I like to write when I'm tipsy

how I am feeling at this moment

I am in a cafe sitting outside. I’m tipsy and i’m here. I’m alive and my fingers feel wobbly on the keys but I think its romantic. I think right now I am ready to be me.

I was crying here in the cafe two blocks away. I ordered a glass of wine and a plate of fries while I poured into my journal. My feeling of being so sad. Like how it has coated me like a catapillar before it becomes a butterfly. I’ve been angry. But worse I have been afraid. I have been fearful of love and living and being accepted. I still am scared but right now I feel like I have unlocked something.

I have believed the worse of myself. That no one could hold me. No one would want to come close to me. I’ve been misunderstood. but that makes sense because no one has listened. I learned from my mother it is easier to be passive in my life than active because being active requires risk. It requires sacrifice and worse fault. But to be passive means you wilt. And when you wilt you become waste.

I was sitting here crying into my french fries that burned my tongue and the cool alcohol that soothed it. I feel anguish. I feel pain. I feel the little girl inside me who used to be afraid to use the bathroom in the early morning for fear of being yelled at. I am the girl who didnt understand why her stepbrother would touch her and was confused why no one took it seriously. I am the girl who thinks about going back to her fathers house and when I do I want to throw rocks at it. I want to take it apart and I want to scream at the mulberry tree that witnessed it all. I want to yell at my grandfather, my mother my grandmothers BOTH of them , my father, my step fathersBOTH OF THEM and I want to scream and point and cry to each of them and ask them why. Why did I become so misunderstood. And why am i here now. Why do I have to be the one in therapy, and they get to exist ?

No one worried about me. I went to college and I am kind so there must be no need to worry.

But thats not the point. The point is that I read this poem about finding a someone. A someone who understands who you are completely and a someone who will look at you with understanding and love. I have waited my whole life to find my someone. I was crying last night about the fact i havent found romantic true love yet. and why not? why not me. But I did.

I called a friend last week who was there for me. My friend, my best friends are always there for me. They are my someones.

They remind me of my strength. of my beauty, and my spirit. They lisiten when I need help or a shoulder to cry on. They have stayed. They have faith in my happiness and my life, when I did not believe it. They celebrate me, want to go on trips and concerts with me. They care, even when I am annoying and I didnt recognize how amazing it is that I have three someones when someone might only meet one someone.

And my sad tears became happy. They became really happy. Because they believed in something I couldnt see for so long. A reality of the joy I have always wanted and hoped for. A belief in myself and my character. In my goodness. And I am tearing up because I am so lucky. and so blessed.

I dont know why I felt so inclined to write this. But the truth is the little girl still lives inside of me; heartbroken, scared and afraid. And there is still a lot I need to untangle. But I am almost 24 and I am different than my family. I am kind and I have love. I am trying to change because I hate my family legacy. And I am not going to become it. And I will cry about it again but for right now I am strong even while grieving my past self, while she still resides here. And I am going to remeber that I have three someones who love me. Who choose me andeven though it is not romantically like that I love them. They are my someones and that is what matter.s I never thought i would love or find people who love me. But they do. And it is beautiful. And I will succeed.