There are gaping holes in my being where the parts of myself have left.
I lost myself for so long and now I am back, finding the only things I know about myself are the things I lack.
I used to be the girl that would spend countless hours in the gully behind her parent’s house, sifting through dark soil and delicate leaves, intent on finding some sort of treasure. It was pure bliss being alone in the canopy of oak trees, especially in springtime when the creek ran through the center of the ravine. I would come home with sticks in my hair, filthy from head to toe but always with a huge smile and new pile of rocks.
I really liked that girl.
She wore shin guard tan lines like a badge of honor and always stood up for the little guy. She spent hours dribbling her pink soccer ball around her parent’s house, only quitting when her face was beet red and she had no more breath inside of her. She smiled a lot.
I know she is still in me, somewhere.
So I will lock myself in my room, turn on old Ani Difranco albums and throw paint at a canvas.
I will lift heavier and heavier until the calluses on my hands bleed and I can feel the adrenaline flowing in every muscle.
I’ll force myself to talk to strangers and really listen.
I’ll sit in the bathtub for hours without beating myself up about all the things I should be doing.
I won’t waste time cursing or hating the marks and soft spots on my body anymore.
I’ll have kitchen dance parties and laugh until my stomach hurts.
I will bake cookies until I never want to see another chocolate chip again.
I will be unapologetically myself.
And eventually she will come back.
I miss her.