Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
I'm sure you all knew this was coming. I was raised in a family where giving up is not an option. Those weren’t words at our house. It made me stubborn, but it also made me successful. It’s why I pushed through years of ringette, years of mean high school kids, years of relationships. It’s why I didn’t drop out of school when I was in second year, it’s why I FaceTime with my teachers to bring my grades up. I push because I’m not a giver upper. Maybe to a fault? Sometimes I don’t know when to give up. Arguing a point, never being able to accept defeat, never being able to hear “no” as an option. In fact, I’m the best at not giving up. I took PE all through high school and only one time in my life did I ever hit the softball (a foul ball at that) and that was all I needed to call it a win. But where is the line?? Giving up and surrender. What’s the difference? I still don’t think I know. But I think the first thing I ever gave up on was love. ...