maybe then they'd notice.

No one ever did.

I ran longer, faster. I got lighter, thinner.

It felt as though I was walking on air.

I watched the scale drop, I shopped again and again for smaller pant sizes.

I started vomiting.

Even a small glass of water would fight its way back out.

Each time I'd clean it up, disgusting, proud.

My skin broke out constantly, begging for help.

I ignored, makeup did the trick.

Obsession admired the bones protruding.

When I did eat, she pushed salty tears from my eyes every bite I took.

"This is who I was meant to be, this is how I've always wanted to look."

My peers agreed. I was getting attention like never before.

I hadn't had a craving in months. Not even a $100 steak made my mouth water.

I took pictures of myself consistently for the first time, she loved them.

What had it been? 9 months?

60 pounds down, how much farther could I go?

Light headed was my constant state of being.

The witch said it would all be worth it.

I got in a car accident on the way to the gym. Broke my sternum in two places.

At the hospital they asked, "When did you eat last?"

"I couldn't tell you, maybe two or three days ago."

No one batted an eye, chalked it up to shock.

My favorite clothes hung off of me, bitter trophies.

I could hear her applause, I relished in it.

Things have changed.

I met someone who made me happy.

It didn't take long for him to notice, and he cared.

He took me out to eat, helped me cook my favorite meals. Encouraged me.

It all came back, the weight.

But, she never left.

Obsession sits within me nagging just as much as before.

But now she screams, profanities and insults.

She haunts me every time I look in the mirror.

"Remember when you were skinny? Remember when you were beautiful?"

Its a high I can't reach again, a scratch I can't itch, it's my illness, my obsession.

I hope one day I can say goodbye to her, a farewell, good riddance.

If there was no limit on time or money? If for a day I had endless possibilities?

I would go see my brother. I would drive the 7 hours through highways and country roads to visit him. I'd pack a big bag and stay a while. I'd ask about his car. In the shop again? We'd go straight to the lot and I'd buy him a new one. I'd buy him a nice truck to haul his stuff, no more borrowing from the neighbors. I'd ask about his school debt, credit cards? I'd call and pay them off, no more worries. We'd hang in the house, he'd talk about his days in culinary school as he cooked something inventive and delicious. After eating he'd glance around the house. "The walls could you use some paint." I'd comment. We'd drive over to the hardware store, grab a couple gallons, and paint for the rest of the afternoon. Tired and satisfied we'd head outside to sit in the yard. In lawn chairs, exhausted limbs limp at our sides. Happy to be done. Happy to be together. He'd roll one up, and we'd pass it back and forth. We'd talk about the past. Playing flashlight tag in the woods, riding bikes through the streets, and whittling wands to cast spells. We'd talk about our old dogs, and family camping trips. The time he accidently hit me with a baseball bat, or when he cut his thumb open trying to carve our names into a tree. I'd close my eyes and smile. My heart finally at peace.

My brother and I didn't get along for most of my childhood. We were close in age and nearly opposites. At one time or another, regrettably, I even said I hated my brother. But as our teens came to an end, so did our distain for one another. Our time together became fun, like two friends with a past in common. But in a flash he moved away. A little plot of land that felt too far for a weekend trip.

In my experience, the older you get, the more you realize that nothing matters more than your family. No boyfriend, job, vacation or disagreement matters more than your siblings. I know that one day my parents will be gone, and my brother will be the only one left. Our memories will align, we'll joke about my dad's habits, and smile as we think of our mom's singing. I think about this often, and I miss him terribly.

When eventually I would need to leave, I'd tell him what a good time I'd had. We share a hug, and I'd keep my cool. I slip in to my car, and back out of the driveway. I'd wave as long as I could, hand outstretched with the ASL sign for "I love you" like my parents always did. That's when the tears would begin to fall.

I'd be flooded with many emotions. I miss my brother, and I regret the distance we had as kids. I feel like I wasted time. My brother is a reckless person, maybe a little troubled. Sometimes as I wave good bye I worry if it will be the last time I see him. A fear I've never said out loud. A fear I try to bury.

Maybe this wasn't the writing you were hoping for. No trips to Italy or mansion buying, but it's the truth.

I am an ant on the earth. Insignificant.

I am a bee at my job. Busy.

I am a butterfly to my family. Beautiful.

I wonder if I am a pest. Do I bug you?

I think a lot about the lives of others. Each one is their own entity, living a life I will never know.

A melancholy feeling comes over me as I watch them. In a fortress of public life, seemingly unseen.

Sometimes as I sit, people watching, I create whimsical or dastardly stories for each of them.

Maybe they are moonstruck, racing off to a dinner where their sweetheart will get down on one knee.

Or maybe they stomp along, drenched with indignation, furious about a foretold down-size at their job.

Are they righteous, kind, a mother, a criminal?

Sometimes I'm sure my intuition is off, or maybe my imagination and natural comedy is taking over.

But I enjoy these moments. They make me wonder what people guess about my own life.

Music is a river. It pushes me along, keeps me afloat, and always shows me something new. Melodies have been a constant in my life.

My mother is a singer. Growing up I would trail after her though weddings or funerals. I would wait in the back, quiet in my seat, watching as her voice brought people to tears. To this day I am in awe of her. I can feel the music pour from her soul, and I feel it in mine.

I began playing the piano in the first grade, the notes flowed through my fingers and into the air. Suddenly, I was the one creating the music I so desperately loved. I will always be in awe of the piano, a strong and timeless vessel of music.

The world has changed so much with the advances of technology. One of my favorite advantages of this new world is our endless access to music. At any moment of the day I can listen to any melody I desire. Songs that move me, I sit with my headphones in and chills pour over me.

So, I think the greatest reverence is music. Music is primal, necessary, joyful, sad, dramatic, full, it is what brings us all together.

Dear Mom,

You are the one person I owe an answer to.

I am finally letting go. Cutting loose. Getting onto the highway and not looking back. I have wasted so many years of my life doing what I should, never entertaining the idea of doing what I want. I have worked and saved and planned for so long. But I am done with that now. I have found no fulfillment in it, and I need to get away.

I know you will understand. After the many nights of talking and crying I know you would've supported my choice. My life is my own, and I need to take advantage of it. So I am on my way somewhere. To write. My writing is something that I have kept to myself. But in some ways it has been my dream for a long time. So, in a year I will return, hopefully with a finished novel in hand.

I love you more than anything. If others ask where I have gone you may tell them whatever you like. You are my life's greatest blessing. I will miss you.

Love,

M.

I am in a crowded desert. All alone, pushing past people who don't even see me.

I'm glad they are blind to my presence. When they do happen to glance at me, a mirage, their stares remind me I exist.

I crawl through the desert to a hamster wheel. At a desk, in heels, pretending to care. "Hello, thank you for calling..."

Sometimes I beg for attention from the people around me. They give me droplets, when I crave a downpour.

The desert, a terrible place. Not enough reason to bury myself in the sand. Sometimes, not enough good to be grateful I'm here.

So, I stand in the desert, close my eyes and burn.

Discourse. Dialog. Discuss. Confer. Speak. Stab.

Speech, discourse, it's one of the most powerful things on earth. I, like many people have some regrets in my life. Things I've done, choices I've made, that I wish I could take back. Split second decisions that cost me a lot of money, or embarrassed me. But no regrets I have are deeper than the ones that came out of my mouth. Daggers that were thrown in a moment of anger. Wounds that I know will never truly heal.

I think of these horrible things I've said. I know the receivers still remember my words, despite their forgiveness. And I remember these moments right along with them. My own words haunt me, they sit in the back of my mind still holding the dagger. Never allowing me to forgive myself.

My biggest regret is a knife I used on my own mother. My angel. My life's most gracious blessing. Growing up with a kind and gentle protector has made me kind and gentle. But the words I said to her, that I can never take back, has made me kinder and gentler.

Discourse. Descant. Converse. Comment. Explain. Forgive?

I knock again and again. Harder and harder. "Damn, how'd she lock the door so fast" I thought. I take a moment to catch my breath, I had been chasing her for almost 10 minutes. I peer in through the windows and I can see her inside, pacing.

I decide to find another way in. For the next hour I am pulling at every door handle, and checking every window, nothing. "I 'll just have to rest for a moment, I always get so worn out."

My eyes split open at the sound of a car passing. The sun has sunk, the sky a tangerine pool. I stand and turn back to the door. It releases against my grasp, it's unlocked. Amidst my confusion I enter. For a moment I see no one. Then, almost out of no where, she appears in the room.

"How could you!" I shout. Lunging at her with my knife. We wrestle on the floor for a minute, as she screams in my ear. I feel the blade go into her. I know it is over. I feel a mix of emotions. Sorrow for a life taken, but a small sense of pride for avenging my sister. I also feel a great deal of pain. Maybe sore from the fight?

I decide to stay there on the floor and take a rest. My vision finds me again. It is nearly dark now. But in the dim light of the room I can see what I have done. There is no woman lying in front of me. I take a deep breath and look down at my shirt, the cause of my pain. I also take notice of the large amount of blood pooling around me.

I thought back on my sister, the one I was desperate to avenge. Weeks ago she begged me to get back on my medication. I hadn't listened. I started to feel faint. Sad to think she will never know how much I wanted to save her.