The Tales of Virago-- A Beautiful Mess

     I fumble through the partial darkness, insulted by the harsh light that streams in from the hallway, and hurts my poorly adjusted eyes as I am just being aroused from my indecent sleep. Today I was lucky, and woke up to the nice tech who sings your name out in a way that makes you a little more willing to get out of bed, but other mornings you end up being aroused by what one staff member may have snarkily referred to as "the humdingers- but you can pick those out." Obviously, I really like her too. I make my way towards the bathroom to change from my warm sweats into a thin gown that briskly snaps me alert, as I begin to hover down the hallway towards the scale to be weighed, and have my vitals taken. These are the moments where you are forced to look away. It's all about the numbers, but you aren't allowed to know anymore. It's like the weight of the world and control is crucial, but this is no longer yours. It is terrifying, and enough to ...

      I began running at the age of seven. It was not the typical way in which one would tersely lace their sneakers, and feel the wind fighting against their body that pulses with the beat of the foot kissing the trail. No. I began a road that was off the path. I was in search of something for which I never got , and still to this day am searching for. And I deeply regret ever leaving the trail, to which I do not know where I might have gone.     I did not understand my actions then, and it took me many years to realize the damage I had done to the little girl with the long curling brown locks, who even then had a sense of self deprecation that  drove her actions in ways that deprived her of a childhood she never got...    I had a wild, fiery, energetic disposition. A girl who could not sit still, and could speak eloquently, while also speaking your ear off, but...

     And to the star in the sky who felt that she was nothing more than a dimly lit speck of dust: Do not forget the beauty from the ashes of which you have risen. Beautifully. Through the hell, and combustion of everything you ever knew- you survived. Your fragile state of being shattered into millions of shards, and you rebuilt yourself from the wreckage. You are not the same star you once were. Your aura is not what it once was. You are the culmination of beauty from pain. You are the collection of memories that have been laid across the grass in a thick fog of misty tears, The emptying of yourself, as you unload the shame.       The baggage.                 The pain and trauma of which you cannot bear to utter from your lips. You are the survivor- and though you tremble beneath your thoughts, and fears- you are still moving forward.  You are more than the perfectionistic thoughts which y...

     She had gone pale, with a glazed over empty disposition about her. She laid in the uncomfortable hospital bed in the emergency room; her body pale as the wall to which she blankly fixed her eyes, listening to the hollow, and quiet tick of the clock that filled the room of harsh fluorescent lighting. Her body curled into the bed leaving but a small imprint, as the i.v. protruded out of her limp arm, and the bag filled with fluids slowly drained itself of life in order to sustain hers. Beneath her blank gaze, her mind was a raging tsunami. The smile she had held through her recovery, was but the mask for a slippery slope into her descent...     I had to make a choice recently, and it is still haunting me in my thoughts. To leave school until the fall was one of the most difficult decisions I have had to make- but I know that recovery must come first. Wandering the ...