I'm not okay...

Are you?

This is ending, I know it is. Maybe I'm crazy for believing in my feelings. Maybe you think we are fine, that nothing is wrong.

Its okay to not see my breaking heart. I don't expect you to open the cavern of my chest to peek at the muscles and ribs. I don't expect you to notice. That sounds childish, sounds stupid, sounds like I'm seeking your attention. Your approval.

I don't need your goddamn approval though. I need you. I needed you. I won't in the future.

I don't need your love, or lack thereof; I don't need you anymore. I wanted you. I wanted something from you that I have to find in myself. I think. I don't know.

I'm not good at being myself. You seem annoyed by that. I can't apologize for that, because I am not an apology. I am imperfectly myself. Whoever that is.

I used to whisper your name, because I liked the feel of it in my mouth. The way my tongue caressed the letters and the whimper of my voice. Now I won't give myself that. Not because it is wrong to love your name, to love you or who I have thought you to be, but because I can't keep doing this to myself.

I am not okay.

Maybe I never was to begin with. Maybe I never will be. 45 second intervals are all I have to relax. All I have to hold myself in place.

I fucking loved you. That is not to say you should love me back. You are under NO obligation to do so. None. I'm not angry that I loved you and received no inklings on your end. This isn't just about one-sided loves.

Its about how you disappear off the face of my earth and casually come back to remind me that you are the sunlight in the caverns of my chest. Its about how you disappear and leave me wandering in the snow, begging for just a glimpse of sunshine. Its about how you leave me behind and then deign to give me a small catch up.

I have tried desperately to hang on. You leave me dangling, like a worm at the end of a hook; knowing I'll still be there when you decide to come back.

I don't care if you love me. I don't care if you want to be with me. I wish I could erase those dreams, desires, wishes, tortures; from my neural pathways. I am Icarus thrown from the sky by the Sun he so longed to worship. You were the sun blossoming against the horizon of my cavernous chest, slowly brightening my skies inside of me. You were rising and then suddenly your light fell from the sky, colliding with the wormholes and the voids of the universe; swallowed up by Chronos' gaping maw.

And maybe that's a problem with me. That I latched onto your small offerings of light like a starving child on bread. Your voice in my ears was like hearing for the first time and I loved you like the created love their creator.

Maybe I was obsessed. Maybe I shouldn't have dreamed about you like I did. Maybe there are many things I should or shouldn't have done.

Would it hurt less if I let you go now? Would all of my questions, my longing, my dying whispers, fade if I just told you goodbye?

I can't let your name enter my mouth. It tastes so sweet, but it is as bitter as poison.

I just wish you'd tell me the truth. More of the truth than you have. You don't lie to me, but you aren't honest either. You leave portions of the truth out when you speak to me now. What happened? What changed from last year when we talked as if there was nothing else to do but talk?

Have you already let me go?

Dear Governor Pence,

Dear Governor Pence,

Perhaps you don't realize this, so I thought I would let you know, but being an American is not about hate or only one religion.

America was founded on Religious Freedom, yes. But freedom for ALL religions. Not just Christianity.

The pledge of Allegiance says "with Liberty and Justice for ALL."

The Constitution says "We hold these truths to be self-evident that ALL men are created equal."

From the beginning America was supposed to be a place of freedom. A place of equality.

However, this bill is NOT about Freedom. It is about government approved discrimination, racism, bigotry, etc. and a way to bypass almost any law. I don't know if you know this, but the RFRA is NOT working for the benefit of ALL in the other states that have it as law.

How can you deny hard-working Americans their RIGHTS simply because they live differently than you?

Would this bill be going through if it had been presented by a Muslim person who wanted to deny entry to Christians or Jews? Will it change if that happens? Will it be considered religious persecution in that scenario?

The world is NOT all White, Straight, Cisgender, Christian, Men.

It is made up of ALL types of people!

You have not only made me ashamed to be called a Hoosier, but ashamed to call myself an American.

Sincerely,
Sarai.

Coming Out.

Dear Friends and Family,
I'm going to say this as politely as I can.
I am an Atheist. I am Bisexual. I am a Liberal. And I am perfectly happy being who I am. So, please, don't post on my page about God, about hating the President, about how people who love each other shouldn't be allowed to get married just because they are gay or anything else like that.
I don't want to be "saved." I was, once. And you know what? I was miserable. I've never been more unhappy then when I was a "Christian."
Any comments or posts pertaining to the above will be deleted. And if you don't like how I live my life, then you are also free to delete me.
I'm not going to hide who I am or try to change I who I am because other people are "uncomfortable" with how I live MY life.
Its taken a LONG time to say this, but I am Proud of who I am. I think I've turned out pretty well considering the life I've had. And I'm not going to be ashamed of ME anymore.
love,
Sarai.

Letting it Go

I need to know. I need to know if you have feelings for me like I suspect you might or if you are only my friend. A best friend, a wonderful friend. I need to know because I'm obsessive. I'm a silly girl and stupid to boot. I can't let you go if I think you might want to be with me too.

I'm not sure what I was thinking. Resolution? Closure? Some kind of ending to these feelings?

Is it wrong to love you like I do?

Injustice

Customer: Its an invasion of my privacy to put my middle name on that ID! Its bullshit! I should have a choice! I should have a say! I'm going to get my documents legally changed to just show my middle initial!

Dear Customer,
I am sorry that your life is so perfect that the only thing you have to bitch about is whether or not you have a say on what we put on your ID.

Seriously, some of us are being told that a CORPORATION's religious rights are more important than our right to insured contraceptives.

Some of us are being told "sorry about your child's death, but guns don't kill people."

Some of us have our bodies more regulated than GUNS. OUR BODIES.

So please, keep bitching over your middle name. Really, it makes me feel so sorry for you.

Want to talk about invasion of privacy? The government wants to control what I do with my vagina, uterus and ovaries! It wants to tell me what I can and can't do with MY BODY.

Go get your name changed. Go for it. Waste hundreds of dollars on getting everything changed to your middle initial. And then come back in to get a new ID and pay all over again.

Can we talk about Voter ID laws for a minute? Can we talk about how people who are in love can't get married? Can we talk about gun laws? Could we talk about something that actually FUCKING MATTERS for just a hot second?

Get the fuck over yourself.

sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Kurt Vonnegut,

Dear Kurt Vonnegut,
It is difficult to remain soft in a world that has become hardened against you. It is difficult to remain loving when there is so much hate that you can feel it in your bones. 
The most difficult is to remain sweet when everything tastes so bitter.
I want to be soft and sweet and loving, but it is difficult to do so when you must be hard and jaded and hateful to survive. We never really survive this life do we?

Dear Dad,

Dear Dad,
I keep telling myself that I'm finally going to send the letters I keep writing. Because I write you all the time, Dad. I feel like I am forever writing you. Forever trapped in a loop of memories that I want to share with you. Forever stuck on repeat.

I keep telling myself that I'll send this one. I'm really going to put that stamp on it and I'm going to go to the post office and mail it. I'm going to finally start the conversation that I've been dying to start for years now. I say those things and then I never finish the letters and they never get sent. I chicken out every time. I did send one letter. I sent it to Auntie, because she wouldn't give me your address and it got lost in the mail.

Five pages worth of memories and the desire to have you back in my life, lost in the mail.

I can't recreate that letter. I can't recreate all the years you've missed out on. I'm not that good of a writer.

I suppose I should start off simply. Tell you that I love you. I miss you. I don't care that all the time and all the drugs have separated us. I just want to have you back in my life. I just want to start over.

I want to start a dialogue with you. Not a monologue of monotonous details spread out like a map of childhood to adulthood. But I have no idea where to start.

Do I start from the last time I saw you, in flesh, 19 years ago? Do I start from 13, when I sent the last letter I would send; the one that said I hated you and that it was your fault that Memere died and that I never wanted to hear from you again? Where do I start, Dad? Do I start with an apology?

I am 25. I'll be 26 this year, which seems, both, difficult and easy to believe. I feel like I've been 30 my whole life, so 26 shouldn't be so bad.

I don't remember what you sound like. I don't remember your smell. I don't remember the small details about you. Though, when I look at the pictures, I recognize myself in you. We have the same pointed chin, the same toothy grin, and, though I never see your feet, the same flat feet. I feel like I look more like you than Mom, most of the time. Though, admittedly, there are times that I look just like Mom when she was younger.

My hair is still curly. Though, it has lost some of the wildness over the years. I'm not sure if that is age or other factors. My eyes are still brown. Sometimes black, sometimes caramel colored. I am incredibly short. Okay, maybe not incredibly. I am about 5 foot, 3 inches tall. I think Mom and I are the same height.

I write all the time. Not just letters to you, but stories and poems and blogs. I finished writing my first novel in January. I'm in editing right now. But I keep second-guessing myself on it.

I vote Democrat. Obama is my second favorite President (the first being John Quincy Adams). I am a feminist (much to Mom's and Chris' chagrin). I like to consider myself a Humanist, really. I'm far too opinionated for my own good (again, to Mom's chagrin). I don't believe in the Death penalty, the Three Strikes law, Circumcision or Spanking your kids. I'm an atheist; though I was a Muslim for a short time. And a Christian, against my will, growing up. I like women, as well as men

I hate my job. I hate feeling like I've failed myself in staying where I am unhappy for so long. But I am poor. What else is there to do?

I love travelling. And I run away from home as often as possible. Though I always come back. I am in love with the Ocean.

I've never tried Pot. But I drink. I don't drink as often as I'd like, because I can't justify spending money on it. I've never had my ears pierced. I don't have any tattoos.

I wish on stars, even though my wishes never come true. I love thunderstorms and old movies. I have more books than I could possibly read because I find their presence comforting.

I got married in a red dress and barefoot because I look best in red and I hate shoes. I was married on the first of September, 2011, in a court room by the Judge. I've been married almost three years.

I am missing a portion of my pelvis (on the left side) and I have a rod in my leg (on the right side) because of a car accident that happened October 19th, 2009. I am not crippled. I can walk and run and jump. I just ache some days more than others. And the rain, though it makes me sleep better, seems to seep into what bones I have in my pelvis.

Some days I hate you. I hate that you have missed out on so much of my life. I hate that you took drugs. I hate that you never wrote me again. I hate that I feel like you abandoned me.

Some days I hate myself. I hate that I told you never to write me again. I hate that I never sent the letters I wanted to after that. I hate that I didn't run back to the mailbox and rip that letter to shreds. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for all the cruel and vicious words a hurting 13 year-old wrote you in a moment of weakness. I'm sorry that I let all my hatred and feelings of betrayal and abandonment take over. I'm sorry that I never wrote you again. I'm sorry I've not sent any letters since then.

Take this for what you will, Dad. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering if we could've had a real relationship. I don't want to wake up one morning to find a note from Auntie saying that you have died in prison. I don't want to wonder if I could've fixed this.

I never stopped loving you.
Sarai.

Constant Emotional Confusion.

Dear ____,
I can't stop thinking about what is going to happen if we see each other in May. I can't stop having stupid, girlish, fantasies about it. And, oh, the guilt that follows!

But even you say I won't want to go home. Are you saying that because of my crush on you or because of S______ itself?

Every time I think I know what I'm doing I realize I have NO clue!

What do I want from you?

I want you to hold me. I want you to kiss me. I want you to slow dance with me.

I don't know if I want you to sleep with me. I mean, obviously I do, but I don't. Confusing right?

I really just want to date you! I have already had (already have) a relationship that was based on sex early on. I just want to do the stereotypical boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. Go to movies, for ice cream, hold hands, make-out, go sailing, etc.

Maybe have sex later. Maybe wait longer than I did the first time around.

Childish Fantasies

Dear ____,
You'll have to forgive me, my childish fantasies are getting the better of me.

I have all these little romantic vignettes in my head, that I just can't seem to shake, every time I think about getting to see you.

Childish things like:
You: I'm attracted to you.
Me: I'm attracted to you too.
You: I want to kiss you.
Me: I want to kiss you too.
Cue the romantic kiss; chaste, but passionate.

Or another scenario:
You: May I have this dance?
Me: You want to dance with me?
You: Of course, did you think I would dance with anyone else?
Cue the romantic dance followed by a romantic kiss.

I never fantasize about sex with you. I'm not entirely sure how sex works in other relationships. I've only been with one man and I don't think the girls I've been with count towards sex with another man...

So I just picture kissing you. I've kissed other men before, so I feel confident in my abilities there.

You make me so nervous and twisted up inside, just imagining. And you always skitter around the question.
Are you attracted to me?
Would you kiss me?
Do you have feelings for me too?
Have you ever had feelings for me?
Or am I crazy?

Welcome to Womanhood

Dear Gentleman in the Body- Wash/ Feminine Hygiene products aisle,
You got flustered while I was looking at the pads and trying to decide which ones I'd prefer to get. You made your anxiety quite plain when you practically whined at your daughter about "Can we get out of this aisle now?" I'm sorry that the proof of my womanhood makes you so uncomfortable. It makes me super uncomfortable because I can tell you it is no picnic.

Its nauseating to pass blood clots. The cramps, back ache and migraines are exhausting. The mood swings, the pain, the blood, its all fucking miserable. You know what does NOT help?

Your attitude towards it.

Yes, its gross. It would be awesome if I could just get a little note from Mother Nature saying "Congrats! We're not pregnant, see you next month!" But that isn't how it works. Unfortunately the proof of my not having conceived is currently ruining my underwear.

You know what would be helpful? A small smile of sympathy. Or, just acting nonchalant. Your agitation did nothing to soothe me. Quite the opposite in fact. I laughed it off to my mom and one of my friends, but your attitude of agitation and mild disgust makes ME feel disgusting. As if I didn't feel disgusting enough as is. Think about what you are portraying for your daughter, who was picking out body-wash. You are showing her that she should be ashamed of what she has absolutely NO control over.

You're implying that you wouldn't stoop to buy such things for her by making it seem like a shameful thing to buy. Why do we shame people for things that are not in their control? Sex drive, sex life, sexual health, etc.

I can't change how the human body works. I can't change how MY body works. But YOU can change your attitude towards it.

Sincerely,
The girl on her period trying to decide which product would work best.  

Dear Self,

Dear Self at 285lbs (129kg),
Its January 14th of '14 and we started exercising in earnest on Sunday.
Its not going to be easy, please don't give up on us when it doesn't immediately drop off.

DON'T BE DISCOURAGED!

love,
Me.

Il m'aime.

If I were a braver girl than I am, I would tell you just how much I love you. How I have been crushing on you for the past 9 years, waiting for the day when I thought you might return the feelings.

And now that I feel like I can't possibly hold my feelings in any longer, I find I am in the unpleasant situation of being married to someone else. Not to say that I don't love the man I am married to, but that I have so many unresolved feelings for you. Feelings that I was always too much of a coward to go on.

I think back on the e-mails we shared when we first became friends. I remember all the moments we spent together and I think, with painful clarity, that maybe you did have feelings for me at the time, but didn't want to express them since you were so far away. A world away and older than I.

I feel so stupid now. Stuck with feelings I can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much I tell myself I should. And I have countless poems to you, countless feelings written into so many words and I can't tell any of them to you.

A Gift.

Its hard, Aunt Peggy, to accept a gift.

You told me all the time to just accept it, it wouldn't break you.

Its hard to accept a gift when you feel like you don't deserve it. Like, you are so unworthy of the gift. I want to be able to accept gifts, Aunt Peggy, without any guilt attached like a card on a ribbon.

I wish the gift you had given me was more time with you, instead of learning the lesson  you meant to teach me while you lived. I think I've finally learned though, as hard as that is. Its a lump in my throat, Aunt Peggy.

So I'll stifle the guilt, I'll fake a smile and say thank you. Because maybe that person needs to give the gift. Like you felt you needed to give gifts to me. I knew you loved me without the gifts, Aunt Peggy. I hope you know I loved you too.

Its the same as lying...

I just can't deal with the emotional upheaval you cause me.
If you tell me that you are going to do something, DO IT.
If you aren't going to do something, TELL ME. Don't feed me a fucking line.
Telling me you will and then you turn around and don't is the same as lying to me.

You'd think I'd have learned by now. You'd think I'd know better than to believe you, but I don't apparently. I'm a stupid girl who puts her faith in you over and over and over and over. Far more than I should. Its not just that you let me down. Its not just that you change your mind.

Its that you say one thing, but you do another.
Its that I was looking forward to these things. I had put my hopes into your hands and you threw them on the ground.

And you know, it was your fucking idea in the first place, so I shouldn't be this upset, but goddamn, I was looking forward to it.

You wonder why I don't ask you to do things with me. Go places with me. Etc.

You always bail on me. I can't trust you to follow through with something. There is always an excuse. Always. Sometimes, its a valid one, but more often than not it just comes across as a fucking waste of breath. Don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it. Don't tell me that you are going to do something and then give me some flimsy excuse later. It isn't fair to me.

And its the same as lying to me.

Dear Younger Self,

Dear Younger Self,
Tonight I realized something about us, staring at the loaves of "Sunbeam" bread with "Not by bread alone" on the packaging and the little girl's head bowed in prayer.

Donnie said something then, when I refused to buy that bread and picked up a different brand, that made sense. He said that, in a way, the way we grew up was good for me. In that, it caused me to look at things, question things, develop my own opinions, question why I have those opinions.

It was awful, what we went through. I wouldn't change a moment of it though. Everything we have been through, everything we've done was for a reason.

I have to believe it was for a reason.

The majority of the time, you will like who you are. Even though there is still the underlying self-loathing. Even though you still question your every decision. Even though you wish you could just fix everything and make it perfect.

The trials, the tribulations, etc. I promise they will be worth it. At the very least, I believe they will be worth it.

love,
Me.

Dear Body,

Dear Body,
these lungs you keep trying to destroy are actually a part of YOU! STOP IT!
sincerely,
Breathless in B-Town.

Making the Best of things

Dear Aunt Peggy,
Every day I can't imagine another day without you being here. I know there is nothing I can do to bring you back, but I so desperately wish there was something. Even though you irked me sometimes, even though you made me want to scream in frustration other times, I loved you so much. You've been gone a month and I am still waiting for you to call me and ask what I want for lunch on Monday.

Tonight I tried my hand at making goulash. Its not nearly as good as yours, it never will be. But its a close approximation. One that will have to do while I try to make the best of things without you.

I miss you, Aunt Peggy. I wish you were here. There is so much I want to talk to you about. I send little thought bubbles to you and I hope you get them.

I love you. I miss you. I wish you were still here. I wish you could try my goulash and tell me whether or not you think it is like yours.

love,
Sarai

Your Absence

Your absence has not gone unnoticed. I still miss you every day since you passed. I'm still waiting by the phone, re-listening to your voice-mails, wishing I had asked you to show me how to make goulash, wishing I could tell you about being able to finally eat rice again, wishing the Mondays weren't stretching out before me in weeks, months and years.

I am still feeling the pain of your loss. I am still waiting for you to call me, feeling guilty for not having called that last week you were here, wishing I could do it all over, wanting to see you again.

I know it sounds selfish to other people. They must not understand what its like to not be able to breath, because you feel like someone just kicked you in the ribs. They must not understand what its like to crumple to the ground, because you suddenly don't know how to stand. They must not understand what its like to lose someone that you believed, foolishly, would live forever.

I want you back. I want you here. I want you to annoy me by constantly calling. I want you to tell the TV people that they don't know what they're talking about. I want you to do that funny little dance you would do whenever you were getting up to go do something. I want to be in your too hot house while you grumble about all the cooking you have to get done.

I want you back, because I'm looking at a calendar full of empty Mondays and I just don't know what to do without you. And they say these things fade with time, but I don't think it will. I don't think I'll ever get over this.

30 in a 50

Dear gentleman in front of me who went 30mph in a 55mph zone,
Thank you.

Honestly, thank you. You gave me a moment to let all the emotional craziness settle, a moment to just enjoy the nature around me. I wasn't even angry that you were going so slowly. I feel like I haven't really breathed in days and you gave me an opportunity to do just that; breathe.

Truly, I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.

sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Pat Robertson,

Dear Pat Robertson,
Its not very often that you have the power to so completely shut down my mental capacities that it takes me this long to recover. But boy, have you really outdone yourself this time!

On your worst days you are ranting about how there needs to be a "vomit" button on Facebook so you can click it any time you see homosexuals kissing or how Haiti has supposedly made a pact with the Devil. And let's not forget your comment on Feminism: "a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."

I could spend a decade writing about just how WRONG you are on SO many topics, but today is not that decade.

However, this time I'm going to talk about something you said that actually made me... move toward tolerating you. However, I'm very confused. VERY confused.

"I think there are men who are in a woman's body," he said. "It's very rare. But it's true -- or women that are in men's bodies -- and that they want a sex change. That is a very permanent thing, believe me, when you have certain body parts amputated and when you have shot up with various kinds of hormones. It's a radical procedure. I don't think there's any sin associated with that. I don't condemn somebody for doing that." (huffington post)

Wait... Did you just say it was okay to be transgendered?!

 Hell just seriously froze over. Satan's ass is getting freezer burn right now.

The thing I don't understand is this: You are so grossly homophobic and like to back it up with outdated verses from an outdated book, but you are cool with a woman becoming a man or a man becoming a woman?

Wouldn't that go directly against your beliefs? I mean, God makes no mistakes right? So why was this person born a man when they were supposed to be a woman? Wouldn't that IMPLY that God isn't as perfect as we are led to believe?

And if a woman is born a man, but becomes a woman and has sex with men, wouldn't that make her a homosexual? I mean, she was born a MAN and she has sex with MEN. Doesn't that kind of spit in your belief pudding?

And I'm not knocking anyone who is transgendered. I still feel like a man trapped in a woman's body and it has been a big struggle for me to determine if I can be happy as I am (as a woman) or if I want to change my body. I am actually really glad you said something like that, because it gives me a small (VERY SMALL) bubble of hope for the human race as a whole.

I just have one really serious question for you: Are you on drugs?

sincerely,
Sarai