The Tales of Virago-- A Beautiful Mess

         There is another part of Samantha who exists, but there are few people presently involved in my life that know about her. Otherwise, she mostly remains unnamed, unmentioned, and I attempt to keep her at bay as she is the Samantha who is the remains of an unwelcome guest who still occasionally haunts me. She is the Samantha who has no place in my life today as the woman I stand for. As the woman I am becoming, and have become.       I often find myself flashing back to moments wherein I am reminded of this young lady who was so troubled. For so long, I tried to rid myself of what I thought was a shameful past that needed to be kept a secret from those I met today simply because it is not conventional and perfect . It holds stigma. I have felt so much shame from it that I have hidden it from even my professors and colleagues because I feared their judgement . I hid it from my closest friends. My church. Things I w...

    Pink Martini was playing in the car when I read "no fat girls." This bumper sticker plastered to the back of this old, worn nissan driven by a man who had been eyeing me as I tread through the parking lot certainly made me want a martini, but I sat behind this man for a solid two minutes at a stoplight of what seemed to last eons, feeling the repulsed state of hatred and anger within myself further manifest.      This is not the first time I have seen this or things such as this either. Unfortunately, it will probably not be the last either. I realize America is a free country, of free speech, and before I go running my mouth- I know just as I have the right to express my outrage, he has the right to express his opinions of sexualized, false manhood, and egocentrical boyhood vain, and shallow desires in the land of unattainable appearances in the complex of what I would furthermore simply describe as- "asshole."       Ok......

      I finally thought I had found my worth, and then I came home. Life unraveling at the seams in a matter of days- the progress fought so hard for unhinging at the tips. Your pointed words seemed to creep closer until I found myself being suffocated by a tangle of denigration by not only myself now, but the affirmation of others of what a waste I was. How I was a burden. How my work was but meaningless.  How I was meaningless.      It feels as though the waters are rising around me, and I gasp for air that simply does not exist, or lifeguards that simply cannot save me, and I feel pathetic as I cannot save myself. Somehow I have forgotten how. Amidst your words, your calls, the body shaming encounters I have had- the attacks upon my dignity, the mutters beneath his breath when I enter the room, the outbursts... I feel overwhelmed.     I know I must make it, but I do not know how. I must. I must. I have to. I must.  ...

     It is not your fault.  I know you probably don't believe me, but I wanted you to know that. I have fought a war of denigration for years to make peace with mind, soul, and body in this pursuit of acceptance- and I have watched far too silently as others struggle drowning beneath the crash of their own self deafening waves that have overtaken them...      We look away because it hurts to watch. It's uncomfortable.  This is what infuriates me, and saddens me. The lack of ignorance, but also the refusal and closed mindedness to learning. We do not choose our storms- our adversities- our oceans, and the waves that transcend us. Each of of us would give just about anything for the taste of freedom amidst the struggle. Yet, the issue is we do not know how. How to free ourselves. How to stop flailing, and ride our waves of terror, and swim- or trust the lifeguards that come to help us because we have been hurt so many times that we have tra...

     “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. ” Maya Angelou       You could pay for my entire college education, and I would still never repeat elementary school. I would not repeat middle school, so lest a crocodile came- grabbed me by my leg, and dragged me - and you sure as hell wouldn't dare ask me to walk the halls of my high school as a student once more. No.       To the people who used to make me feel small:       No, I am not talking about skinny , or attractive , and societies imposed, demented standards of beauty . You were always quick to do the opposite. As you called me out for being different - or being intelligent . You tried to teach me that was wrong. Your harsh words as the children we were ended up being the very thing that drove me to sitting alone at lunchtime- or playing by myself...

     One year ago today I said I do . Damn --  I really didn't know what I was getting myself into, did I??      No- I didn't get married, nor did I say yes to the dress, or get engaged to the man of my dreams (although if someone figures out when those can happen, can you let me know? Thanks!) I said I do, but I definitely had no idea what this past year would entail as I flipped through and spent two hours initialing my life away, or telling my story, or crying a river to a few complete and utter strangers who I had entrusted with my care, and chosen over my professors, and college.     I sure as hell wanted out of it by 6pm that first night as I sat down to dinner. As I peered at the Mount Everest of food that had been laid before my eyes, and I said to them, "Oh there is no f******* way I can eat all of that" cue the tears, the panic attack, you name it... I probably did it. I was ready to run. I think of those funny...

     She can feel the heat beginning to radiate from her cheeks as her legs pick up speed in tune with the machine beneath her. The gym is quiet on a Friday night, contrary to her mind that is racing a hundred miles an hour... a kind estimate to the tsunami of thoughts that have been terrorizing her for nights on end, praying this one might perhaps hold a sound and restful slumber. But alas, the hours of the night ware on, and here she lies wide awake haunted by those very thoughts, where she tries to take comfort in the one thing she knows to turn to, and so she sits, and writes for it is all she has.       She is so tired. Exhausted . Worn.    I am so done.       I think of colors- it is dark hues of purples, and deep auburn, with blue hues that have seen trial, and know deep secrets and pains beyond their prime. I am sick of secrets. Lies. Deceit. Of being slandered behind closed doors, and being bashed or...

     Whether or not the statement holds sentiment and truth, or is a preposterous tangle of deceit, when someone tells you something for long enough, it is hard not to find yourself questioning the statement's validity . This is a rocky trail to traverse because under the perfect conditions it can create a nuclear bomb of messy syntax, disdain, and trauma to which one will never recover. We are sponges that absorb the world around us- including the things we are told: what we are, our worth, beauty, intelligence, who we can become, what we have already become... our failures, our worthlessness, our doubt, our incompetence, shortfalls, and each ugly bitter detail that makes us unworthy of love or value. Or so we think.      We live in a society where we are exploited to unrealistic perfectionism, and find ourselves being scrutinized under standards that are laid so heavily upon our fragile beings . Society expects me to carry the world without...

*While the words written are my own- the story is of someone else fighting a battle she has been afraid to share herself, but wishes to. I want you to know that you are not weak for feeling upset- you are right. Your emotions are valid. Your courage is astonishing, and your trials will refine you. I hope I serve to convey your story, and emotions well* You are enough- I love you Rape. It is not grey, regardless of what they tell you. It is black, and it is white. I didn't want it. The feeling of violation. Demoralization. The denigrating feelings from another human as they impose themselves unto you, and you cannot deny them.      I didn't say no . I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. Why did I go there in the first place, rather than listening to my intuition. I hardly knew him, and I assumed he was good. My innocence was my downfall at best, and now a mourning of its' loss at worst. I still catch wafts of his overbearing cologne as he turned my life...

     In the corner of my desk sits a little sign that reads "Always do your best, what you plant now you will Harvest later." I think I picked up for a dollar or something like that at the dollar general in a fall clearance sale. While I can't quite remember the exact whereabouts of the sign, I can tell you that this mantra is one for which I love, and loathe all in one. My best. Perfection. Or having to learn that my best is not perfection... and that's ok.      I remember last year it was about this time of the season that things began a downward pivotal spiral; peaking during one of many dysfunctional lessons that semester, resulting in me breaking down and literally sitting on the floor . In my world, if I couldn't be perfect , then I didn't want to be anything, which became quite apparent as I tormented my body as it wasted beneath me.     While the repetitive mantra from my professor was you do your best, and trust it will be eno...

     The sun had not yet peered its' head over the horizon as I loaded my car to begin yet another trek back to school. It was 6 am, but if I was already on the road, you know that I have been a coherent human being since at least 4:45, and although I am an early bird- this is early for even my liking. I can taste the smell of smog in the valley, and feel the sting of the first frost that ascends on the final growth of the season saying its' farewell.      It has gotten to be that time of the semester again. Where there is always a paper to write- usually two, and that's if I am lucky. Weekends stacked with performances, and unrelenting schedules that leave sleep to be a luxury, and meal time forgotten. Church falls down on the list because that morning becomes the only day to sleep, and you forget about your spiritual life, all the while the devil at your back creeps upon your shoulder, and you have allowed an unwelcome visitor to make an un...

     I think the road worker was drunk . You're looking to be saved, and you have followed all of the signs, but you have definitely come to the wrong place. Someone should fire that guy because the sign for Heaven should be going the other way. I do not have wings, and I cannot fly. I am not perfect, and am about as far from as they come. You look to be saved, but I am still figuring out how to save myself if I am being honest. I will carry you as far as I am able, but when I fall short- I apologize in advance.      I wish I could solve your problems, and take your load, but I am only one person . I will offer you a hand, and the seeds I hope you will use to nourish your body, and carry you the right way on the path to someone better equipped, but if you choose to merely feed them to the birds, or throw them in the dead of the night, and exhaust my resources until I have nothing to give either of us, then I am useless.      ...

     You don't realize how precious life is, until you almost lose it, and it is not until far after the moment when you understand how close you came to only existing as the occasional thought upon someone's mind. Eventually fading, for you never had the chance to live your life in a way that would be of significance to anyone if you are being completely honest.        Darkness can seem as though it stretches down a midnight dirt road in which there is no dawn- no stars- covered etchings with only the misty outlines of the trees that envelop in unfamiliar territory, as you travel with caution praying you don't wreck, and wondering when the madness will end. Madness is deafening. A freight train that carries people away. I have lost too many, including myself to this temporary typhoon of twisted words, and deceptive thought. The worst part is that is so simple to be fooled by the ones you care for most, or in your closest proximity, as...

     I have this thing I carry around with me. Inside of me. It looked longingly to me in hopes that perhaps I would set it free, but alas I did not. Rather, I made the decision to bring it friends, and I let them manifest as guests for far too long. I wish I would have known, but I cannot change time, nor can I undue actions. I cannot change people, but only myself. I have worn many faces. I guess after enough time you grow accustomed, and do not even realize you are doing it. A lovely actress when I desire. Until there comes a point when you become so consumed in the persona you play to the world each day, that the woman underneath slips away, and you never even vaguely noticed.       I played the confident enchantress. A role of many- and then I was a friend, or counselor, or student of outgoing statute when in reality I just wanted the floor to swallow me, as I would cling to the minutes that crept by on the clock until I could go bac...

      Her eyes were heavy, just like her emotions that she had been pushing underneath the carpet for the last week or so. As the deprivation became more prominent, more pronounced- it became harder to fight the very things to which she had been denying. Her eyes fluttered a little, and her phone went off. He asked her how she was, but she told him she was fine, and put a smiley emoji. It was simple to fabricate things through messenger. It is so simple for all of us to wear masks, but it is so damn tiring. It catches up to you.      To say that life has rainbows and butterfly's would be a boldfaced lie, so perhaps it would be in my best interest to stop walking around acting as if it were. I am all for the fake it until you make it act. Or even the putting on your big girls pants attitude, and leaving your shit at the door so you can get through the day, and do things for the better of the group. However, at the same time there comes a point w...

     She swore that it was all an accident, or that it was from being sick- but she kept losing weight. They all began to stare at her, and the slow painful spiral that could end up being her largest downfall. How far will she have to walk the tight rope before she falls, or is blown away. I often wonder if she thinks about that. She walked with me in my darkest hours, afraid of losing me... and now I am terrified of losing her. But, I wonder if she even realizes it. Do you?        It's a strict regiment of exercise, "building muscle," slaving away to your scale- and you think it is a secret that no one knows. You've been showered in compliments of your new tone, or your "healthy diet," and strong commitment. You find yourself being admired by people who had not noticed you before, and you find yourself able to cope with the world that seems to be spiraling out of control all around you- but you have this. This "cozy" sense of security...

      There is so much I would tell you if words would not fail me. I hope you realize that your worth is not in your academic successes, or how long it takes you to graduate. That it is not the amount of time spent practicing, becoming a slave to your craft- because even if it is your joy, your body knows when enough is enough. Listen to it. I'm begging.      You are not the food you must now eat to nourish your body, in protest because you so long deprived yourself of it due to societal standards, and fallacy's that made you believe you would become fat if you were to consume it, or the rich decadent desserts that are "guilty pleasures" because you deserve them far too much to ever be guilt laden. The guilt you feel for going to bed when you are tired.. I pray you learn to allow it to wash over you like a calm wave because darling,  your body knows best.        Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is sto...

     I got called a snob in studio today as I recited my favorite kind of icecream. (PS- It's dark chocolate coffee bean with toffee bits) I mean, if you were judging me based off of the given description alone- you would probably tell me I am pretentious- or if you simply knew I was a light lyric coloratura soprano who follows the typical norm of enjoying warm tea, cute cafes, and owns over thirty so called "soprano scarves," then yes- by all means, you probably would think from the outside I am the biggest so called basic "Butler Bitch" or stereotypical "Soprano Snob" that this school could carry.      For the record, the snob crack in studio was satirical, and made by my lovely studio teacher, who I adore, and have a great relationship with- in response to my best snarky remark- and well deserved in the moment. But, the point is- for so long I have walked around pretending to be something that I simply was not.      Comi...

I wish so desperately that I could take certain pieces of time, and simply stay within them forever, yet I realize the best to be done is savor them in the moment because I always know it's going to feel far too short. The moments in which you have finally quieted your mind from the world that archaically spins around it, and the seconds in which your heart knows the feeling of peace. You realize the moment will soon be but a blip, but you are grateful, and appreciate it for what it is- after all. it is the little things that have always meant the most. This summer. Five months in which so little yet so much has changed. The girl who came home at the foot of death's door is not the young woman who will embark on a new journey in but  a few hours. The girl who came home was so young, but so aged. Ancient. You could see it by the bags beneath her eyes, and the sunken in bones which she carried under frail shoulders. When you look at her now, her eyes light up, and she knows of ...

     I was eighteen and pissed off at the world, but you never seemed to mind. For that matter- you encouraged the words, as I slowly found courage to speak, and finally express the anger that would slowly seep through passive-aggressive smart ass commentary; as I struggled in the scavenger hunt for words that could not seem to find their way. After being hurt so many times- distance, walls, and sabotage were all I knew, but you never blamed me for that, or gave up in searching for someone who had gone missing. I, and my heart were victim to suppression deep beneath countless layers of apathy, and fear disguised as anger turned outward-- to only later be retracted in the form self resentment, and a loathing so deep it would once again, almost kill me the way it did the first time not too long before we crossed paths. But you have stayed every step of the way.      I thought I would hate you initially-because everyone else had either decided I was...

     The sun has barely begun to veer its' head over the horizon, and the moon is saying its' last goodbyes to the sounds of the quiet night, as you slip your way from a comatose sleep. You do not want to get out of your warm bed that begs you to stay; to take care of your self, and listen just this once, but you do not care. You have forgotten how to. You immediately walk over to the mirror, and look at everything you hate about yourself, and the things you want to change. Essentially veering over your whole wiry body as the keurig is brewing a single cup of starbucks roasted, or dunkin to "power" your wiry body through its' workout, and only then will you allow yourself to eat a coveted forbidden breakfast. But it's okay- because strong is the new skinny. This is not disordered- it is simply fitness. Taking care of your body through exercise. You will eat fruits, and vegetables. Nuts. *As you're really going nuts* The clean eating. It is eating. It is w...

Classic, and timeless- so chic, but elegant with intricate, and delicate detail that isn't too over the top, but gentle. It is beautiful. Simply beautiful. You are beautiful.  I try to inhale these words, as they come in their due timing. The wind outside is gentle, and the sun is peering through a swirl of grey and blue skies as I am standing in my Steve Madden booties with eyes peering around the Starbucks; taking in the soft jazz that is playing, the moms standing behind me in their excited chatter about back to school lists, and summer vacations, or the regular in front of me coaching the barista in training "how it is done." I am lost amidst my thoughts. Another day is slipping through my fingertips, as I ponder upcoming weeks, future ambitions and goals, day to day to-do lists, or game plans of what I can conquer in my day off, and what I have and have not been doing correctly to better myself as I regroup from- yet- another appointment. I am one of the lucky o...

     Trust . Being vulnerable. Taking a chance with someone, by letting them see the inner layers of yourself, sometimes to the point where they are wielders of information that could be used to hurt you down the road if they so choose... OK. So. Where is my rope, ladder, wine, getaway car, and crazy cat (or dog) lady starter kit? I need it stat.      I love people. I care for people, and to lay down whatever I am doing to care for someone else is something I would do in an instant if it is to mean that their day or moment may be a little lighter, or brighter because of it. You never know the battle someone else is facing, or the story that lays deep beneath a persons eyes. Be kind, and gentle in your ways, and hug the ones you love. Hell- hug the ones you can't stand too- they tend to all too often be the ones who need it the most, and fall to the wayside because they have never received the love that they deserve as well. We are all childr...

     It felt as if they were staring at me, but this time I finally had the upper hand. The cool denim made its' way up over the once familiar curve of my body, but this time it felt quite foreign, and a little uninviting. They no longer glided so smoothly, but rather needed more pull, and offered less give when I attempted to zip them. As I went to pull the button closed, it obeyed, but seemed to scowl at me. Lets face it. I no longer fit. I'm pregnant. About a trimester.       Anyone who has ever gone through the breakup of their "sick jeans" may relate to the feelings of which I speak. For that matter- those who have outgrown any clothes, had the winter blues lazy days, had the bikini body mad dash fad craze, or even just the typical freshman fifteen may relate. The actuality and feeling of physical growth that should be a natural part of life , but I so long found morose, and loathed myself for. And to be truthful, some days still do. Congra...

     Words. Permanency. They cannot be returned, and they have been ingrained at a level deep beneath the outer edge. It is a core that has become so scarred, and full of contradiction that it is furthermore unable to carry its' load, nor can it begin to traverse through mangles of toxicity, and in its' confusion begins throwing out the kind nurturing soil it is being given instead. As if it were strangling its own roots that are being fed to regrow its' tender, fragile, delicate state that is so crucial to healing...      Words can be utter hell. They are the mantras of a dantes inferno that come to meet you in the dark during your worst nightmare, and taunt you to no avail. They tear you down as you have begun to crawl and see a spark of hope. As you begin to finally think that maybe-- just MAYBE you can- and DESERVE to recover- and have a purpose. Those people who tear back that shade, and make you feel so small yet again. As though you have ...

     It is truly amazing how much bullshit spews from my mouth when I am not careful with my words. To be deceitful, and go into autopilot to please those around me, and "perform to perfection." The daunting work on a road that lies ahead when you realize the smooth silk of words as they role off your tongue in this person that is you... but she is not you because it is merely a monster that encapsulates your very shell at what feels to be every moment unrelenting.      Breathe.     You don't have to have life figured out. I don't have to have life figured out. Fine. Speaking of which, I've come to learn that fine might as well be saying fuck you - fuck off because that is the crock of shit for which most people have come to interpret this arbitrary, middle of the road word which people use so often to keep a murky veil over their wave of emotions that scare the living hell out of them. Perhaps it is because the feeling of sadne...

     How does it feel when you spend each day- each hour- moment... second... in a distracted state of pandemonium under crashing tidal waves, wishing for the very things that are not present, or dawning on crooked realities that do not, and cannot exist for so many reasons that I cannot begin to name them all. To be so consumed in your guilt that it keeps its' terse, chilled, pointed finger around your neck; being sure to tighten its' grip just to a point of slight struggle when you attempt to become consumed in anything but the very things that you have chosen to keep as your own secrets. Your secrets are sick- and they keep you sick. But you do not wish to let these go because you are fearful. You believe that your sense of self as a person will diminish in its' last scrap of respect for yourself that you might have if you were to ever tell a soul of the things that you are so regretful of. You keep the devil at your back smiling because you are afraid of what ...

     I used to be twenty thre e , but now I am lucky if they call me eighteen. Time is a fiend as she swings her pendulum in a violent whirl that has left me nauseated. She has been cruel to me as I have pulled a classic Benjamin Button from the woman I was becoming with her pronounced chest- deep eyes, curves, and lion's mane of hair to match an untamed spirit; to a much more hesitant, shy, stand-offish girl I've become. I was not always like this. Her chest flatter, her eyes shifting around the room as she fears to look- for someone might actually be able to see her, and try to understand the pain she carries. The pain, or trauma and nightmares of her ghosts past she prays that no one will ever have to experience.       She fears the looks of the men as they look at her when she walks down the street. As they sexualize her for the meat on her body, or for her breasts. She is what her body has to offer the world- rather than what her soul is. O...