The Tales of Virago-- A Beautiful Mess

     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...