This Is What It’s Like To Be Loved By Me.

Chapter 23 - The Achiever

So there I was, the night before my birthday at work, and one of my friends asks me, “was 22 a good year?” Immediately my first instinct is to make a slick comment, but then I thought to myself, “was it?” I realized in that moment all the things that made it great and what could have made it better. A large part of that is in following my dreams and committing to my own personal growth. I want so badly to be extraordinary, and during the year of 22 I was, but in very ordinary circumstances. Next July, I know that I will surpass who I was at 22, but be closer to the version of myself that far surpasses my wildest dreams. Set a goal. Work toward it. Accomplish. Repeat. I am an achiever, and today I celebrate all my past achievements and all of the progress I will achieve from this day forward. To this year of achievement. 23.

Clear Skin & A lot of money

Clear Skin & A lot of money 

Clear Skin & A lot of money 

Clear Skin & A lot of money 

Clear Skin & A lot of money 

Clear Skin & A lot of money 

Clear Skin & A lot of money

Here’s is the trailer for my new film “Expiration Date”! It’s a story about love in a way I feel we’re not used to seeing on screen. This is for us and by us! Enjoy!

Choking

I could feel myself choking, on his internalized self loathing and the humidity.

This damn window is always such a bitch to open, but finally- I cracked it open and the rush of air was tickling the hairs on my body, and quenching my lungs.

The floor feels so cool on my skin, my always buzzing with warmth, skin. The shadows and colors on the ceiling look like so inviting and forgiving. They whisper to me, “you love you, that’s enough,” but I don’t believe them. As I gaze out the window I can see the sky, it’s perfectly clear. It looks painted actually.

Buzz, buzz.

What does he want now? To suffocate me further? Leave me alone! Go lie to the world somewhere else. Yo sé quién soy. Soy hermosa como soy. I hate him. I hate how this makes me feel.

I miss you.

Yea, I miss me too. I miss how free I was. How I had no fear, but now I fear losing your love. Losing. I fear losing, but I can’t and I won’t. I can’t lose out on love. Real, free, trusted love.

15 minutes.

That’s all the time I have to pull myself off this floor and feel like a whole person again. To feel my soul light up and be the roaring fire it truly is when it isn’t being snuffed out and stifled by bigotry and insecurity. Ahh! I’m tired of crying hot tears of desperation.

A kiss. A hand on my knee. A lie.

All this to make me feel special behind closed doors. Doors so heavy and thick that they can barely be opened. Doors that if we ran through them hand in hand we could be free.

It’s hot out. 9PM. 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Where is that damn breeze. I’m choking again, this time on the smoke from his day old blunt. Damn, anything else you want to suppress? It doesn’t really matter does it? Of course it does but he’ll never get it. Only one of us choking. You can’t know the feeling unless you’ve choked before.

(8.5.18)

23