I am not smooth and whole, but I will keep you warm at night.

How many mornings will I be woken up by screams? This new house has walls like paper and I hear every word, every slammed door. And now she is smoking in the bathroom with the door closed. The smoke fills up the tiny space and I can't go in there. Should I go somewhere else to pee? Does anyone else ever worry about this? I could hold my breath long enough, I think, but the smoke would sneak into my hair and wrap itself around my skin and follow me into the bedroom like the screams.

And who should I tell? It burns inside me like quiet embers, the glowing evidence of a raging fire. No one can see the flames, but do they see the scars? And what good would that do anyway? No one is going to take me away and make it all better. I never trust anyone enough to let them do something like that anyway. I know its awful here, but here is familiar. Here is what I know.

What are they screaming about? Is it drugs this time? Money? Aren't those the same thing? The cigarette smoke is in the hallway now. Long fingers of it now creep invisibly under my door. It doesn't matter about the door, though. It is swirling now into the air conditioner intake. It will pass through the rumbling machine and blow through my bedroom vent with vigor now. No more need to hide. I can't see it and the AC has turned the hot weight of it to a cold burn that fills up the secret places in my nose with ash. And the screaming continues.

I wonder how normal people sleep? My father would tell me I ought to be grateful I have a place to sleep at all. He would say that other people have it so much worse, who am I to complain? I am unhappy, that's what I am. I know other people have it worse, but I can the evidence that some people don't deal with this. I didn't understand that when I was a child. I assumed everyone knew what it was like for the police to come in the middle of the night to stop Mommy from chasing Daddy with the 2X4. I assumed every parent had more than one personality. People change so much when they are "tired" as they call it. I know better now. Should I still sit here in silence? They are never silent.

How would it feel to sleep with the bedroom door unlocked? Or even worse, open? Or to lay in bed not crowded with fear and anger? Fear crawls close to my chest and sends my heart into a panicked, lopsided stumble at the first sound. It opens my eyes and ears as I stare at the doorknob, praying it doesn't move, that the screaming stays on the other side of the walls. Anger is gentler, wrapping itself around my fingers and slowly bringing them into fists. The nails dig into the flesh of my palms. The heat spreads under my skin in trickles like rain down a windshield.

Finally, finally, finally: silence. Now the decision comes; do I go back to sleep or should I leave? If I sleep again, it will inevitably lead to another episode of screaming. How long do I have? Twenty minutes? An hour? And if I leave, where shall I go? The gym is good but I can only stay there so long. And I don't have money for things. I can't go to a friends house. I don't know how much to tell them about this.

When I try to share, I get the same response all the time. I'm so sorry Sarah Jo. You are so strong Sarah Jo. I didn't know you had to deal with that. You seem to be handling it so well. Somehow I earn a new respect and a new pity. Its uncomfortable now like a fever blister or a pimple. We all know its there. And it hurts. But all you can do is pretend it isn't there and hope time fixes things quickly.

But how can I tell them I'm not strong? These screaming words are fine razors, dragging shallow lines across my soul. I wake up and I cry and I beg the ever-silent god to make it all go away. To save me. But there is always another morning and I am absolutely covered in scars. Who will love me now? Mottled in scars like lines of stitches on a quilt. I am not smooth and whole, but I will keep you warm at night.

One day, I tell myself, I will have forgotten how it feels to feel this way. Time and circumstance will change the situation and I'll take for granted a peaceful morning, a quiet discussion. It will be like the weight loss. The memory always a looming horror, but behind me now and only thought of occasionally. This is my silver lining. This is my promise to myself.

Who is this girl?

Who is that girl, with eyes so like mine?

Who is she with her painted nails and eyes?

She looks back at me with a foreign confidence

as if she dares to demand attention

as if she is worth a second glance.

Who is she, this girl with my skin and hair and lips?

How did she get to be in those heels, in that dress?

I don't understand the smile or tilt of her hips.

As if she knows how it feels to feel beautiful

or what it means to be happy all by herself.

I understood the one with the downcast gaze,

the quiet speech and still hands.

I knew so well those awkward stumbles

and that heavy insecurity on those rounded shoulders.

The shackles and that look of defeat,

they were my intimate friends.

Where have they gone?

And at my feet now

a new path stretches forth.

This one is so unlike those paved ways,

roads smooth, unbroken, wide.

No, this one twists and climbs up

near and distant hills

with hidden valleys

roots, shrubs, spiderwebs, and streams.

And who is this girl, with hands so like mine?

Who is she with her strong legs and sure footing?

She looks back at me with anticipation

as if she knows where we are going

as if nothing can stand in her way.

Who is she, this girl with my tongue and toes and fingertips?

How did she get that laughter in her eyes, with those friends?

I don't understand the things she does or how she feels.

As if she is only a temporary phenomenon,

or some small step in a larger plan.

Who is this girl, standing in my place in the mirror?

Who is she with her tanned face and tattooed leg?

She looks back at me with eyes full of questions

but I know she knows how it feels to feel beautiful

and what it means to be happy all by herself.

Complaining!

I have to leave for work in ten minutes. I need to find a second job because I want to move out so so so bad. This house is completely so much worse than the last one and its driving me crazy. Actually, the people are. I want an apartment. So I was thinking of getting a job at kohls warehouse during the weekend shift. I hope that wouldn't suck too bad. It couldn't suck more than being here, right? Then I could pay down my credit cards for a month or so and then move out. Right? Right. I hope this all works out well.

I think I'll need a roommate. Or roommates. I'll worry about that part later. Right now I'm trying to vent the crazy energy that is the anger I feel for my family right now. And also the stress about money. I wish I had been more responsible. I wish I was more responsible. I just want to go away somewhere. I just want it all to be better. But its not better. There are always, always new problems that make the old problems seem okay.

On the plus side, I finally started tracking my calories again and the very next day (today) I'm down a pound. So, responsibility has its rewards. But I'm thinking this time I need to be held accountable. I'll need help with this. Gotta go!

Moving

Oh. My. God. I've been up for exactly 20 minutes and I've already reached my limit. I might hurt someone. I might hurt myself. I might just leave and not come back. Something terrible will happen. I'm sure of it!

This is what its like to come home:

We are in the process of moving. I was trying to clean all my laundry today before the washer and dryer get moved. I forgot about a load of laundry in the dryer when I went out with my friends. When I came home, the clothes are no where to be found.

Mom is slumped over the sink trying to do dishes with her eyes closed, I guess. Dad is telling mom to go to bed while suggesting I look for my clothes in all the places I've already looked for my clothes. He also gives me reasons why he couldn't possibly know where the clothes are. Mom mumbles incoherently as she fills the same glass with water over and over again.

I rifle through every basket of clothes laying around. I check the dryer again. I open closet doors and check my room and search the floors and open boxes. No clothes.

My brother and his girlfriend are already at the new house. Maybe they know. Maybe they took my clothes? He calls them. Apparently someone took my clothes out of the dryer and put them on the floor. There is nothing on the floor now. There are no clothes in my room. The laundry baskets are full of other peoples clothes. The only place I cannot investigate is the washing machine.

The washing machine is running and it has a locked door that will not unlock before the cycle finishes. Its on the final spin. I ask my father what clothes are in the washing machine. He claims the clothes are the ones everyone wore while moving today. I want to look at them so I stand in the laundry room and stare at the machine, waiting for it to finish. Dad sways, watching me watch the washer. I suppose he grew tired of waiting so he hits the cancel button on the washing machine. Now, the door is STILL locked and the only option is to restart the washing cycle. I tell him this.

His first plan of action is to repeatedly hit the cancel button. That seems to do nothing at all but the alcohol has long diminished his reasoning abilities so he hits the button some more. And more. Finally I point out that this particular course of action seems to have no effect. I'll just have to start the cycle again. I'll just have to wait another half hour to find out if my clothes are in the washing machine (probably mixed with THEIR clothes, probably with dish soap instead of laundry detergent, probably not separated by color, probably with someones ink pen or cigarettes floating in the water) or if they just disappeared completely. My colors. All my colors. My pretty, pretty clothes.

I am so unhappy right now. This shouldn't be this difficult.

My anger must be apparent in my sigh or my crossed arms or the violence in which I punch the start button because dad yanks the power cord from the socket and throws it to the ground. He tells me how tired he is and how early he had to get up and exactly how much he has done for me today. I don't respond. The washing machine would have been done by now if he hadn't hit that stupid button. This is clearly not my fault. Now, with no power, he pulls on the washing machine door. Its locked still. He plugs it back in. Locked. He hits the cancel button over and over and over again. I tell him I'll just restart the washer. He goes away.

I prepare to run the shortest cycle possible. I have to change about three settings. I hit the start button. Just in case, I try the cancel button again. The door opens.

Inside the washing machine I see clothes of absolutely every color. And there, my colors. They don't smell like laundry detergent. And the machine is so full of clothes that they wont come out easily. And somehow everything is a little grayer. And this yellow one is now covered in blue spots. And oh, there are the washcloths they used to clean the walls. Nice. And my clothes. My once pretty, pretty clothes.

It shouldn't be this difficult. And thats not even all of it.

We should eat valconoes for breakfast together.

I like to write. That doesn't mean I need to be articulate all the time.

I'm joyful. That doesn't mean I have to be happy all the time.

So anyway, I'm kind of unhappy right now. And who am I going to tell about it? I'm a liar. Thats what I am. Isn't that what it is when I pretend to be okay and happy when really I'm feeling other things inside? Isn't it lying when I don't tell my own friends how I'm feeling when I'm in the same room with them? When I put on that smile and they don't see the truth behind it? Yep. I'm a liar. But I hate confrontation. Its so much easier to just pretend and then stop hanging around. Thats what I tell myself. But recent experience has taught me that if I just tell him, everything is magically better. He has a freakin invisible magic wand that fixes my feelings. But instead I sat quietly and tried my best to keep it all off my face.

I don't know what would have been the best option. Who ever does?

One day it will happen and I wont have any idea until it hits me in the side of the head.

Sorry I wasnt very exciting tonight.

I'm unhappy. Its not like a state of being but rather an emotion I'm experiencing right now. I'm unhappy. I would say that I'm mad but mostly its hurt and disappointed and mad just seems to be the defense mechanism to cover up the wounds of hurt and disappointed without actually fixing anything. So I'm trying not to be mad. I'm trying to just fix the hurt and disappointed.

Before, my ideas about how to fix hurt and disappointed were to take away the opportunities for future hurt. But that means putting distance between myself and others. That is safety and that is loneliness too. I don't want to do that anymore.

Most of the time I am pretty easily "fixed" when I'm upset. I just need to know that the other person didn't mean to hurt me. I just need to know that they care enough to want to fix it. But in this situation, the other person doesn't seem to care at all that I'm hurt and they did it. And that hurts worse. Now what do I do? Am I supposed to stay friends? Because I don't know how to let this go without some kind of confrontation. Without some kind of resolution.

Instead of it getting better with time, I'm feeling worse. I'm no actress and its wearing me out to pretend to be okay when really I'm upset. I'm upset. I'm upset. I'm upset. At least I can type it here. At least I can be honest right here. Because I don't want to show what I'm feeling to people who aren't responsible for the problem. What can they do about it? And the person who is responsible doesn't care. So I feel like a liar and I'm not very good at that.

I want to be treated with respect. Like an adult. I want to be given the opportunity to decide how to react instead of having others decide what I would do, draw the wrong conclusion, and avoid me. I want to have relationships with people who want to talk to me and see me as frequently as I want to talk to them and see them. I want to be able to give my friends equal amounts of attention without suspicion. I want to spend time in groups and time in pairs because I think people change depending on who else is in the room. Mostly, I want reciprocity.

So I'm not happy right now. Its like a bug bite I just can't scratch. Its not the end of the world. Its not even a big deal. But I don't like disharmony. I don't like conflict, even if its just within myself. I just want it to be fixed, one way or another, so I can go back to worrying about something else.

Good enough.

I'm not gorgeous.

And when I dance its kind of awkward and silly.

I'm only funny when I don't mean to be.

I don't like any of your favorite movies or music.
But I was hoping that maybe I am pretty enough for you.

And perhaps my smile will make up for my lack of grace.

Somehow the contrast between my forward manner and bashfulness

and between my knowledge and experience

would intrigue you enough to make you move closer to me.

Because sometimes I say the wrong thing.

And I don't ever know which step to take next.

But it seems you don't know whats going on either.

So maybe you can forgive my inattention to detail

and my sensitive nature

and learn to crave my laughter and touch.

Because I'm never going to be perfect

and I know you aren't either.

I was thinking we could be the best thing that ever happened

to one another

and call that good enough.

Now what?

I lost 105lbs. Then, I stopped working so hard for several weeks. Nothing happened. I didn't lose any more weight. I didn't gain any weight.

So, I'm done with that now. I miss losing weight. It was my fault completely. And it was fun, I'm not going to lie. Because weight loss is a lot of work and attention and I put my attention elsewhere.

I want to be skinny. So I'm getting back to work.

These problems won't go away. They've been knocking me sideways.

I need to go to the grocery store. My living space is a mess. I need to find a better paying job. My credit card debt is horrendous. My laundry is all over the place. I want to be dating someone. I'm going to have to move out soon. My student loan payments start this month. I'm not losing weight like I should. I stay up too late to get up this early.

I dreamed about getting text messages from you

saying things your lips never do

Its easier when I don't want things because then I just enjoy whats happening without worrying about anything else. Now I want things and I'm impatient. So very, very impatient.

I want someone who:

I was alone all day long and I hate that. So very much. And so with my free time I thought about what kind of person my Person will be. It seems like everyone has a list. I don't really have a list. I never know what I want until I see it. But I'm going to try anyway.

I want someone (who):

is reliable, consistent, and trustworthy.

I have to keep up with.

active, healthy, and strong.

listens and talks openly.

smiles and laughs often.

is kind of nerdy.

will want the compliments and phone calls and attention as much I like giving them.

is shockingly honest and transparent.

optimistic.

doesn't mind all of my bad parts.

has bad parts I don't mind so much either.

will handle the finances and pick out the furniture and decide where we go to dinner.

is adventurous and spontaneous at least some of the time.

leaves me random love notes on the napkins and the bathroom mirror and in the sock drawer.

I can sing to.

challenges me.

open to trying new things.

doesn't yell at me when he's angry with me.

feels honored to be loved by someone like me.

I feel honored be loved by.

Why aren't you my Person yet?

Countdown

I have six minutes before I have to go to work. I don't like being alone. Last night I was plagued with terrible dreams and it makes me feel unhappy this morning. Yesterday was amazing. I got a wake-up call from Jeremy and the fun didn't stop until I had to leave to go to bed. I like my friends.

Four minutes. And my brain is working so poorly that I couldn't spell minutes the second time although I spelled it the first time and it was right in front of my face. I kind of want to be around people right now. But only certain people. On the other hand, its one of those moods where I could spend the whole day alone just stewing. I don't want to stew.

Three minutes. And I keep thinking about all these things I should be doing but I keep doing what I want to do instead. I've done what I have to do for far too long. I'm ready to be irresponsible and impulsive and happy.

Two minutes. I've survived far more than I think you could ever know. I know the scars aren't visible on the surface but it makes me worry that if I ever let anyone close enough to see them, they'll run away. I know how to be healthy and happy as just me, but I don't know how to fix the damage already done. What do I do?

No minutes. And I keep typing anyway because I don't want to go to work. I don't want to crawl back into that bed of unhappiness either. I think I would like to rewind and do things over again. Maybe things that matter to me don't matter to anyone else so much. I don't know. But I'm a sensitive creature even though I don't show it and I'm feeling sad. Dang it.

Minus one. I'll be nearly late for work if I don't leave now. I don't want to leave. I don't want to stay here. And the people I want to see are all sleeping.