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eachdayisasitcomes · 7 years

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february 11 2017

My name is Meghan Rose Lewis. I am a woman, 18 years old, with blonde hair. The ends are lighter than the roots, and my eyes are brown like my father’s. I live in Massachusetts, which at this time of year will freeze your bones if you stay in one place too long. I like to write, I like to get my thoughts down; it helps. Sometimes people call things that are therapeutic for them cathartic. Catharsis can take on many forms. Tonight this is it’s form, on a blog only my eyes have ever seen. On a blog that nags me, a blog that ironically enough was last posted on this day two years ago. There’s something, someone rather, that is paining me- it started two days ago (well in four minutes it’ll be three days ago). And all Ive been able to do is have headaches, and cry, and stay up late, and not be hungry enough to eat, and curse their nae, and curse myself, and hate the very hands that held me and hate the very hands that type this. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry tonight, because what’s the use in crying over someone that doesn’t know you’re crying for them, over them, because you love them. Yes this someone is the same someone i wrote about exactly two years ago today on an extremely happier note. I’m sure I’ll remember this ordeal pretty vividly so I’m not going to explain it. Only for the sake of myself down the line. But, I still need my catharsis and that’s why I’m here.

Except I don’t know what to talk about, I feel so numb. God I hate that word. Numb it rhymes with dumb and it is dumb. Numb. Why would you take such a poetic phrase and squeeze into one dumb word. I’ve lost all feeling, My nerves no longer work, I can’t sense pain.

But wait I can so maybe I’m not numb. No, I am very much alive (a reference to my MCR days back when I was 12 and idolized Gerard Way, who wrote that on his neck at a concert once). I’m alive but it’s almost like it hurts to breath. It’s almost reminds me of running on Attleboro’s turf for my explosion practices in mid March when there was still snow on the ground. You’re coughing, nose running, cramps in your gut seizing your body, throat so dry, heart beating so unbelievably fast. But.

I also feel like I’m standing still. Like I’m in the center of some courtyard and all of the sudden walls, the sides of brick buildings, all four around you just crash. And it seems to go on forever. Like you can follow every single falling brick with your eyes, like you can remember the shapes that the puffs of dusty broken bricks make, just as you used to see shapes in clouds on old days where the sky was blue. Now just imagine those four buildings were your love, your best friend, your trust, and you heart. Fuck this is melodramatic.

I don’t really care though, and I don't feel any better but at least for the past fifteen or so minutes I’ve been distracted.

You know what I wish?

I wish there was a way to see the inside of peoples souls. I know everyone says it’s the heart that stores your love, appreciation, care, basically all your feelings for people you find important to you. And i do use the heart in a metaphorical sense, but I believe every emotion, feeling, sense of being, sense of reality remains in the soul. And that’s why I wish you could see inside of them to see intentions, and to see how someone really truly views you, and what you mean to them, or even how you play into their reality. Maybe that’s why the soul is so elusive, cause it knows that if it gets caught and the person that sees it didn’t like what they saw the soul, or more precisely the person in which the soul lies, will be removed from the soul seer’s life. This is sounding very confusing and science fiction-y and I’m super sorry in advanced. I don’t think there is anyone in my life with a bad soul, I think like any organ or living being it can get sick though, infected. People do shitty things, terrible things in the name of love and those things corrupt a soul and slither in and out like snakes.

I’m hoping that my friend doesn’t ask about the situation I talked about previously. I really don’t want to share, but at the same tie I do. i want to be free of this ordeal. i told myself i wasn’t going to cry but now I’m starting.

When I was nine years old I entered puberty. A disgusting stage of life where your body smells, you face gets this weird thing called acne and you gain weight you didn’t know you gained until seven years later when someone shows you pictures. But yeah i started this stage pretty young in life. And I honestly think thats when my brain chemicals got fucked up and I think that’s when i started to develop depression and insecurities that were sad beyond measure. But the point is these things started almost ten years ago, and in ten years I have gone through two clinical depressions, countless anxiety attacks, three therapists, many refills of Prozac, and a lot of fucking tears. Poor me, right meg? no. this isn’t sympathy, fuck if I wanted sympathy I’d romanticize the shit out of this (crying at night makes me feel like a wilted flower and cue the single tear lol) this is just a time line of my happiness. I don’t think my happiness has been here longer than a year since then. And when i say happiness I mean this secure sense of self, of love, or laughter, of general goodness. Happiness doesn’t mean sadness never comes, no it can show up but its fleeting. It’s like dropping your pencil at school quick, its like shutting the lights off. But no since I was nine i’ve been trying to be happy again. I have been doing my best. I have tried to surround myself with people who support me and shit like tat. But it’s like no matter how close I get it comes crashing down (to seem more on this feeling reread paragraph 4). And i have no one but myself to blame. People may have done things but its ultimately my fault for letting them in close enough to crumble part of me away. I half believe that last sentence, because I do also believe what has recently happened to me, or what i recently found out, I did not deserve it. I want to believe my worth but when people.. what’s the word.. obliterate it, you feel like you’ve been worthless our whole life. Fuck this is so corny. I don’t know self. don't know what I did in a past life, don’t know why i let people get close to me, don’t know why people lie to me, especially a person you loved more deeply than anyone.

I really don’t want to stop typing, this is pretty good.

People do fucked up things, but it’s all in the way they fight for them, or the lack of fighting. I hope my someone believes I’m worth fighting for. and If he doesn’t then should I feel bad? Should I feel like I am too worthless to fight for to unworthy of love? Or should I realize that I am better than what I received? I hope it’s the last one. but I’m afraid I’ll turn on myself and feel worthless and unworthy. Does it make sense to say worthless and unworthy in one sentence?

Well let’s end this on a good note.

I like my middle name. Rose. I think it makes a great first name. I wonder what it means, lemme go check... it says “ Originally a Norman form of a Germanic name, which was composed of the elements hrod "fame" and heid "kind, sort, type". The Normans introduced it to England in the forms Roese and Rohese.” well Meghan (which means pearl in welsh, and possibly brave warrior in celtic or irish, and strong and capable in anglo-saxon) and rose go pretty well together. I don’t think my parents intended on this though. but yeah

My name is Meghan Rose

I am a Pearl, brave, strong, an capable, and a rose so famous, and kind, and I am glad to be myself. And I want to be happy, celebrated, and confident. told myself I wasn’t going to cry. I want to live up to my name.

maybe I’ll be back here soon.

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