If anyone has watched a sunset recently, they’ll notice that this particular event has been occurring later in the day again. I’ve especially noticed this. 

This weekend, although stuck at work, I’ve been feeling the seasonal depression melting away. 

No other yearly event could make me happier. This is because, much like most outdoor creatures, everything comes back to life. 

The bright sun magically lifts my mood. The want to thrive, returns. My constantly wet shoes are proof that the snow is melting as the weather warms up. The ground, which has yet to wake, shows from beneath layers of cold. 

Ice melts from above bodies of water. 

My car is warmed up as it collects sunlight throughout the day.

Rivers fill. 

Plants turn green.

Animals awake. 

A brightness blindly fills the sky. 

Moods are lifted. 

Smiles are written across my face.

I’m feeling brought back to life, as I welcome spring from around the corner.  

The Greatest Song Ever.

I’m sitting in my designated writing spot and opening the Pandora app on my phone when it begins to play “Get Up” by my favorite band, Shinedown. It just so happens that I was thinking of what to write about. Well, this just gave me my answer. With all of the writing that I have been doing recently, I figured it was time to talk about my guys.
In case you don’t know about Shinedown, I’ll lay it out for you. They are a modern rock band that formed back in 2001, which is ironically the year that I was born. There are currently four members which consists of Brent (lead singer and songwriter), Zach (guitarist), Eric (bassist), and Barry (drummer). Brent and Barry are the only original members of the band, but that’s hardly important. In fact, it was shortly after Zach and Eric joined that the band started to change their toxic lifestyle (obviously to something better) and began to gain some popularity.
It was their first album made together (as the current four members) that was really special. Now, I think ALL of their music is amazing. I can’t say that I dislike a single song. I like both the ‘old’ and ‘new’ Shinedown. It was the album, “The Sound of Madness” that holds something truly remarkable in my eyes. They have the songs, “Second Chance”, which is a really heartfelt and popular song about Brent’s will to follow his dreams and others like “If You Only Knew” which was written when Brent found out that he was going to be a father.
But, of all songs that the band has composed, “The Crow and The Butterfly” is my favorite. This song was written from a dream that Brent had while the band was making the album. It is about a mother who loses her child and is learning to cope and eventually move on. What I love in this song is the symbolism, especially of the Crow and the Butterfly. The message is ultimately about life and death. Death, as the Crow, is always chasing life, as the Butterfly. So, in the song, the death of the mother’s son is what keeps holding her back from being free and moving on.
I like to consider myself as a very early fan of Shinedown. I remember “I Dare You” and “Second Chance” the most from early on, this is also thanks to my dad. He always loved rock music. It wasn’t until years later between Spotify and the radio, that I truly discovered them right around the time that their 5th album, “Threat to Survival” came out. For years, I’ve been watching them grow. This includes Youtube. I followed them when they were just shy of 200k followers, and now I see that they have well over a million. Wow. God I’m so proud of them.
I remember the first time that I heard my song, and yes I am referring to “The Crow and The Butterfly”. I sometimes like to think that song was made for me. I’ve personally experienced much loss in my short 19 years of life. Anyways, it quite literally was love at first sight. I was just getting to know more of their music when I came across the music video. I, no joke, was in tears and had chills down my spine when I heard it for the first time. God it was so beautiful. No other song has been able to have that kind of effect on me. It instantly became my favorite song. To this day, I still tend to have the same reaction when I hear it, and its status of favoritism hasn’t changed.
I’ve loved this song, and Shinedown, for years. Long before I even knew it, but especially since my early years of adolescence. It has gotten my through a lot and quite frankly, has saved my life. It has stopped me from making mistakes or doing something stupid. It has pulled me through the lowest points of my life. Most of all, I have also celebrated my happiest times of my life to it. When this song brings tears to my eyes, they are filled with all sorts of emotion, from sad to happy. When I’m feeling down and overwhelmed, it’s like the lullaby that I listen to that brings me back to contentment. When I’m angry, it calms and keeps me grounded. When I’m happy, it moves right with me.
Now, for those who have seen my tattoos, yes, my entire arm holds the meaning of this song. It has the Crow. It has the Butterfly. It also has the dandelions and the chorus and the cover of the very album on it. I’ve asked myself the same question countless times over the years. Yes, I have waited years for this tattoo, in fact, it’s the first one that I ever wanted. They say don’t meet your heroes or you’ll be disappointed. Well. I met them (only 3 of the 4, for good reason), and I certainly wasn’t disappointed. They were so humble and compassionate. I’ve seen them perform more than once and have been impressed every time. I’ve put so much thought into my tattoos, so it wasn’t even close to an impulsive decision. When I sat down and got inked, I knew that I was ready and honored to have these tattoos.
Shinedown has been there when I needed something, anything. When I was, and am, separated from my dad, their music offered the comfort and strength that I needed to keep fighting for him. Brent’s voice and words have, ironically, had the same effect on me as my dad’s words. That’s maybe why I have them on the same arm. They are both optimistic people despite the circumstances that they have had to live through. They have the power to inspire and motivate me to do great things. They both have been my biggest idols in my life.
I could keep going with this because my love for these guys and their music is just endless. Some of it is simply indescribable. But it is three in the morning and I think I’ve made a very clear point. I love Shinedown. I love their music. More than anyone will really know. Now, I know that everyone has their own personal favorites and won’t all say that Shinedown is awesome. And that’s okay. But for tonight, I simply wanted to express my gratitude towards the greatest song ever, by the best band ever, in my book.

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PS. This last picture doesn’t have all of my latest ink, rather it was only used to show the other part of my Shinedown tattoo 🙂


I was never really a social butterfly and this especially counts for highschool. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had my own personal ticks and didn’t hang around the big group of popular kids. In fact, I seemed to have always strived off of being different. 

This post is inspired by my now many tattoos, or in other words, my sleeve in progress. When I started this blog, I only had the one tattoo which was dedicated to my father. My entire arm is almost completely covered now. Since adding more ink to my body, I’ve noticed some things:

  1. I’m more confident within myself. I feel that I can express myself without having to feel like screaming at other people. I personally believe that tattoos are a beautiful way of expressing one’s self. It is also a reminder and reflection of who I truly am. So yes, when I’m old and becoming senile, my tattoos will become wrinkly with me but will tell my story. 
  2. I’ve gotten much support in doing what I love. Mostly everyone that I know has either complimented and/or genuinely expressed excitement for me. Many times I’ve already been asked about what my next tattoo plans are.
  3. A certain few have proved to me that part of society still kinda sucks. I’ve been asked,”Why would you cover your arm in that?” or “You won’t even be able to see what the tattoo says.” (In regards to the lettering in my tattoos.) A couple has already told me that I’m going to Hell.  Not to be stereotypical, but these people have generally been older and without tattoos. I’d assume that they go to church on Sundays. I’m not personally religious. 

When thinking about myself now, as compared to just a couple of years ago, I’d have to say that I’m proud. See, what those people don’t know is that I was just born to have tattoos. Both of my parents have tattoos as does many more in my family. I waited years for these tattoos. To put this in a cheesy manner, they have already saved my life. 

This brings me to my next point. If I had just gotten out of high school, I’d be too afraid to have this much ink because of what other people might think. During those miserable adolescent years, I was afraid to be myself. I was afraid to wear certain clothes, speak at certain times, and ultimately: self expression. I was more worried about people respecting and accepting me rather than focusing on my own happiness. In the end, I got neither in those years. 

Now, I do understand that my personality and mental disorders play a role in all of this. Yes, I am clinically diagnosed to be obsessive at times or that I unintentionally pick at my own skin. I get triggered by the past very easily and I’m super depressed for half of the year. It certainly has taken much time and effort to manage these things, but it’s a part of who I am. Rather than calling things obsessive, I like to think of it as passionately interested. Yes I carry a pair of nail clippers around with me to control the skin picking. I do not hold things in when something is bugging me, even if it was something that happened over a decade ago. When the temperature is the coldest, and I’m at my lowest, I turn to things I love, such as writing. 

I’ve been self conscious of my mental health many times in the past but I refuse to let that bring me down. Unfortunately, what most people don’t realize, is that even though I have to live with these disorders for the rest of my life, it doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a person. In fact, I think it’s entirely the opposite way around. These sorts of things make people similar to me very unique. We all have our own strengths (disorders or not). It’s the socially awkward kids that write best selling novels and the science nerds that become doctors who find cures and the band geeks that later play for thousands while upstage.

From my current understanding, it’s the small minds that I was afraid of. They are constantly there and watching your every move like there’s no escape from it. It’s like they are too fixated on you, rather than their own business. I used to be afraid of not being respected and/or accepted by small minds. I don’t think I’ve seen too many of those kinds of people doing great and outstanding things.

I might have not been to every highschool party or kept up with the most popular or newest clothing trends, but I know that despite how hard some of those times have been, I never lost myself. In fact, I have about 19, almost 20, years worth of shit to write about that has been bottled up for so long.

If you don’t believe me, then let me tell you this. As a kid, instead of playing tag (most days) on the playground after school, I would collect notebooks and write (and illustrate) my own short stories. In middle school, I would download writing apps that would allow me to compose my own book, right off of my ipad. I would also write many letters to my father during that time. In highschool, I used writing as a coping method and outlet. Since then, it has become my ultimate passion.

In conclusion, I’m proud of myself for overcoming my fear of judgement and getting tattooed. Or starting my blog. Or talking about my mental health. So on and so forth. I’m not here to dis anyone rather than to support whoever needs that extra kick to get up and do something they love. Small minds will always be there anyways, so why not paint that picture or sing that song? For me, writing is right where it’s at. So I am planning for one hell of a story. If it weren’t for my fear of judgement, I would’ve opened up with my passions many moons ago. 

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How low does rock bottom really go?

After totaling my beautiful truck and almost loosing my life last month, I would say that I’m at rock bottom. This isn’t even the tip of the ice berg. I had to fix my car’s tranny, do online schooling during the middle of a pandemic, got deathly ill from the very infamous virus, lost someone close to me, custody battles, hip injections that go terribly wrong, and then crashing my truck. A few weeks later, I also got a letter saying that I was kicked out of school, and able to reapply after some time. This doesn’t even begin to count for the debt I’m facing.

That is really the majority of it in a nutshell. After crashing the truck, I was miserable for the first week afterwards. I wished I was dead. To make things complicated, one of my friends becomes a new love interest which therefore distracts me. Unfortunately this very particular person has their own shit to work through.

Fast-forwarding to now, a month or so later, it turns out that this newly-found love interest isn’t exactly in the books at the moment. I’m left with these feelings of dread all over again. Lesson learned, ignoring or running away from your problems don’t make them go away.

A little heartbreak doesn’t exactly help the situation either.

Now, I haven’t exactly been able to sleep well since my crash. Everyday I feel like a walking zombie from just experiencing repeated nightmares the night, or I really should say early morning, before. It is constant torture. As someone with PTSD, I DO NOT handle trauma and extreme stress well. Might I add that my insurance doesn’t cover counseling, so that’s on standby.. I’m constantly waking up and feeling the suddenly brunt impact all over again. Or how terrified I was of the entire thing blowing up while being wedged underneath the overpass. I won’t even mention how truly terrible my driving has been, other than the fact that I shouldn’t be driving at all. Frankly, I don’t have a choice. Sometimes I really feel like I should’ve died on December 5th, 2020.

As I lay on my side in the bathtub, under a warm shower, tonight I am staring at a watery reflection yet again. There’s something about all of your life’s problems coming to mind while bathing that I don’t get. But it feels nice. It’s a peaceful moment in all of the chaos that we live in. There’s nothing else but you, your thoughts, and the warm water enveloping you.about:blankREPORT THIS AD

Of course my mind goes to the latest drama, which are the wonderful memories shared with this certain person, who had the power to (temporarily) take some of my pain away. I wonder, what the actual fuck? What the hell happened? To those memories, or to my life? How did I get this fucking low so early in life?

Not only do I feel like I should have normal working hip joints and a truck that still exists, but also having a normal college experience. What fucking world we live in. Jesus.

I know I can’t be the only one sick of this shit.

Anyways, as I sit here thinking, I’m wondering how far down rock bottom really goes. You’d think that it gets a little bit lower every time you visit (because that’s why it’s called bottom, right?). When someone gets so low in their life, that’s usually when they turn to something to ultimately numb the pain. It doesn’t surprise me why there are so many people out there who struggle with sobriety.

I’ve been 100% sober, in all substances (alcohol, weed, drugs, etc.) my entire life. Yes, I’m proud of it, but that’s honestly because I’ve been too damn traumatized to even think about wanting to touch any of it. So I live with the stress and the pain.

I’m afraid of how much lower my own rock bottom will go. Mind you, I have untreated PTSD at the moment. It’s scary. That’s why I’m writing about all of this, it helps me cope and my hope is that it will impact someone else, too, and in a positive way.

But I haven’t been wearing my seatbelt in the thoughts that if I do happen to crash again, that will be it for me. I really can’t handle anymore. This doesn’t mean that I’m deliberately getting into my car to drive recklessly. I haven’t been able to sleep decently in ages. I stopped eating regularly and actually it’s just enough to get me through work and the day without passing out. I’ve thought about self harm again, but no action has been made. I constantly think of death. Such a dark place..

I’m told it will get better, but I’m sure that it will get worse before that happens. I just don’t know how much more I can take. I’m trying to stay strong, I really am. I know that this isn’t me. I want to be there for my family. My little brother, Stinker. I want to see my dad again. I want to line dance again.about:blankREPORT THIS AD

Personally, I think we all need to stop living in fear.

For a while, it feels like I’ve been drowning. I need a breath of real and fresh air, especially without some stupid mask.

My hope is that despite how dark rock bottom is, that the light at the end of the tunnel really is what it will be like when I finally come back up to the surface.

I miss you Kim, but it turns out that I won’t be seeing you up there quite yet. Someday though, when it’s time. I love you.

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

The ink under my skin gives off an extra sensitive sensation whenever I brush my fingers down and around the tattoo. This is the first cold season with the black, gray, and red colors on my arm. Or really any color.

After my nightly showers I’d rub lotion deeply into my skin in hopes of keeping it moisturized until this same time the next day. Without the summer humidity, my skin is slightly more dried out when I wake up in the morning. Throughout the day the small burgundy hearts and black words would itch at me to no end. I usually can’t help but to scratch. I’d gently glide the opposite side of my nails against the inked skin to ensure I avoid breaking it open.

As a tick throughout the stresses of everyday, I often find myself caressing the new tattoo as a self soothing method, much like rocking back and forth in one’s chair. Whenever I need a reminder of what’s really important, I just have to look down.

The words, {“Take your time, sweetheart.” – Love Dad} are surrounded by a light gray and dotted infinity sign and a couple of hearts on the bottom corners of the tat on my left forearm.

Without being my original idea of a first tattoo, I made a fairly quick decision to get inked just a couple of days after father’s day. After being just over 100 days separated from my dad, thanks to a global pandemic, I really had time to appreciate what was so suddenly taken away from me. I miss my dad dearly and am waiting for the day to walk up and hug him again.

“Take your time.” is one of my dad’s more recent sayings that he’d relay to me during any of our many and weekly visits. His only opportunity of doing so nowadays are through a phone call. Whether I’d be really determined or motivated to achieve greatness to even trying to get out of bed at earlier times during the day, my dad would always tell me this. I didn’t truly realize the meaning of it until after being away from him for so long. It reminds me to live in the moment. These words have guided me through things as difficult as anxiety attacks and depressive episodes.

“-Love Dad” represents the letters sent to each other throughout the years. At times in my short life, this was our only way of communicating. Writing to my dad, whether directly or indirectly, has always allowed me to express anything that may have been on my mind.

“Sweetheart.” is my dad’s name for me. Throughout childhood he would most often times address me by that name. I leave that privilege only to my dad.

I was immediately in love with my decision after being tattooed. The words speak to me even without being able to see my dad. This tattoo offers me comfort and insight to the things that are happening around me in this crazy world. It represents my love for my dad and the importance to hold onto what really matters, and to me, that is the ones you love.

I am currently still keeping the tattoo a surprise for my dad. I will not tell him about it until I can personally show him, when I can hug him again.

It has been 220 days since being separated from my father that I love so dearly.

I love and miss you dearly, dad.

The day I got my first tattoo:


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Walking Away

Tis the time of year where things go cold and dark. The wind freezes your face the second you walk outside of the house. Death surrounds you, whether it’s the celebration of Halloween or the falling of leaves, in which transforms the trees into a skeletal bareness. The sun sets before you have a real chance to spend quality time outside while the brightness of it deceives you into thinking that the day will bring warmth.

For me, this is the season of grief and withdrawal. I could almost pinpoint down to the week where my Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) will hit. For a good six months, from the end of September to the end of March give or take, I am stuck in this slump of depression and fatigue.

Everyday I wake up tired and drained, not to mention dreading the time counting down until I have to go to work, where I expend the little bit of energy I have stored within me. I stay up and wake up later everyday. The mid of night suddenly becomes the enemy as my mornings of precious sunlight are stripped away from me. Going to bed early for me would mean staying up and staring at the ceiling, leaving me sleepless anyways. My dreams become more vivid and aggressive. Hunger rarely strikes me, and when it does, I turn to comfort foods, only to feel worse about myself later on. I question the meaning of existence daily.

Worst of all, I am not me. My normally passionate optimism turns to an almost-apathetic negativity. My computer more often sits quietly and visits to the gym become a more rare occurrence. My focus shifts to riding out the seasons until the world blooms again.

Mood swings take over my patience and kindness towards others. It’s like there’s this other force that is suppressing my true self for half of the entire year. Six out of twelve months. I only really feel like I can enjoy myself and who I am for half of my time on this Earth. My true self is only a little and weak voice replaying in my mind.

“This isn’t you.”

“You don’t have to hurt others.”

“You can get through this suffering.”

“You know that you can change this..”

“I’m sorry.”

Then the temporary evil voice takes over with so much more force that it entirely takes over my conscience. My mind constantly feels like it is drowning, with me only coming up for air for seconds before another monstrous wave of negativity fills my head again.

“You aren’t good enough.”

“They are stupid and terrible people.”

“You can’t trust anyone, not even your closest loved ones.”

“You’ll never be successful.”

“You’ll always suffer.”

“No one will love you.”

Eventually these thoughts begin to manipulate my exhausted feelings which transform into anger and more pain. Sometimes it’s like breaking my own heart. My aching heart, mind and soul become helpless and hopeless. I almost unintentionally push people away as if my disorder is feeding itself. Fire feeding fire.

One thing I’ve learned from this disorder is that the worst thing you can do to yourself in this vulnerable state is to constantly be alone. That is when the worst of the worst thoughts come about, when that fire feeds into itself. Although easier said than done, there has been one person that has helped me prove that it is okay to not be okay, even when one can’t let others in.

“Twan, I’m really sorry for what I said earlier, I really didn’t mean it.” I say to my best friend while on the phone one night.

“It’s okay Jaz, I know you didn’t. I understand.”

“I gotta be honest with you. Just like most other people in my life, I’m just waiting for the day that you walk out on me and that be that.” I mumble.

“I wouldn’t walk out on you. You’re too awesome to leave. You’re kind of stuck with my ass.” he replies.

I laugh, “Thanks Twan.”

“You’re welcome Jaz. To be honest, I was afraid of you walking out on me. No one has really dealt with my ass for as long in the way that you have.” Anthony adds.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I keep coming back.” I joke as we both laugh “I guess I just like giving you shit a bit too much. But no, seriously Twan, I’m surprised we’re even friends still. I still don’t know how you aren’t tired of me yet.”

“I wouldn’t get tired of you but yeah, me too. That’s okay. I think we have a pretty good friendship.”

“You think so? Even when I’m like this?” I ask, referring to my current struggles with SAD.

“Yes, even when you’re like that. Like, fuck I hate seeing you like this but I wouldn’t abandon you to let you suffer alone.” he replies confidently.

“Awe, thanks Twan. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem Jaz.”

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The Great Crash.

The abnormally warm autumn day went by so slow that the work day never seemed to end. I rush home after the dreadful closing shift to complete my homework for the night. My homework is an overwhelmingly large workload for the night so I get straight to work in hopes of having time to get online to play games with my friends. The internet is slow. The service and spotty. Nothing seemed to work right. My frustration begins to build as I attempt to push through. Eventually my patience is cut short and I join in on the game without finishing my work.

The game didn’t go as planned and my best friend kills my once somewhat neutral mood to outright destructive and angry. I attempt to finish my work. The due date is closing in and I can’t seem to type my answers fast enough. The internet still won’t work. Nothing was saving or uploading like it was supposed to! At this point, I’m frantic as this is my last straw to finish my assignments before giving up. Luckily I work all the way through the due date, only to have some of the assignments turned in.

This feeling is all too familiar. A set of events occur and I mishandle them to the point of being overwhelmed until it becomes disastrous and I stop caring.

My mind is put into autopilot mode, or as I like to call, initiate zombified human. There is a heavy fog that constantly surrounds me with the weight of a boulder on top of me. Twice as much mental effort is put into doing the simple activities of daily living. The negative thoughts and feelings begin to invade my conscience.

“This always happens every year.”

“You’re stuck in this never ending cycle of suffering”

“You can feel sorry for yourself so that you can beat yourself up for it.”

“You’re a fuck up.”

The thoughts stops me in my tracks and trap me. My next instinct is to run. I need to get away from the negativity and clear my head so I run to the car for a drive. I plug in music that I know only hurts my fragile mental state but continue on anyways.

I can feel the old wounds being opened up like a band aid being pulled off a fresh and open wound. I think of all the traumatic and regretful events throughout my life.

I begin to hate myself for not being perfect so I think about punishing myself. I feel like starving my poor body, running my own car into a building, slicing my skin open, screaming, but worst of all, sleeping. I never take it upon myself to do anything so terrible, given that I am alive and writing this post, have healthily glowing skin, and am more physically fit than I’ve ever been. Instead, warm tears trickle down my tired and sunken face. My skin is warm and sweaty. An unearthly sound escapes my chest as the pain of the past returns to my mind.

My dad is being taken away from me again. His face is swollen and bloody again. His hands are in cuffs again. I’m failing myself in school again. He comes to mind. He is with me again. He is dancing and singing with me again. He is hugging me through the worst of the pain again. My mind returns to the present. Then I realize that he is gone again. He. Does. Not. Exist. Anymore.

He is gone.

My dad is away.

Why am I here?

The thoughts swarm in my mind like a growing hurricane that is ready for destruction.

At my lowest, I think of my dad’s smiling face. His smiling face. My mom’s laughter. Driving my car to my favorite song. Playing games with my friends. My two gorgeous kitties playing. My little brothers whom I love with all my heart. My love for writing. My opportunities of school. My quiet love for others.

This stops me from taking detrimental action, every time.

My body is stiff and shaky as the parked car idles. My mind is at the low point of exhaustion. Tears after tears have fallen as the remains of the episode dwindle. My breathing is shaky and hands clammy. I put the car in drive and head home in a state of undead.

My heart beats but my mind infected with the darkness. It quite literally is as if I’ve been zombified.

This is the state that I tend to look forward to for the next six months or so, for the last seven years at the least.

Tonight was me ‘crashing’ into my cycle of yearly depression, or Seasonal Affective Disorder to put it more professionally. It is a kind of depression that hits at the same of of the year which is often characterized with feeling depressed all day and most days, losing interests, having low energy, problems sleeping, apatite and weight changes, agitation, struggle focusing, feeling hopeless, worthless and guilty, and having frequent thoughts of death or suicide.

This is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone or any soul. It is a special kind of suffering that is hard to break. It is a constant fight within your mind. You don’t feel like yourself during the time of darkness. For me, I suffer for about 6 months. This means that I don’t get to be my true self for half the year.

I still go to school, work, and see family and friends. The struggle is what catches up every once in a while.

With is, I know that I’m not alone.

For anyone reading this, when at your lowest points, think of the things you love, and be grateful. To not be here would prevent you from enjoying those enjoyments.

Just. One. Song.

That’s all it takes for the thought of you to cross my mind once again. The first thing I see is your face. My favorite part of you were your dark, yet bright, eyes that always won my heart over. Your warm smile was always able to bring joy to even a crowded room. One look from you was always felt like a shot of lightning. Sometimes it’s like I’d be a deer in headlights. As the song progresses, the sweet memories of long ago replay in my mind. The thought of all those yesterdays saddens me when I’m reminded of the present. Those memories are memories for a reason. The past is the past.

When the song ends, my curiosity overcomes me and I jump on social media. You’ve moved on with your life just fine. You even had another ‘special someone’ but that doesn’t stop me from feeling. I am only human. You and her are long over now but I can still see your happy faces together.

I used to be so mad and jealous seeing you having something special as if we never existed. To really love someone is so rare and to lack that reciprocation is quite painful. I had to do what was best for me. We were over long before it really was. As I ponder through all this time since you’ve been a part of my life, I finally feel free at this point in time. The pain isn’t there anymore, or like it used to be. The dwelling and crying is absent in the bittersweet moments. I’m at peace with you now.

I still think of you often, and when a certain song comes on the radio, sometimes it takes me back. But I’m done living in the past. I have better things going for me now. I’m slowly but surely learning to really love myself now, so that I am ready for that reciprocation when the time comes.

To see you and not feel that pain, regret, or distress is next to the greatest blessing you can offer me. In return, I wish you the best, truly.

For those who have lost a significant other, parent, child, relative, friend, etc. from any extent.

“One of the hardest things that a person can survive is the acceptance of a lost loved one. To live afterwards is a sign of strength within humanity.” JW