Only if he knows what it means to have sorrow be your neighbor.

Only if there is a sweetness and fierceness in his eyes that signals "rest here, no one will hurt you."

Only if he knows what joy means and finds it in the little things.

Only then, only if...

I will tear down the wall to this ragged heart of mine.

Only then, will I let you in.

The sky is raining. Or so it seems. You see the sky opened up in my living room. I am in a puddle of water wondering how to plug up the clouds so they don't come in here again.

Then I see that the rain are my tears and I am just wishing for it to be anything other than me- to hide the truth of my sadness that is right in front of me- falling like rain on my window pane. The sad thing is today was beautiful. Sunny without a cloud in the sky.

I hate being sad on days like today. The wind felt good against my cheek and I was reminded that I am still here. The road was warm on my bare feet and I wonder why I have bouts of sadness on days like today when most of my days are so good.

I then wonder what it means to have sorrow stick to your ribs like cement so every step feels like you are anchoring yourself more and more to the earth. My shoulders droop and my body aches. I am sick. I have been sick. And it is hard to tell what is wrong with me.

But my body is begging me to find an answer. So when I am bedridden and I look out at that beautiful sky I am reminded that I am so very here. Inside with aching ribs with the air in my room smelling like sickness. I do not know how else to describe it other than that.

And then I wonder if on days like today why it is so much easier to write when sorrow is my companion? It makes me sadder still, and even more than that it terrifies me.

I do not want to thirst for dark things so my pen can flow like water in a stream. I wish I was just the current itself. A constant thrum of creativity- but this would make me some god. I am no god. I am struggling living life as a human as it is.

I kiss my pillow with my eyelids, I turn over look at my ceiling with the glow in the dark stars- I will be 30 in about a week- and still love the childish wonder in certain things. Glow in the dark stars is one of them. So I will take this as my trophy tonight as I try to sleep.

Sorrow left an impression but did not drown me.

Because I will open my eyes tomorrow and do the very thing it would never expect:

I will try. One foot in front of the other. I will move forward.

Knowing you, there will be an excuse for your absence.

Knowing me, I will accept your excuse even when it has been the hundredth time that you are not here.

Knowing you, you will twist my words even though I thought them unbreakable in their meaning this time. Yet here you are, bending them until you break my heart in the process.

And knowing me, when the breaking happens I’ll be alone, wailing to the shower head because it is the safest place for my tears. For no one can hear you when shower’s on, and I lie to myself so I can ache.

And knowing you, the end of us will be as quick as the beginning and you will dig our grave with a swiftness I keep forgetting you possess and you’ll laugh at what we were.

And knowing me, I’ll actually laugh with you. Because how can you not laugh at the absurdity of how your heart is being buried like a murder victim: quickly and without remorse.

And it is dusk somewhere, the sun will set on our love and I will look out in awe at nature poetically putting an end to our time together.

And knowing you, you will not even look up to see it.

Warning: Will eat chocolate and there may be stains in places you didn’t think would be possible. True story: chocolate found it’s way behind her ear.

Warning: has an unpredictable laugh- it can start as a low bass thudding out a low “haha” to then sound like a piccolo, then possibly a wheezing windpipe and finally she might end in a snort… nobody knows (least of all her).

Warning: sings harmony to every goddamn song that comes on the radio even if she doesn’t know the words… she will find a way to sing.

Warning: is fiercely loyal. She may seem sweet, but she will protect her own. I will leave that up to your interpretation…

Warning: sometimes she feels so sad she doesn’t know why or where it comes from. Let her cry, she’ll release the excess and be okay :)

She rides waves just to say she can surf.

She'll look you in the eye and lie to your face.

"It's not life if it's fair," She'd say.

And you're looking into that well wishing you never wasted a coin on her.

She knows that if you get close it'll be the end of her,

because then she'll need.

So you only see her when it's dark out.(1)

Sleeping on the sofa knowing all the while life ain't fair.

She'll break your heart with a smile,

because love ain't fair either.

So you save up coins to throw in that well,

wishing you never met her.

Maybe Life will listen this time.

Mackenzie rides another wave,

breaks another heart.

Never admitting her heart b r e a k s each time too.

1.) "Mackenzie"- by Houndmouth- lyric from the song

The sun shines in on my legs in the coffee shop I am sitting in and I feel the weight of who I used to be between my ears. My brain short circuits to old selves and the mistakes made.

What is sexy about becoming what someone else wants?

I don't want to become someone else for someone else. What's the point in being me if I act like it's Halloween all year round? I can't run from me, because I'm always there.

I always thought this was a curse. Now I know it is a blessing, because that means redemption is possible and changing my choices is always just that: my choice.

*I was listening to the song "3 Nights" by Dominic Fike and these lyrics stuck out to me as I saw this challenge.*

I looked over my chipped teacup, wondering all the while what the point of this conversation was. I think I thought I was enjoying myself.

Maybe I was.

Maybe I was playing into the witty banter of getting to know a handsome stranger, not caring how in this moment nothing we said actually held any substance.

But I suppose substance on the first date is a rare occurrence. When I go on dates, which is quite also rare, I feel like I am 16 years old girl- not a 29 almost 30 year old woman who has traveled, seen the world, fought many battles, and has lived to see another day.

When I think about dating I think of a maze that everyone wants to enter, that everyone needs to enter, but no one can actually find their way out.

It is probably incredibly pessimistic of me to believe this concept. But my mind immediately goes to this image- are we all mice trying to find the prize we see in our mind, feeding our ego that maybe, just maybe, there is someone out there that you mesh with enough to want to see them everyday of your life?

I hate dating. I can talk to a goddamn rock, but as I have gotten older I realize there are so many fucking rocks to sort through. And every time I feel like an egotistical ass for believing this, yet here I am. I am trying to flip the narrative in my brain.

Short circuit these images of no hope and paint the new story of an Anna that is learning what she wants in a partner, she is interviewing for the position, she is in control... when for so long I let others have power over me.

I am trying. Ooof let me tell you I am trying to flip this narrative.

Another date, another "no", another stab to the ego,

BUT

I am still here smiling.

Even if I don't believe what I am about to say, I nevertheless say it to the clear eyed woman in the mirror,

"Well goddamn Anna, on to the next shall we?"

I fit into comfortable silences with myself these days.

I do not always seek to fill the air with words and songs.

Sometimes I think that this means I am comfortable with myself.

Other times I think there is nothing more to say,

Are they the same?

I trip over my self regard every now and then.

I do not know where to find respect

when there are days where I misplace it.

I left it on the counter there.

I left it in her mouth and let her take me down with her words,

I left it in his hands and let him walk away with it between squeezed fingers,

crushing the love I have for myself.

I suppose “misplace” is not the right word.

I give people access to my self worth and let them grind it to dust.

Then I have the audacity to blame them for making me feel that I am no good.

When I gave them the key.

Some days I look into my heart and I see the treasure that I am.

Then days like today, I stare into the well of my soul and become lost in who I am.

Then voice from somewhere I cannot name comes to me,

Anna, get up child. It is time to remember,

You dug the well yourself. You buried the treasure. You know what it holds.

Be amazed. You are here.

I was on the floor crying so hard my hands shook, curled inward trying to dig out the unexplainable pain coming from somewhere within.

This was a scene that happened much more often then, then it does now.

After the trauma and the rage/grief that occurred because of it, I was a woman on fire, but not set alight by anything good- this was a fire that would destroy me and the sad thing was, I wanted it to destroy me.

The kindest thing done for me was actually a succession of little acts of kindness during this 3 year period of me hell bent on destroying myself.

It was that they didn’t give up on me, even when I had given up on myself. That they still believed and loved me just because I was me.

And that was enough for them.

It was the greatest gift I was ever given and continue to receive to this day.

I’m writingthis with tears in my eyes. It’ll have been 4 years since my suicide attempt, it wasn’t easy afterward, after the trauma that is, but I can say quite truthfully that I’ve begun to not just survive, but thrive.

It happened because I had people believing in me until finally, one day, from what seemed like out of the blue, I began to belive in myself too.

What a gift.

What a beautiful life I can now appreciate and greet everyday, even when the skeletons in my closet rattle and wish to remind me of my failings. I hear them, I feel the sharp feelings but now… I release them and continue to live.

Dear God, I’m living.

There were glass jars that lined the hallways of her home.

All of the jars were empty. All of the jars were different colors.

Those close to her would wonder about the nature of her ways,

the thoughts that seemed to curl and smoke between her ears

and the way her laugh seemed to float out of her like a babbling brooke.

She thought herself an open book. A plain sort of read,

and yet she had been told she was an enigma.

That her fullness and fierceness in emotion and spirit

could not be read completely, nor could it be followed.

And the jars, well, she thought it was so obvious what they were. She thought that those close to her had to know what they held.

So when they asked, "What do the jars mean? What do they hold?"

She finally stood.

She didn't say anything. Instead she walked along the hallway crouching down to touch each jar, some big, some small, some fat, some slender.

And after each touch, the jar seemed to glow and the hallway seemed to sing. And those with her heard wailing, or laughter, or silence.

When she asked them, "What did you hear?"

Each person spoke of a different sound. Not one person heard the same.

She smiled that smile, the one so full and knowing. They didn't  quite understand it and yet could feel in their bones what she wanted to say.

She looked at each and said quite simply,

"We all have pasts, we bottle them up and put them away and think they do not stay with us, we think them gone and that 'time has healed all wounds', yet we all walk with different gaits that have been altered by the roads we’ve traveled. The ones that have been softer or harder than others at different points of our lives. We all feel the weight of our pasts and it is not something to be feared.

I keep these as reminders of who I have been, of where I have been and as a reminder of why I am. You each heard different sounds, because each of you found what you relate to most within parts of my story.

When you hear the wailing it means you have walked a road where the pain met bone and melted your heart to mist and sorrow. When you hear laughter you walked along a path where the flowers bloomed and smelled what it meant to find joy on a sunny day. And when you hear silence, you know what it means to sit in between words and feel the whole of yourself and be okay with that.

All these things are what the jars hold."

She looked at each person and smiled again.

A smile just as cracked and whole as a person can have going through life and living as fully as one can.