To all who read my blog, I apologize that I haven’t been posting. Writing has become difficult and producing thought has become even more so difficult. Because of this, I will be taking a long break from this blog. As per usual, I will be checking up on it in the event that anyone needs help, or to answer any questions. However, there will be nothing new. 

Feel free to contact me at icantfeelyou@hotmail.com if you are feeling lonely or lost, or are in need of anything at all. Know that I am always here for you. 

    The stitches in my chest are unraveling themselves slowly; the mess of thread once holding it together is growing loose and the hole underneath is gaping. As I get closer to the day that I will board the airplane and leave this  life behind, I realize that this trip is not just an adventure. It’s not just a journey across the country, and it’s not just the entrance to opportunity. This experience is my last chance - it is the final deciding point on whether or not I am enough - whether I am strong enough, willed enough, or ready enough -to take on this world for what it is. 
    I am making this trip to run from the past that haunts me and likewise, to run from the demon that has plagued me for the last eighteen years of my life - myself. I am realizing more and more that there exists an immense tug-of-war within my body - the battle between happiness and comfort, living life and being trapped. The truth is, I live with this every day - this guilt, fear, and anxiety that seemingly lingers throughout each bone of my body. I am hurt, to say the least.
    Packing my bags and leaving is my one chance - it is the test to see if I am strong enough to be the person that hides underneath the shadow of the shell that I am living within. It is the test to see if I can make it - if I can hold my head above the rampaging waters and convince myself to see the sunlight and nothing but. I realize that if I cannot, my life is utterly meaningless and all potential that I ever had, is gone. If I cannot change, my life, to me, is not worth living. This is a disease and if I cannot beat it, then it has won. 

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     I am spending the night whispering to the demons that reside in the walls of my bedroom. They reminisce with me; they remind me of the pain and of the comfort that derived from it - of the nights we spent lying together, one hand wound gently around my neck and the other twisting my stinging wrist. They remind me of the nights when my heart was not strong enough to stand alone; these nights when our souls intertwined to create a man strong enough to tear the skin from his body and replace it with glass. They remind me of the times that they held my hands hard enough to break the fingers that were laced with theirs. They remind of the times that they held me close enough to break each rib beneath my fragile skin - coughing up the shards of bone that would split the inside of my throat until no longer could I speak. They remind me of the times that they took a knife to my delicate chest - replacing my heart with a stone and my  veins with tangled thorns that pierced everything that lived within me. 

     For the first time in months, I’m falling back into a sweet nostalgia; I yearn to hurt and to be hurt once more. For seven months, I was convinced that I had changed - that my heart was replaced by one fascinated with beauty and of hope. This, I now see, is solely a figment of my imagination - my mind is tainted so bitterly and my heart is corrupted so intensely. 
      I need to go back. I need to stop lying to myself and I need to feel this wonderful pain once more. I’m so sorry. 

     It’s crazy to think that in just five short months, I will be boarding a plane to a foreign place - to a bustling city where I am merely a stranger to everything and to everyone. In just five short months, I will be introduced to a new place that I will be calling home and to a new group of people that will become the support system that carries me through the next four years of my life. 
     I am asked constantly why I have chosen to leave this life behind and enter a new one in which I know nothing about. The answer isn’t as simple as I’d like, but the truth exists in the fact that in order to leave the past behind, I must leave the place that provokes it to linger. I have had tremendous memories in this state; I’ve met more amazing people than I could imagine and I’ve created friendships that I didn’t even know could exist. Here, I have learned everything that I know - I have learned the concepts of beauty and of passion and of triumph. I have learned what it is like to have someone mean so much and to be willing to give up everything for them. 
      As much as I appreciate the greatness that has come from existing here, I do painfully remember all of the tragedy that I now associate with this life - the tragedy that far outweighs the beauty. I remember the years of painful addictions and waking up with overwhelming burdens far larger than myself. It is safe to say that I have entered a state of happiness, that I no longer chose to surrender to the sadness that once consumed me. I do not fall to it, but I am reminded of it - it has been such a large part of my life that I cannot walk away so easily when I am existing in a world surrounded by the aftermath of it.
      I choose to board the plane in order to recreate my life and what I stand for, to be the person that I have worked my entire life to build. I choose to board the plane in order to forget my past - to leave my old skin behind and to web together a new one that fits far better.  

            I was once in a place that I didn’t think I would be able to escape from - a place that offered comfort in darkness and beauty in the truth that I could end everything that plagued me just by jumping. It was this place that drove me mad; it mistook death for life and sadness for happiness, pain for feeling and suicide for escape. It was a place that filled me with a twisted comfort - the thought that if I tried to run away from it, I would only fail. I needed this place; it was my home. Through the hurt, the pain, and the tears, it was my home.
            It wasn’t until eight years after I learned about this home that I realized that I could leave - that all I needed to do was simply tell myself that I was better than that. I needed to tell myself that I was better than the pain, that I was better than the hurt, and that I was better than the restless nights spent wishing I hadn’t made it. I needed to convince myself that despite the horrid atrocities that plague this world, there is beauty everywhere. There is beauty in people, in places, and in secrets. I needed to discover within myself the strength to redefine “escape” and the ability to put meaning to the word “hope”. I needed to realize that a home is a place that encourages happiness - that it is a place where you heal.
            To leave what I called home for so long was the most devastating and hopeful thing that has ever happened to me. For the first time in my life, I was utterly vulnerable. I didn’t know where to turn to when things got hard; I didn’t know what to think about when I was alone and I didn’t know what to look forward to. There was a certain aspect of beauty in not knowing these things, though. I didn’t know what the future brought, but despite it, I knew that I needed to stay. I needed to stay for the millions of smiles that I had yet to give and for the dozens of strangers who are yet to become the people that define the meaning of friendship. I needed to stay for the places that remained foreign and for the love that I will someday offer to someone who is able to return it back to me. I needed to stay for the laughter, for the sunsets, and for the winds that reminded me that, perhaps, maybe there is someone out there. I needed to stay for the pictures that are yet to be taken and for the dreams that are yet to be felt. I needed to stay because I deserved it. 

     Three years ago tonight I met the beautiful stranger who would become the reason why I held on - the stranger who would become the reason to believe in the truth of smiles and in the sincerity of laughter. Three years ago tonight, I didn’t expect to be healed; I didn’t expect to know the meaning of hope and I didn’t expect to have found within myself a strength that lies within each and every breath. 
     In just three short years, I learned from a stranger the reasons to love myself and the reasons to carry on. He introduced me to pain and to sorrow, and to the overwhelming heartache that came with the longing to be with someone that lived a thousand miles away. I learned from him the meaning of love - perhaps not in the deep love that exists in the hearts of lovers, but in the love that exists between friends who never wish to depart. Unfortunately, I also learned the pain of unrequited love - the pain that comes upon realization that perhaps you mean nothing to someone who means the absolute world to you. 
      I learned from him the secrets that were hidden in the little corners of the world - the truth that humor can make a tragic situation just a bit brighter or the fact that a friendship is the key to healing and to changing. I learned from him that the beauty in this life is worth fighting for. 
     Three years ago tonight I met, perhaps, one of the most beautiful souls  to exist upon this Earth - a light surrounded by a spell of darkness and an angel surrounded by a sea of demons. I learned to fight my own battles and to find the happiness that I deserved. 
      A few short months ago, I learned the deepest pain that I have felt in a long time - the day that this perfect stranger walked out of my life and into a world that I will never know of, a world in which I will never hear of him again. Despite the pain, I am learning that it is okay - it is okay to change and is it okay to move on. Through him, I have learned to carry myself through this heartache and to be strong in times of disaster. Although he has since gone, I can only hope that on this Valentine’s Day, his heart is filled with happiness. I can only hope that all that has plagued him has gone to rest and that every dream that he has held in his heart is coming to life. I can only hope that everything in his life is finally falling into place. 
      To this perfect stranger, I owe the world; I owe every smile that graces my face and every ounce of happiness that I could ever posses. I owe every bit of thanks, but even then, I know that it will never be enough. 

     Orange is the color of the setting sun - of the simple aquatic creatures that reside in the room of a young child too irresponsible to care for anything larger. Orange is the color of a Halloween held on a chilly October night. It is the color of the autumn leaves that rest so peacefully on the surface of the Earth and of the Monarch butterflies that land so gracefully upon them. 
       It is the color of the most favored citrus fruit and the color of the magnificent gardens filled with African Daisies and Marigolds. Orange is the transition from warm to cool - from a scorching summer to a windy fall. Orange is the color of vibrancy, of life, of optimism, of happiness. It is strength and it is endurance. 

     It’s funny how quickly things can change; how in the time that it takes for one breath of oxygen to leave your lungs - or in the time that it takes for a heart to beat just one time - every truth that you have believed can become lie. The truth is, change is inevitable and quite frankly, one of the most petrifying things that we are forced to encounter. People change; they lose interest, they lose desire, they walk out of your life just as easily as they walked into it. Perhaps that is the part of life that makes us the strongest. 
      The reality of it is, we fear change so much so that we often neglect to see the beauty that stems from it; we often forget to notice when fear changes to bravery, and sadness to happiness. We forget to notice that when someone walks out of our lives, we are, in a way, forever changed by that person and what they once meant to us. We are changed in the way that perhaps their existence has shown us the meaning of friendship, of love, or of passion. We are changed in the way that we can never take back the time that they held in our lives and we cannot forget the happiness that once existed. 
      

       For the first time in my life, I can admit to being happy. I can see the beauty in everything and everyone; I can feel more than simple contentedness. I can honestly and truly say that I am so happy to be alive and I am so happy that I have found reason to stay for so long. For all of you who have followed alongside, thank you so much. It means more to me than I could ever put into words. 
       Stay tuned for a year full of writing. 

        This year will quite possibly be the most terrifying and miserable year of your life. You will be introduced to a pain that you’ve not yet felt and the struggle to find purpose will become overwhelming - seemingly impossible even. The pain will suffocate you in your sleep and wrap its thick hands around your heart until you can no longer handle it. It will sting your wrists in the night and create darkness out of all things beautiful. Perhaps you will lose sight of the sun.
        But even then, I believe in you.
        You have been so strong and you have found a certain light within yourself that resonates - that shows you the immense beauty in this world and the contributions that you make to it. Remember to be bold in the dark places and to fight with a strong heart. Remember to be unafraid, to be fearless, and to be remarkable. You are a creature placed upon this Earth to be extraordinary - to succeed and to make it through.
       This year, you will be reintroduced to pain. Be better than it. Be brave.