I stared at the ceiling in my room, unable to even fathom sleep. During the day I could sometimes ignore it, sometimes shove it aside--distract myself with other things. But when the lights were out and I was alone, the thoughts came and I couldn't stop them.

An Open Letter to My Favorite Douchebag

 Dear Favorite Douchebag,

I am writing to you to end our little FWB relationship. It was fun until you turned into a douchebag. Here are some reasons why you’re my favorite douchebag:

Lies

You’re such a good liar. Or that’s what you seem to think. You and your “sorry I didn’t have my phone on me” texts can’t fool me anymore. I’m a girl and I have FBI-level cyber stalking skills. I saw you tweet (via mobile) those dumb lyrics to a song you were listening to. I saw on my Instagram activity feed how you liked that bimbo’s photo. The new photo you just filtered the shit out of even popped up on my Instagram news feed.

Telling me you can’t meet up because you “have an early meeting tomorrow” is also a big pile of steaming crap because you never wake up before 1 in the afternoon. 

Sex

Yeah I’ll admit the sex was pretty good. Okay, really good. But get that thing away from me.

Mind games

The biggest reason you’re a douchebag is because you play mind games with me. Don’t you dare text me at 2 am asking “whats up” and then tell me you’re “too tired” to hook up. What was the point of that? I’m pretty sure I’m already borderline crazy but you bring out the Alanis Morissette crazy in me. We are supposed to be FRIENDS with benefits. You can’t just treat me like shit and expect me to come crawling back (even though I do).

Even though I hate your guts right now, I want to say thank you.

Thank you for making me hate myself so much for crawling back to you every time.

Thank you for turning me into a mega stalker.

Thank you for transforming me into a crazy, jealous, bitter bitch.

But mostly, thank you for showing me I deserve more.

Love,

Your (Former) Friend with Benefits.

Ps. Your dick’s so small, you could screw a pasta strainer.

Because it's important.

Self harm is serious. Five cuts or a hundred, scratched or deep wounds, barely visible or scars for life. The pain that a person feels who takes that blade to their skin is not determined by the seriousness of their scars. They all kill their pain with pain. Every cut tells a story, and behind every single one of them lays more pain than someone from the outside could ever begin to understand. The smallest scratch could hold hours of tears and hatred; the frustration and hopelessness can't be measured in blood. They will all see their reflection in the mirror and every day be reminded of what they have done to themselves. They will all make excuses for wearing long sleeves, or not going for a swim. They will all know both the reliefs and the regrets of this brutal addiction. Self harm is a disease of the mind, and the amount of scars on the outside does not show the amount of suffering on the inside. 

Vulnerable

My unsaid words are weighing me down.
I've been trying to let things go, to not worry about anything.

I thought my troubles would float away like balloons.
But they don't.

They stick to my skin and create this crust and are cutting off my air supply.

It's true that not everything has to be said, but I'm not saying anything. My throat is clogged with the feelings I swallow.

I used to be so open. I used to be transparent. But glass is vulnerable; glass is flimsy. That's what I thought, anyway.

People often describe me as brave. Courageous. I jump off bridges and eat strange food and  kill spiders, but that doesn't make me courageous.

The word "courageous" comes from the Latin word "cor" which means "heart". Being courageous involves putting your heart on the line even if it terrifies you. Courageous means following what your heart tells you. Courageous means not hiding or being ashamed of your feelings.

I'm trying so hard to not be dramatic that I'm losing my courage. I fear to say what's in my heart because I'm trying to be un-childish. Un-emotional. Un-whateverIwas.

The word "vulnerable" comes from the Latin word "vulner" which means "wound". Being vulnerable means showing your wounds, exposing your Achilles Heel. Allowing your enemies and your demons to see your soft spot.

So often we look at vulnerability as a bad thing. As something to avoid. We see vulnerability as a weakness.

But if we build our walls so thick that our enemies can't get in, neither can our friends. If we build our walls so thick that nothing can hurt us, then we can never escape ourselves.

I've been trying so hard to block up every crack in my wall of invulnerability that I've sacrificed my courage in the process.

I'm going crazy in my self-made citadel with only myself for company.
I'm trying so hard not to care, not to sweat anything, not to feel any sadness.
I'm drowning in the feelings I've locked in.
I built a submarine to keep myself safe, but I'm running out of air and I feel a drip drip drip from the ceiling.

I've buried myself in Green Gables and Downton so that I don't have to feel my own feelings.

I've lost my vulnerability, but I've also lost my courage.

It's hard to find anything more terrifying than the loneliness that comes when I'm on my knees crying and sobbing and I discover that I've lost the ability to be honest with myself.

But Guys. Nothing bad happens in Utah.

I've struggled with drugs for much of my teen years. First got hooked on prescription pain meds in junior high, and only progressively grew worse through high school. I am the first person to admit that I have a problem. 
I never learned how to deal with my problems, so, as you can assume, every time something happens in my life, drugs were always where I would turn.
But a little over 3 weeks ago, I decided that's not the life I wanted to live. It wasn't for anyone but myself. (I have no expectations to live up to but my own.) It was for me. My future. My children. Me. 
So, now, going on 3 weeks sober, most of the withdrawls are gone. Most of the negative stuff is over, and I feel at peace. I am a really great person, I just needed to the encouragement. 
But I wouldn't be where I am right now without the IOP team at Turning Point. I love my therapist. I love my counselors. I LOVE all the people in my group. Each and every one of them are my brothers and sisters and I really honestly have been changed more by them in the last 3 weeks than any other single person in my entire life, save my family.
And now, the curtains of drugs lifted, I am happy. Blissfully happy. No, my life isn't perfect. Not even close. I have never been more stressed in my whole life. My parents are about to lose our house. My grandparents are leaving for 2 years. My (used to be?) best friend is smoking and partying and going down the same path I went down. My cousins are adorable as ever, but struggling with body issues. From the outside, my life looks perfect. It's true. I'm happy. I got the boy. I have a nice house, car, 2 jobs and I'm a great student. But, if you really look, it's not that easy. Not that simple. But you know? I can get through this. I've done it for 3 weeks and I can continue:)

((Long Days Journey Into Night by Eugene O'Neill. Read it.))
We were talking about this play in my Humanities class (Oh! First day back at school in a while:) and it REALLY has to do with Utah, especially Utah County. It's all about addictions that no one admits are there. Oh but they're there. Believe me. They are there. 
*Insert Soap Box* WE ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO ARE GOING TO CHANGE THIS. Make talking about drugs less tabboo. Share your story! You aren't the first to get addicted to drugs, and you won't be the last. But your story might change someone's view, and they might get help, or they might help someone else. It's up to us guys. It really is.

Someone showed it to me...but I found it by myself.

It's been so long since my last post... 
So much has changed. But, oddly enough, I am okay with it. 
Let me explain:

I started school at UVU. Beginning of school, I hated it. My thoughts: "I did not work as hard as I did in High School to go to such a mediocre school". My thoughts now: "I am so grateful for this opportunity  I have been able to grow so much. No the classes aren't as difficult as I would like and, academically, I'm bored out of my mind. But I have met so many wonderful people. I have been able to help and touch the lives of people I would have never met otherwise."

Like I said, I met so many wonderful people. Shoutouts are required now:
Reagen: I love you girl. We've only known each other for what? 2 months? And I already think of you as one of my closest friends, and we really are basically soul sisters.
Laura: Oh the memories. Words wouldn't even start to describe us. Love you girl. (P.S. I still think you would be adorbs together:))
Keyan: Bahaha Health. The end.
Shayla: If I didn't have you to talk about boys with, I would probably call them off completely and be a crazy cat lady. Glad you're there to keep me sane:)

I have regained relationships with a few really great friends. I have also, in turn, lost a few of my best friends. I continue to stay in touch with Kemsley, even though she's about 800 miles away. It's really interesting though. I lost my best friends who live the closest to me. Who didn't move, but still have a great relationship with Kems, who I haven't seen in person in 3 months. Interesting how life works.

I got accepted to Utah State. Then decided not to take it.

I admitted I had a problem and got the help I needed and have met so many great and wonderful people I love like family.

4 boys have asked me to be their boyfriend, but I have rejected them all, for different reasons. Not because I am picky. But because they deserve someone who will care about them, only them. And who won't leave them at the drop of a hat. And that's not me. Idk if I'm a relationship girl. (Lies, I am DEFINITELY a relationship girl. Just not right now.)

But it wasn't these things that have changed me. Yes, I have come to realize my desk will never be clean and my socks will never match. I have realized that friends come and go, but your family will always be there. But I realized who I am. And explaining it is difficult. But here goes nothing:)

I'm Meghan. I love with every fiber of my being. I care more than most people think is humanly possible, and I see the best in every single person. Not because I'm a saint, but because I want the same to be done for me. 
I wear my individuality like a shield, and I am, oftentimes, taken as stuck up because I am so confident in myself. I don't get offended easily, unless you are someone I trust. 
I have stopped believing promises, because I have been lied to so often, but I still have that little sense of hope that maybe, someday, someone will prove to me that I can believe again. 

All this, and so much more, adds up to me. I am flaws good intentions all sown up into one package. And for the first time, I'm okay with that. I spent my whole life trying to be perfect. Skinny enough, smart enough, pretty enough, nice enough. Blahh blahh. I tried to be someone that doesn't exist, and will never exist. But I realized that, as long as I am doing my best, and doing everything I can to be what God wants me to be, I have nothing to worry about. Yes, I will be forever progressing towards the woman I am becoming. But I don't have to stress about that woman, because she is in God's hands, being molded by him.

And yes, I can be the biggest hypocrite ever. I backslide. I stumble. I fall. I stray onto the wrong path. But God is working in me. I may be a mess, but I am His mess. And He is slowly straightening me out. And the day will come when I will be by His side, His work in me completed. But until that day, I will take His hand, and let Him do in me whatever needs to be done, no matter how painful it will be for me. When He is finished, it will all be worth it.

So I won't cry over lost friends. And I won't worry about the insults. Because I see the bigger picture. I know of God's love, and when I have Him, everything else sort of falls into place:)

love the same way.

i tried to forget you.
but you grew roots around my ribcage
and sprouted flowers
just below my collarbones.
i spend all day plucking at their petals.
but i have not yet accertained if you and i love 
in exactly the same way.