Blood moon

Watched the moon from the comforts of my home from the sky light lol


My heart and soul was never enough

I always felt I was too much for him, with my spirited heart and vibrant laugh, my reflective mind, Crazy ideas, my unique ideas and my school girl like emotion.

Him, who liked to keep things simple, uncomplicated. Nothing serious, nothing deep, nothing complex. Nothing that would make him think or feel.

I was Scared to frighten him away, I did what I always did. I made my self less so i could fit in his world and not lose him. I could never keep him before. He always wanted something better going back since college.

Piece by piece, I tore off the parts of me that I thought would be more than he could handle. I lay them out thinly between pages of the tattered book I keep—the one that hides all the parts of myself I have been afraid to show the world.

I made myself more manageable, more palatable, easier to handle. Because if this is what it would take for him to accept me, want me, maybe one day be with me and love me like I was told, then I would do it. It would be worth it, for him because I loved him. He was my everything who held the deepest parts of my heart .

For a long time I pretended I was happy. Maybe sometimes I even thought I was . But sometimes those torn-off parts called out to me, and my body ached to have parts of back, to be complete again. No, I told them. You are too much, you’ll only frighten him away, keep your mouth shut, as I pressed the pages together once more. I wanted to just be his perfect Angel.

I tried to convince myself I could survive this way, as a silhouette—no substance, no soul. But I began to feel empty, hollow, wasted away as deception and our closeness faded away. Weightless, I struggled to hold myself up any longer. I needed those parts of myself back, the ones that held me together, the ones that made me whole. I couldn’t be his doormat many more. I couldn’t give away all the best parts of me while he gave his to others and shelved me like a book on bookcase to collect dust until he decided he wanted to touch and read my pages again.

And so, one piece at a time, I began to restore myself . Slowly, quietly. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Or maybe if he did, he would somehow learn to love those extra parts of me anyway. The parts where I stood up for myself. To point out things done wrongly to me and hurt me. To demand respect and the same loyalty and love I gave , I wanted for real in the open and in the sunshine. Not this secret mistress in a closet.

The more complete I became, the harder it was to fight the truth of me. I began to share my mind, speak my truth and thoughts. To laugh, to allow joy, sadness, anger, enthusiasm, fear, confidence, love—all emotion—to flow from me like water, like the tears he always told me not to cry but I did when he hurt me. I embraced my imagination, passion, creativity, intellect, complexity, intuition,my wild spirit, my pain I hide and my ferocious heart. My intuition told me the truth despite what my heart wanted and believed. I needed myself back to see the truth .

I became who I was always meant to be.

And then, he left…..

I spoke my truth,came from the closet I was kept in. I spoke about my sexual assault. I spoke of letting it go. I spoke of letting my rapist be free . I spoke of wanting to move on. He slowly disapproved and pushed me away. I am sorry my way was to much for you.

I became too much.

I blamed myself , as if I had done something wrong. If only I had stayed small, less. Not spoken the truth. No voiced what I deserved. Not challenged him as a strong woman. If only I had kept those parts of myself hidden, like they had always been. If only I hadn’t scared him away. Maybe he still love.

No, dear heart of mine, I

wasn’t too much for him.

He was never enough for me…..

I need more than a silly boy who scares easily. A boy who is only willing to dip his toes in shallow water for fear of the deep. A boy who has no interest beyond the surface of my skin—to the beautiful soul beneath.

I need a man with the heart of a warrior, brave and loyal and fearless and strong. Deep and passionate and as filled with the complexities of the universe as I are.

Maybe I will find him. Maybe I won’t . Either way, it does’t matter.

For he is not the hero of this story. I am Because I am enough. And all In will ever need is within me . Within my goddamn glorious, wondrous too much, crazy trouble making beautify. Here I am…. 70 pound less, still a survivor, a marathon runner and fit trainer .

I bloomed in to the woman I wanted to be even during heart break, surviving sexual assault and fighting and winning cancer.

Despite all that I still love him because they feeling is greater than myself

Personal best run

I achieved 10 miles in an 1hour and 15 mins. 7.2 miles an hour which is marathon level performance. The last threee miles was a down pour and a sudden dip in temps!!

Felt amazing and I felt healthy and happy and mentally clear .

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