The Tales of Virago-- A Beautiful Mess

     I've learned that the world is full beauty. But from beauty also comes a realm of darkness.       As I arrived home the other evening following a lengthy day including voice lessons, treatment, church choir, and a rehearsal for singing in church on Sunday it was growing late, but I have certainly come home much later before. The rain beat down on the road, and the streetlights dimly lit a path for passerby's. I always keep the car doors locked- not even out of fear, but out of safety and common sense. As I pulled into my spot, I responded to a friend who texted me asking a simple question, and noticed an email from a professor. Midway through reading this I realized that the car that had driven up the street and pulled up just behind me, but partially beside me had been a car parked out in the street with their headlights on for about three minutes by this point. My instincts heightened, and I became uneasy. I know I made a mistake now, but...

     I was drowning under the weight of my own thoughts. Those who have ever felt the burden of their mind as it takes off beneath their body, and chains them to their worst nightmare from which they feel they will never escape may understand exactly the intruding emotions that inhabit the space I must live- known as my mind. To be gasping for air, and unable to draw in the breath essential to life. To look around trying so hard to find the break in the storm clouds, and only seeing the bundles of dismal gray without a glimmer of sun.       I never thought I would say it, but having to take medical leave this semester might be one of the best things that has happened to me. Initially, I was angry, hurting, cold, and lonely.. but lonely because I had become not only physically malnourished, but spiritually. It was never that I had doubted God existed, or he had a plan.. but I know I put it on the backburner- and I did certainly feel as thoug...

To my Once Beloved Fitbit,       You are the sleek, lovely, coveted black charge HR that has received many a compliment from others. The organizer that holds my life together- helping me feel in control, and giving me a sense of organization as I can peruse through the stat quo, and track my each and every sign on my wrist, or phone. Never having to worry, always knowing everything, from my pulse, to a phone call, to steps, to calories. I claimed these things were good so I could supplement my body in the ways I needed to. So I could know when my bradycardia was turning for the worse. So I would not miss a call from the doctor's. I justified these things, and my eating disorder spoke so smoothly to cover my tracks. I truly believed all of these things. And that was my biggest mistake.       You are the culprit. But it isn't entirely your fault- it's me. Well, I guess you could say it's an illness of an eating disorder- an exercise predilect...

     Whenever you make a mistake, it is never too late to turn around and do the next right thing. Each word is an intricate thread. Alone it is fragile and easily wavering, but woven together, these words I can only hope will create a beautiful and unbreakable masterpiece full of significance that will not only work towards my own greater peace, but that will one day be of aid to others...      Life is full of chaos in its' unexpected turns of events, and while we may be predisposed to trials that create discord in our journey, and adversity in the path that is out of our control, it does not have to determine our future. Trial either defines or refines us. The choice is ours to hit the ground running.       The last month has been a rude, but completely humbling and necessary awakening into a destination greater than an eating disorder. Learning how to recover calls me to accept an identity as a person beyond the ...

     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...