You quit on me today.

I know I acted like I didn’t care, but the truth is, I care so much that it’s all I can do to keep from breaking down.  I don’t think you ever really understood exactly how much you meant to me, but as my final farewell, I’d like to let you know.

When I met you, I knew you’d have a deep impact on my life.  That first day, walking and talking, just sharing different things and getting to know the details of each other, I can remember how I felt the next day.  I couldn’t wait to share all of the interesting things I had learned about you and wanted to talk to anybody who would listen.  You came into my life when I was hurting so bad, and managed to plug a hole before things began to spill over.

You encouraged me to love my craft, to continue writing every chance you got.  And every time you spoke to me about it, it never felt like you were nagging me.  You wanted to read it, you wanted to know more, you wanted me to find success and to be happy with my writing.  You were the first person that I felt was genuinely interested in my writing and what I had to say.  I knew back then that I would fall in love with you if you gave me the chance.

And you did.  We started seeing each other more often, just spending time getting to know each other and supporting each other through this twisted path we call life.  I got to learn about your difficulties and problems and you in turn listened to mine.  We grew closer, bonding over Epic Rap Battles of History and my lazy cooking.  I was scared of what might happen, and worried I might over think or over step my boundaries, but I continued to see you every time I could.

Every chance you got, you continued to encourage me.  You wanted me to find my dreams, to find success, to do something that would make me happy.  I will forever be grateful for the warmth you showed me and the love you gave me.  We eventually ended up finding more, though we both bumbled on our way to finding it.

You came over one day and you never left.  When I think back to New Year’s and the week we spent together, I can’t imagine anything else being more fun.  We watched movies, began to strengthen our bonds and test the boundaries of a new found relationship and began to grow as a pair.  You held me as I cried, the pressure and stress from moving and changing jobs too much to keep in more.  You offered me help when I had no one else there, gave me a warm chest on which I could rest my head and fell asleep holding my hand every night.

I didn’t know what we were that night, and it took me a long time to figure out what our relationship actually was.  I was too nervous to ask because I was afraid the answer wouldn’t be the one I wanted, and eventually we had our first disagreement over it.  But, I picked you, and I know, you picked me as well.  We were drawn together for a reason.  I believe everything happens for a reason, people wind up falling in love together because that’s what’s supposed to be.

I thought I’d known what love was before, but when I look back, it turns out I had no idea what I was talking about.  Love isn’t about putting yourself first, it’s about making way for the other person, for considering their feelings and opinions and trying to find a compromise to make everything work together.  I learned from you how to love another, something I had long been afraid I was incapable of doing.

You listened to me as I poured my heart out to you, detailed the reasons why it was so hard for me to love.  The pain I’d dealt with, the self-hatred and loathing I’d come to wear as armor.  The anger and aggression I chose to show the world, keeping everything bottled up inside.  Every time I was in your presence, I felt myself grow just a little bit stronger, a little more capable of opening up and showing someone my emotions.

It was hard, and honestly, it’s still hard.  I try every day to deal with the mixed emotions I have and push them to where they belong.  Sometimes the darker ones, the angrier ones, bubble to the surface, but I’ve been working to keep them at bay, to try and keep a smile on my face and love in my heart.

Sometimes it’s hard, because all anyone wants is to love and be loved in return.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask somebody to care about them, to think about them and want to be with them.

We lived together for a month, and I thought it was one of the most exciting and thrilling times of my life.  I got to cook and try many different foods, we watched several movies and TV shows, able to spend a nice time together and I got to cuddle you to sleep every night, something that still makes my heart beat faster to this day.  There’s nothing better than being able to wrap my arms around you and lay my head against your chest, letting your heart beat lull me to sleep.  I think maybe that’s what I’ll miss the most, and as I’m writing this, what’s causing me to tear up.

When I moved to a new city, I knew our relationship would take on a new dynamic, but it was a challenge I was willing to tackle.  It would be good for us to have some space after spending practically 2 months together glued to each other.  I was sad to not have you in my home and in my arms every day, but I knew it was best for my career.  And I was determined to make it work, creating a plan and trying to make sure we saw each other with regularity.

And then the world moved, and my feet were ripped out from underneath me.  In the month following the earthquake, you were all I needed.  You were there as soon as I arrived in the city and didn’t leave my side unless you had to.  I got to be selfish for a month, to request things of you and enjoy another happy time snuggling you to sleep every night.  You let me do whatever I wanted, following me around the city and eventually out of town to escape the aftershocks and panic that had gripped my heart and mind.

I’m still a bit messed up from that, and I think I’ll always carry around the scars from that time.  But you helped to soothe my pain, to find a new normal when all I could think of was the constant shaking and my world spinning whenever I took a step.  You even took me back to the city, calming my frazzled nerves as we arrived and making sure I was ok every step of the way.

I don’t know when things started to really take a turn for the worse, but I know things have always been a bit harder for us.  Neither of us are what you would consider normal, and maybe we were doomed from the beginning.  I was bound and determined to make it work, to show you that with a little work and perseverance, we could handle anything together.  I don’t really know when you decided that I wasn’t good enough.

We had a lot of good times, and a lot of bad.  But that’s what makes a relationship whole and beautiful.  Getting to know each other, finding out how far we can push each other before we get angry, what to say when the other is feeling sad, how to calm the other down when they’re upset.  I’ve done some stupid things, but if I had to give you an excuse, it would probably be that I loved you too much to really see how annoying I was being.

When I called to tell you I loved you after I had been drinking, I needed that liquid courage to help me get the words out.  I’d be testing them out for months, but didn’t want to scare you off with the weight of my words.  But when they came out, I knew it was the right time.  You responded right back, echoing my feelings and even having the nerve to say that you already knew, haha.  I never was very good at hiding my feelings, I’d always just had a problem expressing them.

I never tell someone I love them lightly.  The depth with which I loved you is something I’ve never shown another.  I did many things for you, but those were things I loved to do.  I know you never asked me to do them, I did them because it made me happy to be able to do those things for you.

I never wanted to cause you to feel such pain and if I could go back in time, I would do anything to keep from picking up the phone, because then maybe you wouldn’t think of me with such hatred and disgust now.  I always end up apologizing, but everyone makes mistakes.  I know I’m difficult to deal with, but so are you.

But I choose to deal with your difficulties because there’s no one else I’d rather deal with them with.  Every time you visit, my heart flutters just at the sight of you.  When you let me hold onto your arm in public, even though I know you hate it, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

You weren’t sure if you could care about me, but I still don’t think you know what the word entails.  You took such good care of me during the earthquake, doing everything I needed, being prepared, holding onto me when the world continued to shake.  That was the kind of care I loved and the small things I needed.  But if that’s too hard for you, then maybe this is the for the best.

I gave you a big piece of my heart, and for a while I thought you would treasure it and treat it like something precious.  Now I can see that it was just another piece of junk to add to a pile of things that were too much to care about.  But I guess, I’m not angry.  I’m used to the feeling of being tossed aside, of things becoming to difficult to deal with and people just moving past me instead of trying to work on it.  I’m not perfect, certainly far from perfect, and I never expected you to be either.  All I wanted was some patience, a little bit of love and some ‘try’ from you to make this relationship work.  When both sides give an equal amount, it’s not work anymore, but something you build and do together.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you wanted to build together with, and I wish you luck in everything you do from now on.

As for me, I’ll be sitting here, nursing another broken heart, trying to pick up the pieces that were tossed aside so casually.  I loved and gave you everything I had, but I guess it just wasn’t enough.



When I look at the window, the once beautiful mountains that stood like sentinels against my fears have crumbled into pebbles and dirt, sad remnants of once strong and beautiful souls.  As my eyes trace the empty area where the strong peaks once stood, I can feel a deep sadness clamber it’s way into my soul.  Things will never be the same, of that I’m well aware, but it doesn’t change the fact that a part of me earnestly yearns for that normalcy once more, any part of ‘before’ that will make everything right again.

But ‘before’ has tumbled to the floor, deep red swirls circling the drain.  My fingers claw at nothing, rubbing raw against the plastic.  Cold drops pelt into my back, leaving trails of clean skin where once dust and dirt once clung.

I can feel their hands, a light touch against my burning flesh, trying to pull me back up.  But my fear and the memories of disaster keep me hunched over the drain, screaming for normal to bob back up to the surface.  Seconds somehow wind up turning into days, and before I know it weeks have passed and I realize I’m still trying to hold onto something that no longer exists.  I have no choice now, what I thought I could bring back has long since died, drifting without a word into the darkness. 

With a renewed determination, a strength from deep within I didn’t know I had, I manage to scramble to my feet.  My legs wobble and buckle from the exertion, but I know just behind is my support system.  The mountains, my beautiful reminders may have fallen, but that doesn’t mean I have to as well.  If anything, seeing the jagged and broken pieces reminds me of a not so distant past when I felt much the same way. 


I can’t even speak…

So I scream

To tell you the truth, I can’t stop lying. All the honeyed words, it’s a beautiful life, those meaningful thoughts that come out of my mouth? Yeah, all of those things, I don’t even believe in them, so why should you?

It’s all about how you carry yourself, right? I’ve got this down so tight that sometimes I lose the edges, the lines begin to blur between what’s real and what’s fake. It never slips, you’ll never see what’s buried deep down, because I keep it chained up so tight that it barely breathes.

When it awakens, I have no trouble pushing it back down. Words bubble to the surface, thoughts and emotions long suppressed try to shatter the false sense of sanity I’ve laid for myself.

It only takes one gentle nudge, a quiet reminder, and down it plummets, dust and dirt swirling in the air as it lands back in its prison with a deep, resounding thud. Panic always follows, hands clawing across every surface, feeling along the exterior, checking for cracks. It’s a pointless endeavor, there are never any. There will never be another crack in the façade.

There’s no longer a battle to grow tired from, just a quiet resignation to the inevitable. I watch everyone and everything around me, a silent observer. I’m the listener, the counselor, guidance in the darkest of nights. I fulfill my role well, with each passing moment siphoning off what little of myself I have left.

I can’t even speak…

So I scream

What is normal? Is this normal? I don’t think it’s normal. But it’s what I’ve grown accustomed to… Years upon years of struggling with pain that never should have been mine…

The house I grew up in has burned to the ground.

What you don’t know is that I’m the one who torched it. Burning my memories, eradicating the pain? It didn’t help, if anything when I think about it, I only feel worse. I haven’t faced the problems, I’m still cowering like a child.

I can feel its screams crawling across every inch of my skin. So loud and painful that I’m sure the world around me can hear them too. But when I look up, all I see is disinterest, lack of connection, lies and deceit.

Sometimes I wonder if I actually started screaming, letting all of the pain I feel inside out, if there would be anything left. When I’m alone and in the dark, every breathe I inhale is sharper than the next. I can feel it coming, bubbling back to the surface.

I want to scream in your face. I want you to acknowledge my pain. I want you to do everything you know you’re incapable of. I want you to know that I’m talking to you. Yourself.

If my soul could talk, I imagine it would have gone something like this… Maybe years ago, but not anymore.

I scream…

Pills. Drugs. Addiction. Lies. Deceit. Fear. Pain. Hate. Disgust. Rage.

It always comes back to rage. It’s the only thing that feeds this hunger anymore. Love is dead. Hope is dead. Happiness is dead. Every time we think we’ve found them again, another slap to the face brings us back to reality. They’re all dead. Because you killed them yourself. Because, you realized a long time ago that you were never meant to have them.

The tattered bits of what I only imagine resembles a soul lay broken on a ruined, crimson floor. Gauges cover the floor, twisting in every direction, the deep scrapes pooled with blood spilt long ago.

There’s nothing left for you to find here. You’d be better off erasing everything and starting over from scratch. Maybe the outcome with be different this time.

But probably not. Don’t hold your breath on that one.

Sometimes I get bouts of insanity, when I think that maybe, just once, things might go my way for a while. But there’s always something that pulls me back into reality. It’s always there to remind me that those things aren’t meant for me. I have a different purpose, a darker purpose…

Maybe I’m supposed to experience the pain so that you don’t have to. Maybe I’m supposed to be the one who internalizes it, who lets everyone around them put their troubles and fears into them, and then be done with them. It’s my job to carry around these things, which means I have no room for anything bright or beautiful.

I’m ok with that. I’ve been doing it since I was a child. A tool, a weapon to wield against one another. The keeper of the darkest of secrets, the rag doll to be used and tossed mercilessly about when you’re finished.

The scars will never totally heal, I’ll never be able to eradicate my own pain, but I know I can help others. And that’s enough for me.

But on the inside, my voice hoarse from years of torment, I scream

Tune Tuesday: Run

Today’s music sample: SafetySuit – Life in the Pain

Can I really achieve my dreams?  Is this something that I can see to the end?  Or will this be like everything else in my life, something I give up before I really even give it a real chance.  Am I reaching too far… the edges are beginning to slip right out of my finger tips.

I can’t focus, my thoughts are going in a million different directions, colliding into each other and exploding in a fit of frustration.

Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow, maybe next week.  Let me get everything situated outside of my head and then maybe we can start working.

What a joke.

I’m unhappy with my life.  And that unhappiness bleeds into everything, like an infectious disease.  How do I cure this festering wound, how do I get back to where I need to be.  I’ve tried a million different things, but I can’t seem to figure it out.  So, I’ll head back to square one, day one… step one.

Write.  Flex your fingers, strike the keys, read the words as they flicker to life on the screen.  Breathe some life back into your dreams… you can do this, and you will do this.

I can feel their eyes on me, their judgmental stares burning deep holes into my back.  When I turn around to face them I can see how they really feel, the shadow behind their face.  Carefully constructed masks stare back at me every day, edges pressed so tight into the skin the lines are barely visible.  The right lighting and the correct angle is all it takes and the shadows give way to darker thoughts.

I know you don’t give a shit about me.  And that’s ok, I don’t give a shit about you either.  Keep up your facade, do whatever you have to do to make it through the day.  I will never let myself fall to your level, to become so bitter and out of control of my own life.  I’ll take back what is mine, rip it right from the hands that crafted me.  You will never own me, I’ll never be your puppet, moving in sync with the rest of your soulless marionettes.

However, when I look at you, I know you’re different.  Everyone dances around, limbs stiff and splintering, their tried bodies giving into the frenzied dance each and every day.  Orders from above, you can’t deny it or snip.  Just like that, all it takes is one word, and everything you’ve ever known will disappear.  You worry too much about the what-ifs and hows.  Relax and hold on.

Can I show you what life is like on the other side?  Will you let me show you how beautiful the world really is?  When I look at you, I can feel a deeper fear… you’re in a tail spin and I know you’re going to land face first in the dirt.  Every thing you’ve done, every step you’ve taken, you’re starting to question all of it.  What is my purpose in life?  Why am I doing this?  And maybe, most important of all, where do I go from here?

Listen to your heart.  Life isn’t supposed to be full of pain and suffering… we’re not supposed to find out how much shit we can take until we break.  I don’t want you to break the way that I did.  When I look at you, I can see myself.  Fragile, confused, lost and in need of someone to hold them up.  Let me cut your strings, and help you land on your feet.  Let go of your fear and embrace the change.

Don’t become part of the cycle, another scrap whittled down and used to build another.  Find your freedom and never look back.  Keep going until when you look back you can’t see us anymore.  Not even me.


I left the door unlocked,
and you nudged your way in
I let it happen, and I would do it again
The effect was immediate,
An instant rush
Every step I take,
With each breath I inhale –
You’re all I can think about
You’ve poisoned my mind,
Tortured my soul,
Stolen every last inch of my body,
Giving me this debilitating disease


I never thought it would happen,
All of my hope already long dead
But here you are, every day
With your beautiful heart,
Full of warmth and love
Looking only at me

And then I have no choice,
but to look in the mirror
What stares back is anything but beauty
Darkness spreads through my sight,
I can barely see it, locked up tight
Are you willing to find it for yourself?
Can you handle the journey?
Will you be able to navigate the path,
Push aside the fear, cut away the insecurities,
Find the last bit of good left within?

I let doubt take control,
Ruining every thing it touches
I don’t know if you can make it-
You’re so innocent and brave,
A beautiful light I’ve tortured before
I want to give you every thing,
But she won’t let me
Even if you survive,
find the last bit I sealed away,
Nurture and love it until it grows
I don’t think she’ll let you leave.

Because, when I left the door unlocked,
It ripped the damn thing right off the hinges
Love, the first, so gentle,
a breeze barely rustled the curtains
Hate, the last, stormy and violent,
shredding all in its path


Beads of sweat crawl down my back, leaking into the fabric of my shirt where it clings to my skin.  I’m a mess and I know it.  I cradle my head in my heads, wishing I had tears to shed, but I know they’re all gone.  Wasted away already, a currency to pay back my debts.

It’s always when I’m sleeping that the fear overcomes me, eating away at my soul, piece by piece.  The dreams have become so vivid that I’m having a hard time telling the difference between what’s real and what’s not.  I can feel their poisonous claws digging into my body even when I’m awake, like shaving bits of flesh until there’s only bone.  To them, I’m nothing more than a body, something that they can rip apart slowly, taking everything from me.

I have nothing more to give them.  I work as hard as I can, dealing with the politics as best I can in a place that refuses to see me as human.  They’ve taken something bright and snuffed it out, like a candle once the power comes back on.  I’m barely holding on, my grip loosens with each passing day.  I’m afraid to look down, because I know if I see the bottom, I’ll wish for it, beg for it… scream for it, until it becomes a reality.

That won’t stop them, even in death they’ll pick apart my corpse, scavengers hunting for every scrap they can get.


I have so many things I want to say.

But the words won’t come.

Every day is a constant battle.  Can’t I just lay here in bed?  Do I really need to go out and join the rest of the world?  I’ve grown tired of the looks, the stares, the laughs.

I’ve grown tired of every thing.  Sometimes eating is the last thing on my mind.  But I grab the spoon, I force it into my mouth.

I’m living my life on auto-pilot.  A casual observer from afar, every once in a while I drop in to check on my progress.

Nothing changes.  Days crawl by, slowly giving way to months.

There is no blame, there is no one at fault.  This is just simply the way it is.

Some days are harder than others… some days it takes all of my strength just to keep the tears off of my cheeks.  Some how I always manage, my mask staying tied in place.

The edges are beginning to crack, the plaster beginning to crumble from the abuse.

The first step is always to admit it to yourself.  Admit without hesitation.


Go ahead and laugh, it’s ok.

It’s real and it’s terrifying.  And honestly, I couldn’t care less what you actually think about me.

I’m drowning in my own despair, witnessing my own destruction.  I’m standing in the wings, watching the world I’ve created implode.

And strangely, I’m ok with that too.

I’m too stubborn to accept your help, but not afraid to admit I have a problem.  Some where down the line, I lost the ability to connect.

So I’ll watch from the outside, a third-party witnessing my own descent into Hell.

Maybe once I’m there, I’ll actually feel something.

I have so many things I want to say.

But the words won’t come.

Only tears.

Tune Tuesday: Silvi

Today’s Music Sample: We Cry – The Script

I sit upon my perch, the same spot I’ve come to for the last 6 months, and just look around.

Every day I stick to the same routine, studying all of the people that filter in and out of my line of sight.  It’s become my addiction; if I don’t come to this exact bench, on this road, at least once a day, I can’t sleep at night.  I’ve tried a couple times, but the truth is that I enjoy this too much to let it go.

These people, nameless faces, have become my inspiration.  I’ve started to craft intricate stories about their lives, adding happy moments and sad moments depending upon their facial expressions and how they hold themselves when they walk.  You can really tell a lot about a person from the way they carry themselves.

My favorite person is Silvi.  That’s not her real name, it’s the name I gave her after watching her  walk by, every day, at exactly the same time.  She was the first person I noticed, mostly because she has a very distinct walk and air about her.

Her hair is a beautiful shade of silver, which contrasts beautifully with her dark chocolate skin.  Every day she ties her hair back in a loose braid that reaches down the middle of her back.  She’s always dressed in a light colored pants suit, favoring light greys and tans, though occasionally she wears a navy suit to throw me off.  She walks with grace, her head always held high.  She looks as if she’s had a long and painful life; the lines etched into her face tell me all I need to know.  But regardless of the pain that is visible for all to see, she always has a bright smile on her face and greets many of the people she walks past.

It was when she stopped to help a homeless man in front of me that I knew I had to tell a story about her.  I had watched the man for the better part of an hour, he was piss drunk and sitting on the curb of the road.  Nobody else paid him any attention, preferring to carry on with their lives rather than worry about the one man who clearly had nothing to offer them.  I tried to keep my attention on both the man and the people walking past, but it was starting to prove difficult.  Just before I was about to get up and escort him to a bench as far away from mine as possible, Silvi popped up.  He had fallen backwards, his head about to connect with the pavement, when she fell to her knees, throwing out her arms to catch him.  She cradled him gently, showing him more compassion than I’m sure he had seen in years.  He looked up at her, confusion evident in his eyes, before promptly turning to his side and vomiting on her shoes.

She didn’t yell, she didn’t scream at him, instead she rubbed his back while the contents of his stomach spilled out of his system.  It wasn’t much, and soon he was dry heaving against her.  They exchanged no words, she didn’t need to.  But when I looked closer, I could see unshed tears in her eyes.  It was at this point that I got up to help her move him to a place where he could rest.  Neither did we share words, we worked soundlessly to achieve our common goal.  When we finally had managed to lay him on a bench and his eyes drooped into sleep, she gave me a curt nod and continued on her way.

I watched her as she walked away, her strong and solid posture a stark contrast to the tears that were spilling out of her eyes.  As I stood there, watching her back as it retreated in the distance, I felt my own tears begin to fall down my cheeks.  I touched a finger to my face, tracing the trail of saline as it curved down my cheek and off my chin.  I stood there, staring long after I could no longer see her, captivated by my thoughts.  I started writing her story right then, my fingers flying mercilessly across the keyboard in my head.  When I finally found the strength to move, I ran home, willing every thought I had collected from that encounter to stay firmly in my mind until I had a chance to put my fingers to the literal keyboard.


Sometimes, when I strain hard enough, I can still hear your laughter ringing through the halls.  Only for a split second, and then it fades, just like my memories of you are beginning to blur around the edges.  It’s hard for me to comprehend that it has been five years already.  It feels like just yesterday you walked into my life and turned everything upside.

You did the exact same thing when you left.

I haven’t deleted any of the voice mails you left on my phone, and your number is still #1 on my speed dial.  That must make me seem pretty pathetic, huh?

Some times I feel bad about it, but then I think about what you did and I remember that it was even worse.  I’ll never forget that night when a number I didn’t know and a man I had never met before called, breathing so heavily on the phone I could barely understand him, asking me to identify a body.  The next 24 hours all rushed past in a haze, faces and arms swimming in and out of my vision.  It wasn’t until 3 days later, when your mother called me to ask about your funeral that I actually understood the implications of your actions.

Was I not enough for you, did I not do enough?  Is that why you found it necessary to take your own life?

People keep telling me that you can never fully understand why someone takes their own life, that it can be for any number of reasons.

© 2007-2014 Megan Pavlak All Rights Reserved

September — Happiness

The chill in the air bites against my flesh causing a light-pink flush to spread across my cheeks.  I watch as the white flakes drift gently to the ground, collecting against the dull green grass. For most people, winter is a curse, but for me, I’ve always viewed it as a blessing.

I stare at the growing piles of snow for what feels like hours, my heart longing for them to grow large enough to play in.   It’s not until you come and sit next to me, forcing a mug of hot chocolate into my hands, that I realize just how large they have grown.

“Won’t be long now.” I glance over at you, grinning from ear to ear because I have a bunch of plans that I know you’re going to hate. But I know you’ll do every thing with me because that’s what I would do for you in the summer.  An almost imperceptible sigh escapes your lips; if I hadn’t been looking at you I’m sure I would’ve missed it.

Continue reading