Documentation/Searching

So, I finally received the full incident report from my SA in East Lansing.  And there were fifty two pages of it.  Fifty two pages of so many moments I had tried so desperately to forget.

Speaking of wanting to forget.  Here is what happened today . . .
----

I panicked, sitting inside the room with my therapist.  I panicked as she read over my full incident report of my SA.  I had a PDF copy of it on my phone.  I told her it was okay, because I trust her.  But still during those moments I felt so disgusting.  I know the ELPD has read the forms, and many other people might know about it as well (due to police officers talking about cases).  But somehow sitting there in the same room with someone reading over the details of a night I have never been able to forget or get over, was truly unbearable.  I tried my hardest to sit there and not focus on which details she was reading.  I focused on my feet, and even then I couldn't stop shaking.  I eventually had to briefly leave the room, and try and regroup.

When I returned I was still in the most bizarre head space.  I could not even look up at her.  As she spoke to me, I stayed focused on my feet, and drew outlines on my wrist and FitBit with my fingers, all while trying to push back the tears coming down my face.  I don't like to show emotion. 

The last few days have had that type of intensity.  I have read over the entire fifty two pages.  Over and over again, just trying to find out what I did wrong to have that happen.  And why I was so trusting of people I did not know.  I'm still trying to correct my naivety. 

My therapist told me to print the forms, and then delete the files from my phone, so that I was not tempted to constantly look them over.  She also told me to take the printed forms and put them in an envelope out of site, and locked away.  I just printed them out, but don't know if I can fully delete the files from my phone, nor just lock away the printed copy.  I'll try.  I just know that so far, today, I'm still looking for answers. 

(Just trying) Keep fighting!

Just Trying

There were times where I sat right in front

In a class of as little as 30

To a class of more than 600

I sat in front, because I wanted an access to run 

If I needed to, I wanted a clear space

There were moments I knew the answers

But still said nothing 

I didn’t speak, and you noticed 

Nothing came of it

I carefully, yet forcefully trekked building to building 

Stone faced, and blaring earbuds 

I was tuning out my surroundings 

Trying to not be seen 

Not wanting to look up

Not wanting to say 

A voice not wanted, and I knew it

Never truly understanding what to say

I was silent 

Scared of what would happen if I tried

I didn’t, and you noticed 

Timid, but bashfully trying to overcompensate 

Just trying 

****************

Keep fighting

Every day I run

I run to see how far I can go

How much I can endure

How long it’ll take me to stop and catch my breath 

Ending a race that never had a start date

A continuation that will never die

I run to run out of air 

To fill my lungs to capacity 

Shatter my chest from the frigid wind that pushes towards me 

I run

I can’t stop

If I do I won’t restart 

I won’t try again 

I need to shove my thoughts down

Under my doubts of being

I run from doubt

I run towards my own second guessing 

I can’t stop running 

If I do I wont see the end

I’ll run forever hoping for a lighter path 

A safer ending 

But I can’t stop

Quick change

I smiled yesterday.
Laughed, talked, joked around,
was happy.
And then I tried to go to sleep, but heard you.
I smelled you.
This awful, putrid, and manly stench.
I couldn't get rid of it.
And I tried.

I tried to hold my breath,
but my tears kept making me gasp for air.
I tried to cover my mouth,
but panic only echoed through my fingers.
Yesterday I was happy.
Now, I can't sleep.

Imagine/Answers

Where do you runnaway to, when there is no way to get there?
How do you justify moments when being with someone, makes you feel more alone then when you're alone?
When can you determine enough is enough? And that it's time to snap out of it?
How can you smile, showing the most pleasure pleasing, gratifying greeting, when you are screaming inside?
And do you even remember that sound?  The scream -- one held in for so long, like your voice, it trembles, as it fights to be heard.
Where does fight or flight kick in to just living?
When can a group of people laughing, not feel like distant chatter, thrusted into your space?
And why is it calm at night, when no one is around, that you feel safe and heard?

Does closeness mean happiness? Because by standards, if it does, then you are one miserable human being.
Does inner turmoil mean you aren't normal?  Or that you are insane?
Because if it does, why would that be okay to show?

Have you ever imagined peace, serenity, adoration, and a slow hug that actually gave comfort instead of cringing?

Or a white space, filled with cool rain, and penetrating sun rays -- holding you ever so close, but not infringing on your beating heart?

Why is falling so freeing? But standing still cuts?  Though every moment changes.
It creates displacement -- uncertainty -- numbness, yet bouts of life.

Your life. Have you lived? Do you even want to?  Or would it even matter, if your split decision changed after permanently deciding?

Have you loved?  Can you even?  How could you, when you can't find the attraction within?  When your own feeling makes you palpitate, do you hold your breath, close your eyes, and wait?

Wait for life to change, or for your mind to say it's okay?

It's okay to not know.  To not know the answers.  To not know why you're even feeling bombarded.  Or why no one seems to know.  It's okay to hold onto your heart.  To yourself.  Even if there are broken pieces.  Hold onto them.  To yourself.

Love. Even when you feel no one can or will love you.  Love.  Love your fight.  Love your light, even while dimming.  Love yourself.

T minus June 30, 2008, but now

T minus June 30, 2008, but now

The war was isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trapped my tears inside, where I left my screams to hide
I walked, talked, and dreamed of a way out
That same year, I tried for my way out

Nothing came, but a day of pain
And yet, I couldn't remember the names
Faces so mashed, but a taste so potent
The fact that I hadn't yet awoken
Blurred movements, intertwined with clarity

I tried, and yet failed
Something stopped
So much so, my perfectionism hadn't lead me to the drop
Dark is where I was
I was one with the blurred moments

There was forced understanding
Blaming, and second guessing
Focus on strategic placements
And loathing for my staying
One sticky eyelid drop, sleep would make it all stop

But it never did

There still lies a war with isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trap my tears inside, where I leave all my screams and hide
I walk, talk, and dream of a way out
This eighth year, I didn't try for my way out

I constantly wish for clarity
Although photos wouldn't help me
Feeling, it's what removes me
Back to memories, moments and movements, where I don't want to be
One day I'll see, where I can walk, talk and dream of a peace with me

Patterned Fascades

There's so much going on these days.  And yet there's so much to get done.  You'd think that with all this time left from getting rid of a job that wasn't building my future, but basically killing my lungs, I'd have at least written a few promising destruction stories or at least some emo driven sounding anthems to pass the time.  Given only a few weeks have passed since leaving my last job, which I totally worked for one year -- it stems the reason I should be celebrating the passing of those long, 60+ work hours and enjoying some respected freedom, I have been lethargic to be blunt.  And the only amount of time I've been able to subject myself to writing, has been "Happy Birthday" Facebook posts to people I haven't spoken to in quite some time.  Not that I hadn't wanted to reach out to them, but I've been "busy."  Truly busy -- trying not to jump from imaginary ledges, daily, which you can see can distract you from social media fascination.

I've patterned myself, now, to becoming more so what I had envisioned before.  You know?  When I was on a path towards doing something great with my life.  Before I had to buckle down and latch onto a job with benefits, in order to join the adult world of graduated persons.  The world where bills build up so high, you cannot see the dreams that you once gravitated towards.  I had to sell out and take a job that I knew would not build my resume the way I wanted, but just add another few lines of experience.  I worked another job, and eventually grew so tired I didn't have any time left to devote to writing.  No  time for passion.  No time for relaxation.  No time to do what I initially went to school for years and years to do.  And those same years where I grew financial aid debt and knew I'd have to pay back . . . Interesting how you go through debt to study in a field where after graduation it becomes increasingly difficult to live normally in the "real world," and you inherently turn to other realms of work in order to pay back those same loans.  But I still wouldn't trade those years of university for anything.  I know it takes many years to pay back those loans.  More years than it took me to get through schooling -- from pre-K through Graduate school.

But, today starts a new day.  A new adventure if you will.  A time to go back to what really matters.  What mattered all the time, and yet I was too scared to fail that I went and reached for something that didn't give me any happiness.  Only disdain toward my own self.  I reject the pass jobs that never helped me build as an artist.   I long for the purpose, again.  And I begin anew.  I long for more stories.  Not just out of frustration.  But because there's no other way, but to write.  I long for reaching my goals and dreams.  I long for not wanting to leap from ledges in order to find peace . . . I long for becoming who I know I'm suppose to be.  And I need not to just long, but instead go after what I want.

Though it's frightening to jump without knowledge of how you might land.  It's even more scary to continue on a path of uncertainty in something that slowly and constantly takes from you.  Leaving you with nothing left.

It took a year to break the walls of artistic imprisonment, but now that I'm free -- I'm not going back.  I'm branching into a direction that will take guts, courage and lots of alcohol (just a little writers humor -- I'm straight edge, dudes).  I'm going after my own life and career, without a safety net.  Standing on the edge and waiting to catch the wind to carry me over.  But gladly approaching uncertainty and pushing with my heart this time.  And not my school debt.

How far (Holding on to something that isn't there)

Questions seem to be what continue running through your head whenever you're trying to escape.  Escape the fact you have NO answers to them.

Why is it that when you close your eyes, in attempt to concentrate on change, nothing does?  And when you open those same eyes, everything is passing?  Except your own thoughts.

****************************                                  ****************************

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you could not swim?

How fast would you tread
Knowing the waves would not stop pushing?

Would that even matter?
If the place you wanted to go was below?

Underneath the surface of your own
Being?  Trapped, screaming with inflamed lungs

Witnessing no panic
But glimmering eyes of passed sadness

Could you take in every bit of your hoped for life?
 As you sensed the frigid shock of water crashing?

Stop in mid shiver to wonder about the deep?
Forget ALL and greet the unknown?

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you never needed to swim?

Just fall and let go
Of everything that weighed you down, above

Open your eyes, heart and lungs to
A world with NO plagued memories

Just a clean path
Far beneath the surface

Glue

It's another Friday, and I'm sitting inside my room.  Nice weather.  It's mid afternoon.  And the blinds remain closed.  I want to travel outside, and feel the air.  But instead, I sit here, beside my three fans.  And let the modified breeze take over.  I don't think of things to do -- fun, exciting, young adult, or 20 something things to do -- because that's just not who I am.  Although, I could be wrong.  I could be that person, wanting to dance the night away.  Going for a drink in a sports bar, while cheering on my favorite team.  I don't know . . . I never really knew, because I let myself stay in too much.  I've become accustomed to taking chances, professionally, and educationally -- more so than personally.  Not that I think of myself as afraid to try.  Just afraid of failure.  And what's to be afraid of, anyway?  

Each day continues to play out the same way.  And I'm drained each morning, thinking of the never changing cycle.  At times though, my focus changes, but not on the positive.  Not on going out and trying something new.  No, instead, my focus switches to daydreaming about a new life.  A new journey.  One that's not on this earth.  You see, I can force myself to think ahead -- way  ahead -- as if nothing matters.  But that's only when EVERYTHING matters.  And when everything is drowning me.  

I'm stuck.  I'm at the point in my life where either I should be out exploring (especially in the city I live in), and having fun.  But I can't.  I don't know why.  I don't understand how I can feel the need for a change, but just can't do it.  

I work hard.  I stay focused.  Big deal -- most people do.  And I put extreme amounts of perfectionist pressure on myself.  Big deal -- again, most people do.  I've had the same mentality of never feeling good enough, ever since I was young.  That, I know, will never go away.  So, I push it aside, not thinking about it, and stay focused.  I continue working hard, never letting myself think of what I could be doing.

And then I take a break -- because someone says, "relax, you've been working too hard.  You need sleep, or to just get away from what you're doing for a little while.  Then go back to it."  So I take their advice, and breathe.  But that's when I feel my throat closing.  When I feel I'm losing control.  Each time I take a break, I'm never really relaxed.  I remain focused on what still hasn't been done.  What needs to be accomplished.  What I haven't gotten right.  And what I know I messed up on.  I can't take the break.

The only break, which comes from me, hyperventilating, is what sends me to cringe.  I break.  This isn't something new.  Or fascinating.  Most people reach their boiling point.  And I do the same.  I control it, to the point nobody knows.  So that I can't make them worry.  You see, I worry about other people reacting to what I'm doing.  

Perfectionist.  That's me.  Always wanting the best -- especially for others.  And when I feel pressure piling up, I hide it.  "No worries," I tell people, who ask how I'm doing.  "Everything's great," I push out of my typing, to those who send me a message to check in.  I don't like speaking on what I'm going through.  Unless it's positive.  Not that I don't think people would want to know, and help.  But, I've always found it difficult to ask for that.  To proclaim I cannot do something.  That I'm not adequate enough.  Even when I do think that, most times -- I can't say it to someone else.  

And as the time continues to change, I continue to sit.  In the same spot I was when I woke up.  I'm taking a break.  A mental break.  And one I'm too familiar with, which breaks me even more.  

It's not every day.  But most days, when I feel drained.  Yet I keep going.  But in the back of my mind, I know I want to stop.  Stop it all.  So, I pretend (to myself) I'm alright.  My self knows better, but it goes with it, anyhow.  On those days, when all I can see is taking another route -- a one way journey, I force myself to continue.  

I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up.  But for now, I'm still trying.  And although my mind drifts back and forth, between being up and down, I remain upbeat for those I love.  Even when at times, I can't feel the same towards myself.  I'm stuck.  Wanting to get away from it all, on most days.  And feeling nothing, on others.  

I'll take this break, and then I'll get back to being focused.  I need this break, and yet when I'm on it, I'm not really.  But, I'll try and keep going.  I'll try, because I know I'm working towards something I want.  And the perfectionist side of me, won't stop until I make it.  So, I have to make it.  I have to force myself to NOT break.  

Because if I do, I'll never get to feel the real breeze.   

Words in Time . . .

"Look Away"

Look Away, is a poem that I wrote. It was written to the one person that I have most struggled to accept and love: Myself. I have yet to come to full terms with doing this (love). Even at this moment I'm going back and forth with why I should even care to do so. It's not a cry for help, it's a confession.  At times I feel as if my feelings seem to only serve purpose when I write them out in poetic or musical form.  At least that's my thought.  

These moments of cluttered frustration and questioning often appear in my mind.  Some days they aren't as extreme as the day before.  Other days they are bitterly constant.  But, hey, it's just life . . .  My life -- which I'm learning to discuss -- by just living for today.  Each day is different, but I am still here.  Even when I don't want to be -- I am still here.  And there has to be a reason.   *So, enjoy my words.  Take them in. *


LOOK AWAY

I won't leave, in front of you - I'll wait for you to turn around.

Is this the day I say goodbye?
Is this the day I leave it all behind?
Is this the day I refuse to cry?
Is this the day I cut so deep, my arm runs dry?


Is this the last step in recovering?
Is this forcing my own self help?
Is this the only way out?
Is this my final regret?

Is it okay to go?
Is it okay to smile, knowing I'm making you sad?
Is it okay to leave this way?
Is it okay to step outside, leaving you hidden, behind the tears?

Why does my mind hate me?
Why does feeling happy hurt me?
Why does the placement of shock, not shock me?
Why does holding on, hurt?

Do I scream too loudly?
Do I forget to say I Love You?
Do I occasionally switch perceptions - feel I don't deserve happiness, yet force myself to find it?
Do I force myself to withhold my own breath - secretly hoping I'd phase out . . . Disappear?

Can you let me go?
Can you let me deal?
Can you break away and let me float off?
Can you not hate me, for FINALLY giving up?

~Kyra Renee' Clay

Music can speak truth . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1sa9qeV6T0o

March IS Madness

Betting on NCAA Tournament futures reflects wide-open college basketball season


Even I get carried away during March.  And no, I'm not Irish, so it's not because of St. Patrick's Day.  It's possibly the cause of going to and graduating from a Big Ten university -- Yes, March Madness is major for me. I've never bet actual money, but I do enjoy the occasional bracket(s). And after reading a post from the above site, I now can sit back and watch as the "betters" go wild trying to decide which school they want to place money on.  Not that I'm opposed to gambling, but I do know that with all the money that comes from Vegas and other places, in regards to lotteries and other bets, education could be better funded.  Just thinking of the cross contamination of education and gambling, makes me turn my focus onto Michigan -- being that I'm originally from here and grew up here as well.

It makes me think of the state of Michigan and how the Michigan Lottery claims they give a portion of the funds to education in its state (http://michigan.gov/lottery/0,1607,7-110-888-3454--,00.html).  Maybe it's a lie.  Or, maybe they do.    And if that is the case (some truth), why not just give money to the schools firsthand?

Geez I've gone from a light post about basketball, right back into a much needed post about political mishaps.  Let me go back to what I started with.  And don't worry, I'll resume the other  topic relatively soon.

March Madness -- It's great to relax and be with friends who either cheer for your favorite team and/or Alma mater, or even friends that have another team to root for.  Competition is key!  This month = extreme basketball. It's almost humorous how in March, most people concentrate on college hoops than their beloved pro teams. But that doesn't really matter. All that means anything for March Madness -- for me anyway -- is your loyalty to a team. When comprising a bracket, many of us choose to make our favorite team to win the title. Even if they don't stand a chance (in the standings), we still pick them. But I was happy to see that in the NCAA tourney link, they were strongly going with my team -- MSU.  Not that their opinion would make me revise my bracket, but still, it's March and the more people that side with your favorite team -- that makes each game even more exciting.  So my bracket stands, the same as it has for the past few years -- even if each teams rankings/standings continue to flop, my number #1 team will ALWAYS be the Michigan State University Spartans!

     

                                                                Go Green!

                                                                Go White!

                                                                Go State! 

*Photos from Bing and MSU Website*

Time Passes (Dear Mariska Hargitay)

This letter was written almost 2 years ago, but took longer to compose.  It was sent to Mariska, and until now, it has never been seen anywhere else.  This is yet another look into what makes me, me.  And the stories NEVER told.  *Picture was taken between years of memory and loss.  It was added later*

Dear Mariska Hargitay,

I am writing this letter to express how much I admire your support to the causes in today’s world, that touch so many lives.  From your Philanthropies to charities and your ability to portray such a convincing character as Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order:  SVU, you always show such authority, conviction and truth to every facet that you tend to.

My name is Kyra.  I am 23 and a Senior at Michigan State University, majoring in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing.  I am also President of Sigma Alpha Iota International Music Fraternity’s Alpha Lambda Collegiate Chapter (here at MSU) and an actor/director/producer/set designer/playwright for Michigan State University’s Tunnel Of Oppression, which is very dear to me as well as the other positions that I hold.

I will be graduating this May and going into another area; without taking courses and that sometimes frightens me:  the thought of leaving such a beautiful and helpful community.  I guess what I’m trying to get at is, this university has been a great tool for me in my entire university career.  It helped give me a chance to thrive academically and personally.  It made resources possible, even when I didn't want them at the time.

My fright, it comes from suppressing anger and feelings, because I have always been that person that helps everyone and talks them through their problems, never discussing my own.

I am the youngest child of 17 girls and five boys (two sisters from my mom, whom I grew up with and the rest are half siblings), which means everyone is older.  Therefore most of their children were older . . . When I was young, maybe around 4 or 5, I began getting molested by one of my older nephews, and at the time, the only thing I knew was that I was uncomfortable.  They lived next door and somehow I knew I wouldn't get away from him.  This happened for a while.  A long while, and after time, I just put everything out of my mind and blocked it out.

I never told my family about those times, because I had tried blocking it so much.  Many times I would forget what happened during those years, until something triggered it.  When I was 12, the summer before entering high school, I went to visit my half siblings and their family at their house and I couldn't remember why I didn't want to be there, but my family went, and so did I.

I went to the basement to play board games and look at bikes with my younger nephews.  And as everyone left, I felt at peace - Alone, without feeling suffocated.  My older nephew came downstairs, quietly, and came up behind me and . . . It happened again, but this time I told.  I told my mom and two sisters and they became upset.  They approached my older half sister about her son.  She said he was never there.  She covered for him.  His younger brother had to tell his mom he was there AND  in the basement.  Ever since, I couldn't trust them, nor ever wanted to be around that side of the family.  And although I had told my family, it was buried and never again talked about.  Maybe it was because I was embarrassed (mostly that), or that family secrets are just that, “family secrets.”  Whatever the reason, I never mention it and always avoid conversations about those years.  Or those people.

Peacefully Distant

Can't I look?  

Can't I glare?  

Can't I stand, waiting for light to bounce off the trees?  

Wishing it were me up there.  

Leaf after leaf -- 

Branch beneath branch -- 

A tensing shadow, which crafts of pine and evergreen grow from.  

Can't I climb? 

 Can't I invoke your movement?  

Can't I stand, peacefully distant?  

Unaware of the skies . . .

Stripping Down (Dancing in the Sun)

"Unplugged . . ."  "Bare . . ."  "Stripped down . . ."  These words all describe what happens when I write a song.  Or any piece of writing for that matter.  I decide on going into the vault of memories -- some others, but mostly mine -- and take a piece of what I can (remember), in order to find the reality.

I never understood why it was, or is easy for me to be that way on stage (present), but in person I can't be.  I never understood  until I really listened to my own music.  And my Go-To-Music that gets me into writing mode.  Most of is what some may call "emo," "alt-rock/pop," or classical -- but what I'd like to call, real life through song.

I get inspiration to continue writing and to dig deeper into my thoughts -- after I've set a playlist that becomes more emotional recall than easy listening.  I begin to write.  Yet most of my thoughts would never see the light of day (to some -- I guess I'm not a writer then).  I continue to write, until I'm immersed into that world, and I can actually feel life inside the words.  Strange, eh?  But that to me is Stripping Down.  

I imagine how it would be, if I could take that same writers confidence and utilize it as I converse with people.  Don't get me wrong, I can be social -- I've been part of many social organizations and activities (even being head chair in most of them) -- but when it's just me . . . and no mention of organizations, jobs, music -- the go-to discussions, I'm lost.  I'm beyond stage fright, and I'm not even performing.  Or am I?

I guess, looking at life, that's somewhat a performance too.  Some of us have to fake it till we make it.  Some of us have to bare it.  And then some of us just write -- sing -- live through our music -- because that's the only way we can really strip down.



                   

"No more maybe's"

I watched her.  

I watched from inside.  

Peered from above.  

And listened intently, because I knew something would protrude its way from under her staccato'd breathing. 
But it didn't.  

Maybe she never saw me.  

Maybe the daze caught her for too long.  

Took away her capabilities, just like it took mine.  

I watched her.  

She never moved.  

Never.  

Not once.  

And I listened.  

She said nothing.  

I wondered when her actions would take place, but they didn't.  

When those sharp pains subsided, she looked up, at me.  

Still, nothing.  

So, I watched, again.  

Those once sharp pains, didn't seem like anything anymore.  

The jabs were like clock work, and were persistent.  

I wondered if she felt anything anymore.  

Maybe she had disappeared . . . 

I wanted her to disappear -- from the outside, just as she did on the inside.  

Maybe then my hovering would fall into one.  

And she'd move.  

Watch me.  

Feel something.  

Or maybe she knew how to control it.  

That moment.  

Those minutes, which went on for too long.  

Or just maybe, as her daze sunk in deeper, she fell further.  

And maybe she wondered too --  why my eyes were open and yet I never saw it happening.  

Because if I did, why didn't I catch her?

~Kyra C.

"Nowhere To Run"

Sitting and listening to Caleb and Sol's Nowhere To Run, and realizing how simple I always thought it was, to do just that.  It's amazing how many times this semester I've felt like running away . . . anywhere . . . although I knew there wasn't a real destination to go.  The fascination with trying to be everything and do everything, just won't release its hold upon me.  Learning how to cope with more regret, drama, and let down -- done by myself, is what pushes me -- that want to prove I can get to the other side.

And as Caleb and Sol's gutsy lyrics stir their way through my speakers, singing "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go," I'm yet complicated with the notion to relieve myself from feeling as though I have any control over the matter at hand.  Even if I know my actions are because of the notions I choose to react from, I am still learning . . .

So, instead of reverting back to old habits, that I seemed to shake, until later in the semester -- alas, I will go for a run, to the gym, to the river, around the school . . . wherever there's a blank space, which can only come alive with deep understanding, made from taking in the peace that surrounds me, everyday.  I mustn't try and run from the evil around me . . . I mustn't try and control every move.  I need to just live.

Because, "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go."  And I'm still learning . . .

~Kyra C.

"The Shame"

Sitting here, listening to Alex Cornish's "The Shame" and trying to figure out why with all of my upbeat energy, I always seem to fall into another dimension of numbness . . . Today should have been a great day, where everything had been taken care of  -- I would be relaxed and ready for tomorrow's big day.  But somehow things didn't go according to plan -- My plan.  And even now, I seem to have found myself changing the positive habits, for the old vices that use to keep me complacent.  In that moment where you don't want to smile, laugh . . . You just want to SCREAM, into a pillow, and feel like you're okay.

Tomorrow may be the big day, however I've had to make many decisions on what not to do and as much as it hurts, I cannot have the happiness that I really want.  I just need to settle on what could possibly turn into a happy moment -- Even if it's by isolating my subconscious and racing until the end.

I'm slowing down, running from the truth -- I can't really change this.  I can't really change me.  And why should I continue to try and force the inevitable? This just has to be the way;  My way.

~Kyra C.