maya angelou

One time-in 1997-I received a book of maya angelou poetry from my friend in middle school. I was moving into a house with my mom and her new husband. he left me a book of poems in my locker. A book, and candles and bubble buth. And he wrote an inscription and this is what it said,

" Sara, To a beautiful girl who is moving & getting a new tub. 3 little gifts to make it a little bit easier."

it took me years. YEARS. to read that again and-get it.

To a beautiful girl.

I want to let people that love into my life. That love me, who accept my love.

Thank you, Peter.

I've learned a few things. And your gift was an amazing understanding.

I intend to use my energies constructively instead of destrucsivly.

Amen, motherfuckers.

I still read the book of poetry.

And I still take baths.

My most important prayer-right now

I'm not a jesus freak, but I posted this on my bathroom mirror.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, taking as Jesus did this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that you will make all things right if I surrender to your will; so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with you in the next.

-Reinhold Niebuhr

When I have my wits about me...

I don't miss you as much. And why should I? I want someone who will fight for me because he understands what he's fighting for.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

My biggest goal in life-thus far-is to save people. To save my sister from my dad-from herself. To save my mom from the big bad life she created. To save everything and everybody. I ran around high on rage and control wanting everyone to have a perfect existence. Meanwhile, I ignored my own shit. Armed with a sense of humor and a bottle of wine, I ran flagrantly into the world thinking my wit and intelligence could save things. Not anymore.

My marriage is in shambles. I married an alcoholic with major other issues. I can't think straight. My poor dog is scared of me and shakes when I yell and rail against the state of what my life is-a life I created by choice. I took this poor, broken man-when I'm a poor broken me-thinking I could change us both for the better. I've hobbled along, semi-broken, but still brazen in my judgement of others. Still convinced of my truth, that I was right, that I'm on the Goddamn high holy mountain looking down on all the fuck ups who didn't work as hard, or think as hard, or be as hard as I had trained myself to be. Thinking my anger a cloak I turned my face against anything I found disdainful, all the while turning myself against myself and digging myself more deeply into a hole of destruction and denial.

My panic attacks stopped when the pain of the truth broke my heart-my completely closed off heart-into a vulnerable beating thing.

There's very little I know about being human. We're all made up of light and dark. And I denied the darkness. I fought against it. In myself. In what I perceived it to be in others. I refused to walk the path of openness and light. I simply asked for forgiveness like I was asking for a Christmas gift and didn't do any of the work. I have a fine film for an exterior. A fine film made of gold dust.

If you're alive your story is tragic. The hurts, agonies, and losses you experience are unknowable and universal. Your deepest regrets and shames lived buried in your soul. Your actions guided by what you repress or don't acknowledge. I want to be free from the constant doubt and need to comfort. I want to be free from needing my dad to understand why he fucked me up. I want to be free from wanting my mother to see herself in a light that's anything but positive. I want to be free from myself.