I always swear to myself I won’t write another grim post. However, I think this is something I need to get off my chest.

Happiness.

Personally, I think the word happiness should always have a question mark beside it. Example: If I accomplish this task, I will have so much happiness. If I meet my soulmate, I will find happiness. If I get this new or better job, I will be happy… If. If. IF.

I find myself using a few of those prompts day to day. My biggest question is: why is happiness even a question? Should it not be rightfully mine? Something no other human could take away?

Unfortunately, most of life is consumed with only the pursuit of happiness. I believe that is behind our every motive. Happiness IS our motive. But why? Not being happy isn’t inherently fatal. Of course, it can be in certain situations, but not day to day. So why we do fight so hard to pursue it? Only existing isn’t an option. Apparently, there’s no quality of life in just living.

Society tells us happiness means a lot of things. We are told that not achieving happiness means we have not succeeded in life, we shouldn’t be fulfilled, we wasted the time we had here on earth. Society also tells us that we need to work 40+ hours a week to be happy. Scratch that. Work 40+ hours so you don’t die. That’s better. They will say that if you don’t find the perfect job then you haven’t accomplished anything.

I am here to tell you that is just not true.

Someone’s purpose does not always lie within a career. Sometimes, a purpose is found within oneself. Within their passion, their art, the way they love, the words they speak, their impact, their dreams. You can’t find happiness in a job; you find happiness in what the job allows you to be and do. If you spend your whole life thinking you have failed because you never found that perfect career, then you have missed out on what your purpose actually was.

Happiness can only be found in simplicity. Contentment. Humanity. Everything else will turn up absolutely void in comparison.

When I say humanity, I don’t mean the world and its past as a whole. I am talking about your Love, your offspring, your family, your best friend. People may argue that finding happiness outside of yourself is a bad thing. It isn’t. You can’t always find something so pure inside of you without the influence of someone else. Our view of ourselves is tainted from birth and that’s okay. It is okay if others around you need to shed a light on your good. Happiness will never be a negative. If you have it, run with it. Hold on to it with all of your might.

Who gives a flying f*ck how you achieved it?

It is okay to love, dear one.

To love is to be. To exist and to do it well.

To love is to look upon the eyes of the sun.

It is okay to feel, however fleeting it may seem.

It isn’t always a painful deal. I could argue that it is a dream.

It’s okay to be in love even it seems as though your fate has been sealed.

It has…

Once you’ve truly loved.

This has been my daily reminder as of late. I wrote that poem almost a year ago now. To be frank, I couldn’t relate to it at all back then. I guess I was trying to be positive, in light of having absolutely no hope of finding the “one whom my soul loves.” If I knew what I know now back then, there would be so many things I would have done differently.

This one is for you, G.

I have been holding out on him for a minute. I’m still having difficulty with the words to describe the pure ecstasy he creates within my person. All cheesiness aside, (and there will be plenty, my apologies.) I have never wanted to build a home this greatly like I have with him. Hell, I’m even learning to cook. Not so I can be this perfect housewife someday, but because I want to be able to take care of this. Of us. He has taken care of me in every way possible. I feel considered. More than all else. I have never been able to say this.

We are just like the movies. I didn’t think that was even possible. Never have I dreamed of having a love at first sight. That didn’t exist. I couldn’t fathom the idea of “when you know, you know.” Well, here I am. Here we are. This is the first time I have not wanted to be in another place or time. I am perfectly content. For once. And hopefully.. for all.

His name is synonymous for Heaven to me. His name sounds like an angel’s harp gliding off my tongue. To hear his voice is to hear constellations weep. Their beauty combined with the brightness and the magic of the moon could never compare to matching the gleam in his blue eyes. Oceans of bliss cascade over me when he smiles.

I’ve seen this before. I’ve loved him before. Knowing when or where is beyond me. This is eternity. It has to be. Even if there are a million alternate lives to be lived besides this one, I wouldn’t hesitate to choose him in all of them. No matter how we manifest.

More than anything, I wish he could see what I see. Outward imperfections don’t and shouldn’t exist in the eyes of a lover. A true lover. He doesn’t realize that he is nothing less than perfect to me. I am blind to all except that truth. My heart melts with just the slightest touch of his hand. I see galaxies when his lips caress mine. He awakes all of my senses and all my inner passions I thought were entombed. I want to give him the world. For now, this is all I have.

I wouldn’t change a single thing in this moment. I want him to shift every aspect of my life. Constantly creating more room for him to expand in my mind and in my days, I want this to consume and touch everything. He’s already shed light on the darkest parts of me and made them have a purpose. Everything makes so much sense to me now. I feel like every single event that has brought me to this point has had its reasons. And I’m living them.

Fate isn’t something I have been confident in. Until May 24th.

Plans were laid out. We had had a rough start executing them until this point. Something this perfect has to have more of a gravitational pull, I think. Nonetheless, I pulled into the Bruster’s Ice Cream Shop we agreed to meet at. Nervous, I try to calm myself with some music as I wait for him to arrive. My hands were visibly shaking, and my body began to shiver. I wasn’t cold; that startled me. I had been on my fair share of first dates. Honestly, my expectations were a bit low. Before I know it, I see a huge Chevy pull in.

Rain begins to pour. We give each other quick hellos as we run to take cover underneath the window of the shop. The employee takes our order and I try to get out of the way as we wait on our ice cream. If you’ve been to a Bruster’s, then you know they don’t have any indoor seating. You just walk right up. Rain wasn’t expected, to say the least. My back finds its place against the side of the building. I look up to meet his soft gaze. From that moment forward, he has not ceased to make life so beautiful. Even when the weather doesn’t respect our plans.

I believe it was that exact moment. To say I fell in love is an understatement. I fell into a life. A happy, content, loved life. The timing was perfect. I had already dealt with my trauma and began to feel whole. All on my own, I was fulfilled. However, this is a happiness one could not possibly achieve on their own. I’ve reached Heaven without even having to die. I could say I’m lucky or blessed. But to me, the phrase I would use is my future has been handed to me. Wrapped up in the most familiar heart I have ever known.

Whom I love.

There. I said it. In a blog post. I couldn’t find any other way more fitting. I would have to write a million books before I could sum up exactly how happy our time together has made me. So, I’ll start with this.

You are my happiest subject. And my favorite. I love you. -K

You are the hell I damned myself to.

I am in pursuit of Heaven now.

You do not get to follow me here. This will be a sacred place. A place you will no longer have the liberty to taint. To stain. To harm.

I will be making this journey alone.

I don’t need you as a “life lesson” anymore. I don’t need you to remind me how to love or the reasons to do or not to do so. I don’t need you to show me who to trust anymore. You do not get to ruin this by your false assumptions anymore. I don’t need you begging me to run as far as I possibly can because they aren’t you anymore. I don’t need you as a reminder to not make the same mistakes anymore.

You will no longer be the epitome or example of love.

My energy will no longer be wasted on the likes of you or those that came before or after you. Heaven is too near, the edge of the clouds wisp in my grasp. Barely. All I have to do is let go.

Of you. Of me. Of everything I have ever known. Of irrevocable youth and the naivety therein.

It’s time to grow up.

I am realizing now that moving on from the past and losing pieces of me are not synonymous. I could never lose me. You were never a part of me. You did not build me. You did not create me. By god, you didn’t end me either. My loving you had nothing to do with you and had everything to do with me. I am the creator and destroyer of my love. Not you. Not anymore.

All ties are now relinquished. I can’t carry the weight of your absence any longer. I refuse to look through a lens where all I see are the memories that hold you in it.

The memories are engulfed in flames now and I am sick of the third degree burns.

Heaven won’t heal my wounds. However, maybe the pursuit of it will. After all, I hold all the capabilities I could ever possibly have. I just have to use them.

One. By. One.

Youth. Just that word and it’s definition alone remains unmatched. Oh, the innocence it brings. The naivety. Having the closest grasp of eternity one could possibly have. Forever is upon the young. But it is much easier to be lost.

Young love. Unmatched. People often speak of elderly couples and how ever they could have lasted that long. The lucky ones. When you’re younger, you don’t quite know what you have to lose. The older you get, the more you realize. However, younger love has more at stake. Less to offer, but more to give. Less trauma and baggage. More newness, captivation, and more innocent love and emotion. Young eyes haven’t yet been exposed to the sorrows of unrequited lovers so they don’t look through a distrustful lense. Waltzing through, carefree and wide eyed, the young lovers dance.

I have tasted this. Ever since, I have not been able to scrub it off my tongue. Out of my brain. Sometimes, I can feel it. The innocent and limited gaze that peered into mine. Not yet becoming what they soon would. After I left.

Not being able to pinpoint why the sudden fascination with dying began when I turned 20, I’m left feeling very reflective and curious. I find it funny how when you’re younger it feels as though you could live forever; you can’t get past this present moment. Youth is all you know and all you can see. I miss my youthful gaze.

I know what you’re thinking. Kait, you are SO young, why the concern? Because, well, I’m not sure. That’s why I decided to write about it. Maybe you can provide me some insight or encouragement. Or not.

The events that led to the end of my youthful, eternal gaze are unclear. Everything seems almost pointless, but not, somehow. How is any deed we do matter? Our little lives and experiences absolutely pale in comparison to the fact that no one will ever even remember our name. Our favorite color, favorite book. Our lovers. We will go down as everyone else has in history. On the DHEC death list or whatever it is, being on another recorded death certificate. Another statistic. More paperwork for someone to enter and process.

I’m not trying to imply I’m numb to feeling and can’t have magical experiences anymore. It’s just more difficult and a battle. For instance, the sensation of being in love is finally coming back to me with full force after years of losing it. Mistaking it for desperation or masochism. Faking it to make others happy and whole. I met a boy.

And that’s all I’m going to say for now. I can’t have him read this and think I will only mention him in a post about death.

Sorry, G.

Anyhow, an example I will gladly insert in this post is my magical experience at the Benee concert I attended. Just to show that I can feel. I feel things HARSHLY. Which is why I think I usually don’t, like a defense mechanism.

The concert venue was located in Atlanta, GA. Begging all my friends to accompany me, none of them could fit it in their schedule on that rainy Friday night. I drove the 2 and a half, almost 3 hours alone. I had a hotel booked, however, they didn’t have my reservation in their system. On top of that, I hadn’t eaten since 1pm that day and it was now 5:15pm. Meet and Greet started at 6:00pm, so I had no time to stop anywhere except the concert after the fiasco with the Motel 6. Frustrated and starving, I headed to Variety Playhouse, where the concert would take place.

After battling traffic and paying to park, I ran over to the group of people standing outside of the playhouse. It started pouring rain. We all huddled underneath the foyer until they finally let us inside. I managed to group with a very kind couple who took me under their wing, knowing I had driven all that way alone. Finally, the clock struck 6:00. Heart racing out of my chest, I step inside to the room Benee herself was standing in. Stopping myself from breaking out into a sprint, I impatiently stand in line to wait. I tried not to stare at her but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Benee looked beautiful. You could practically feel the energy radiating off her.

When the time came to be my turn, I handed the photographer my phone and darted towards her, arms outstretched.

“Aw, you’re so cute!” She exclaims. I pour my heart out to her in about 10 seconds about how she has gotten me through every day the last 3 years and how much I loved her. I was surprised to hear her say she loved me back. She even wrote it in my little pink notebook, on top of the little designs she drew at my request to get tattooed.

Pure happiness and contentment flooded my person like a f*cking tsunami. The couple who were with me had our whole interaction on video. Ecstatic, I had to fight back the urge to hug their necks. Soon, the Meet and Greet was over and Benee retreated backstage. Before the rest of the crowd rushed in, we hurriedly found spots closest to the stage. I had luckily gotten a hold of some water to quench my unbearable thirst before the concert began.

After having conversed with the couple and an older man who wore a Benee jersey and hat, ranting and raving about his adoration for her, Dreamer Boy, Benee’s opener ran on stage. I won’t go into full detail about his hour with us, however, he put on an excellent performance.

The lights went down, the energy of the crowd screaming in anticipation for the moment when she finally waltzed out. Benee was so close you could literally reach out and touch her. Electric. I felt like I was on fire the whole performance. Being a brand new emotion I hadn’t felt before, I was perfectly content. As if everything I had ever been through fatefully brought me to that very moment. Seeing her, being with her made all my previous hardships worth it. Not to mention, how the last 3 years I’ve listened to her music came full circle. I can look back on what her music saved me from and I could then look up at her. Awestruck. God, I think I looked at her like I was in love. Benee isn’t just a musician for me, she’s a symbol of hope and contentment.

I managed to hold back tears until I heard the first few chords of If I Get To Meet You.

I f*cking lost it. My hands on my heart, I sobbed to the lyrics. Benee may not have known it, but that little song meant the entire universe to me. I have not ever been happier than in that moment.

You’ve probably had enough of me gushing over Benee and that night. However, I needed to tell you so I could provide further context into my all-consuming thoughts toward death.

Back to the melancholy.

I’m just trying to understand how others aren’t consumed with the inevitability of dying. Nothing we could possibly do will stop that. Powerless. Out of control. That’s how it makes me feel. Will my words even matter? My poems or my stories? How could they possibly hold up through time? I’m not saying I want to live forever. Or that I even want to be remembered. All I can do is hope there’s something that comes after all this. Whether that be reincarnation, heaven, hell, or maybe, my favorite theory: we lucid dream when we die and create entire worlds and scenarios to our liking.

Christians would try to claim that I just need Jesus to find purpose and not be scared of death. Been there, done that. All Jesus gave me, personally, was crippling anxiety and overly religious parents. If I’m wrong, I wish he would let me know. Alas, being terrified of death isn’t going to benefit me. It isn’t going to make me live my life sinless. If anything, I am going to hold on tighter to humanity and every single day I have. I’ll hold on to love and not run from it like I always do. Believe it or not, I find humans and our makeup more powerful and of higher importance than literally ANYTHING else. That’s my religion. We live and we die every day but that’s the thing.

We live.

I believe in humanity way more than I could ever put faith into a god or celestial being. All we have comes from within. We create and destroy ourselves. Day after day. You can say it’s because of god or jesus or whatever. In my experience, I have kept myself alive through every happening. Ever. I refuse to believe something has held my hand the last 20 years. It’s just me. I can’t have love without ME. I can’t wake up every morning without ME. I can’t make friends without ME. I can’t stay alive without ME. I can’t work my jobs without ME. Now say that to yourself, once, twice, however many times it takes for it to stick. Don’t even consider giving credit to the b*stard friend that helped you move that one time. The friend you “couldn’t live without.” How did you manage to make and keep that friend?

YOU.

You are your own cause and effect. It all begins and ends with you. Fate can’t happen without you. Your own purpose and path will not happen without you. We are all just energy. I may not have answers as to where we go after we die or what our purpose is while we are here, however, one thing I do know is..

It can’t happen without us.

You might be questioning my choice of words here. And that’s okay. Not everyone is going to get it. Surely you must know what it’s like to experience deeply rooted insecurities and the like. Not to mention loads and loads of guilt. I think I’ll touch on the insecurities first. To be honest, I think I could fill a novel with how many insecurities and flaws I have. I won’t completely bore you, however, I’ll give you a rundown. Maybe you can relate.

Growing up, my mom seemed stricter than most parents. That meant no tank tops, long skirts/dresses only/capris, no shorts/light makeup, if any/long hair/no leggings ,etc. Plenty of other things were included in her strictness as well. I’ll cover those fun stories at a later time. Not being able to wear those things like other teen girls could put a huge damper on my self-esteem. Disclaimer: Now that I’m older I understand why Mom did some of the things she did, however, I don’t necessarily agree. Still have great respect for her, though.

I begged my mother to AT LEAST allow me to wear makeup. I thought my skin was hideous. Giant pores, acne, and rosacea. Despised my huge forehead. She didn’t allow it necessarily. This sneaky b*stard began putting on an extra makeup product every time we went out. One evening, concealer. The next, mascara, and so on. Before she knew it, I basically had a full face of glam. It became a passion of mine but it was rooted in anxiety and insecurity to the point where I couldn’t go out without it. I had a love for makeup for ALL the wrong reasons. Anyways, it took her a long time to notice, but when she did.. oh boy. Many arguments and debates took place. I can honestly say that is one rule she budged on.

Unfortunately, as my need for makeup grew, so did my anxiety. Anxiety occurred to me for plenty of reasons aside from this one. At first, it manifested itself as skin picking. I would sit and pop and claw non-existent blackheads and pores because of how obsessive I became. I remember having red splotches everywhere on my body. Face, arms, breasts and legs. Which then only made my insecurities worse. And so the vicious cycle kept repeating.

Aside from my skin, I also had problems with my body in general. For example, the cellulite. EVERYWHERE. Also, I don’t know if anyone else has issues with this, but I have very translucent skin; you can see all the little blue/green veins coiling under my skin. I know now that there’s nothing I can do about this. Which is fine. It doesn’t bother me as much now. Another thing was my presumption of being fat. Like, sorry to younger me for not having abs. Of course, now I would like to be more toned and overall stronger, but I am also okay with me. Exactly as I come. Exactly as I am.

Well, at least for the most part. I have my days where if I could switch bodies with someone more committed to working out than me, I TOTALLY would. Because I’m not committed. I’m hoping I will be one day. We’ll see. I do have my streaks of workouts that last all of 3 days. Then I don’t exercise for a week.. or longer. One day at a time, is what I tell myself.

What I’ve came to find out is I get nothing, absolutely nothing, out of hating myself. Unless you count overwhelming depression and anxiety. Obviously, those things don’t just go away. Hating yourself doesn’t help, though. I know what it’s like to despise every inch inside and out of yourself. I never had anything even remotely rewarding come out of that. My biggest goal is to make sure I never put myself in that position again.

A few things that have helped me: watching positive YouTube videos, such as Spencer Barbosa. Her sh*t hits home. She basically debunks flaws and insecurities in herself and others and helps you start making excuses to love yourself. For instance, “Oh. You think you have a flabby stomach?” “Actually, that holds all of your important organs and intestines. The parts that keep you alive. Also, it can hold children. Give yourself a break.” That’s not verbatim or anything, but that’s the gist.

Another thing that helps me is dancing.. with myself. Alone in my kitchen. My airpods at full blast. I am a sh*tty dancer, don’t get me wrong. However, I am at my highest confidence level when I do this. Dancing is one of those activities you do with a partner, usually. I don’t have a partner, so, I act as my own partner. A partner I am head over heels for. That isn’t the easiest headspace to get into, though. I’m not in it all the time, nor am I able to just turn it on. When the mood strikes, I act on it. The best way I can describe it is a high you do not want to come down from. Spending way too much time waiting on the love of my life to come into my kitchen and dance with me, has caused my own self to step in and take that spot.

This is a process that has taken me years. I had spouts of it here and there; nothing that lasted. Late night drives, screaming my lungs out to my favorite music. Dancing in my bedroom. Endless streams of selfies. This is the first time in my life that my mental is constantly having an inward war with herself. To love and accept herself, instead of falling into the mediocre state of not caring and just tolerating herself. It’s so easy to slip back into my old patterns of self-destruction. I’m actually fighting now. I can feel the inner turmoil and sometimes it terrifies me.

Not everyone is going to thrive off of this practice like I have, however, it’s something that is worth mentioning: Wicca. I will not be covering my personal practices on here due to it being super private and intimate. In addition to that, I think it takes a special type of person to get into those practices and those mindsets. It won’t work for a majority of people. In my area specifically, there are a lot of Christians running rampant. No disrespect. Wicca and Christianity don’t mix modernly. At least not my form of it.

Now on to the even less glamorous section: guilt. I have been far too acquainted with that term all my life. That’s what my childhood in church instilled into me. Guilt for sinning, guilt for anger, guilt for bad thoughts, guilt for disobedience, curiosity, guilt for questioning. All natural aspects of a human life. Blind indoctrination at its finest. I can’t possibly be the only one who has had a scarring church experience, right? By no means am I hating on what other people do; I am not righteous enough. But then again, no one is. Basically, the church groomed me to constantly feel guilty at a young age. And it stuck.

Religious guilt led to other forms of guilt as well. It began as thoughts of “I’m not good enough.” “I’m a terrible person.” “I will never be good enough.” Which then formed into depression, anxiety, trauma, and deeply rooted insecurities which then formed into subconscious reactions which led to me not standing up for myself. “Because I was terrible anyways.” “I must have deserved the bad things happening to me.” “This is god punishing me.” That was the worst one. The god that I adored and worshipped; always out to punish me and was always out to get me. That mindset doesn’t make any sense to me now and it pains me to think there are still people out there who think that way. My own family.

All of that led to the entire point of this post: toxic relationships that further proved my aforementioned thought of not being enough and settling for less than I wanted and actually deserved. I decide that enough is enough. I am not my past. I am not my absent friends. I am NOT my godd*mn absent lovers. I am not the boys/girls’ hearts I’ve broken. I have been created to be enough by solely being me.

My fair share of guilt does in fact come from failed relationships/friendships. Some of those failures are my fault and some aren’t. However, for the sake of my sanity, I am releasing responsibility. That’s because I am not her anymore. I don’t even recognize the girl who made those mistakes or lost those people. A life spent being guilty isn’t a life worth living. At least, not to me.

I will admit that recently I have attempted to make amends with two people in particular whose stories still don’t sit right with my spirit. Before I get into that in the next post, I just want to encourage you to love yourself. In spite. In spite of your grades, your ex, your disappointed parents, your wallet, your enemies, and your previous or nonexistent lovers. We are all deserving of love. However, we can only be guaranteed love if it comes from within.