The Musings of My Mind

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“Hey, how’d it go? You didn’t let me see what you tried on!”

She looked hopeful, kind of excited. Knowing I was disappointing her, I gave my best friend a thumbs down sign and frowned.

“They just looked stupid, I didn’t feel sexy.” Hanging them back on the returns rack I turned to face her and put my hair in a ponytail.

“I’ll be right back, I have to pee. We’ll look for more stuff when I come out.

I locked myself in the bathroom stall and sighed as my eyes threatened to flood.

You’re pretty, but you let yourself get fat and now you’ve got nothing left. The clothes you picked didn’t even fit you. And you even chose bigger sizes. Ha!  You’re hopeless.

I stared at the toilet for a moment. My face drooped, followed by my shoulders slumping.

I walked the few steps to the sink and washed my hands. I tried to avoid eye contact, but the intense desire to torture myself yelled loudly.

Look at your face. A round face has never suited you, and yet, you pile it on. One meal after the other…One dessert, two desserts, three. You blame it on depression and stress and say that’s how you deal with it, but if you know the cause, why not fix it? Why you are still about to hunch yourself over the toilet bowl and purge yourself because you don’t like how you feel after three slices of pizza? You’re pathetic. All your friends run, they exercise, they can say no.  And there you are with no self-control, no good reason as to why you are the way you are.

 Once finished, I approached the toilet.

It’s sad, really, how fat you are. How much you let yourself go. People tell you you’re not fat because they know how it would make you feel if they were honest, but you’re fat. You wore a one-piece the last time you went to the beach, so what does that tell you? You have to suck in your gut over and over and over…because you’re fat.

I layered the seat with toilet paper.

It’s pretty funny watching you try to exercise or eat right when the first chance you get, you’ll justify having the brownie. You’ll justify not going on that walk, not working out, not doing anything but sitting on your lazy ass all day. You’re not depressed, you’re just lazy. Your pants don’t fit you, you can’t squeeze your dresses passed your thighs, and you have now reached the point where you can’t suck in your muffin top.

My fingers trembled. My jaw clenched. My stomach churned. My mouth grew wet and cold. I spit into the toilet and mentally prepared myself.

Do it.

I contemplated washing my hands again, but berated myself for hesitating.

Just get it over with.

I opened my mouth slightly, then widely as my fingers reached the back of my throat.

Why do you think you’ll ever be more than what you are now? You’ll never be great, you’ll never make a difference, you’re not special or different…you’re nothing. Actually, no. You’re a fat nothing.

So, go ahead. Get comfortable and do what you do best; take the easy way out.

My throat burned. My face was wet with tears. My eyes were ringing. I was disgusted with myself, causing more to come out than anticipated. All the while, I didn’t stop.

You’re useless. 






I lie at your feet like a begging child.

Hoping and praying that you’ll love me back.

I scratch at your back door like a stray cat,

Waiting for a morsel of affection.

I unapologetically give my all…

Imprudent and weak,

Feeble like a branch

And continuously in amazement of

What you have the power to do to me.

Sorrowfully disappointed with what I

Allow and ceaselessly accept.

I lie under your arm and

Listen to the sound of you existing…

Taking you in each time I inhale,

Exhaling expectations and things I deserve

Because I unapologetically love you

More than I.


“What does it feel like?”

“I think about that all the time. I don’t even really know how to answer that, though. I’ve heard it described as getting punched in the gut, but that’s not…that’s not how I would describe it. It’s just…a constant churning of sadness in the pit of your stomach. You don’t really notice it’s there because you go on about your life and your activities, but the second you even smell something that brings you back to that place, it’s over. Over time, you get the hang of it, but it’s a process. It just feels really bad, you know? Like, yesterday, there was a whole person there. They were alive and they were laughing with you, they were yelling at you and making you feel like shit, and out of nowhere, there’s this eerie silence that you can’t seem to understand. You know, you call them and call them and listen to their stupid voicemail because one day, they’re going to pick up. They’re going to tell you that it was all a really mean joke and they’ll be at your house in an hour. But that’s just the hope talking. I think there’s some self-hate in there too. Some sick need to torture yourself because if you actually loved yourself, you’d force yourself to face the truth.

“And what’s your truth?”

“I’m really sad. And I think that’s the only real feeling I’ll have for a while. “

Here Is Why It Is So Hard To Be Single

Single Gal Starting Over

I am a very independent person. I can also be introverted and stubborn and opinionated. I like these things about me. I think it is what folds into making me unique. I realize that those things do not necessarily make it easy to be around me, but that is not why I am single. It is also not why it is hard for me to be single.

I don’t struggle with the loneliness, the empty bed, the lack of physical intimacy or confidant. I do just fine cooking and paying for my own meals, and treating myself to something special every once in a while. I know beyond any shadow of a doubt I would rather be alone than be with someone that I know for a fact isn’t right.

It is hard to be single because I want so much to have someone to love, and someone that loves…

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&She Wanders.


Off you go, little one.
Into the land of the unfulfilled..
To sow the reaping
Of how you managed to lose yourself.
You weren’t happy then,
You aren’t happy now.
You’re doing it wrong,
Try again.
Tip toe across the night sky..
Across the plains
Across your sobs and cries.
To get where you’d like..
If you ever figure that out.

I didn’t know it then, but the name of my blog is quite befitting. My words and thoughts betrayed me this evening, guys. I’m filled up with so much that I don’t even know how to get it out. I’ve tried approximately 11 times to complete something I was writing, only to be unsuccessful at my attempt of opening up. I’m just not ready yet, is all. I am…lost. I’m wandering and I’m lost. These last few days, I found myself missing my old life. Then it dawned on me, I wasn’t happy. I was quite miserable, I was just having such a great time filling up the void with the wrong things. Now that I’m clean, I’m not doing anything but spending time alone. I’m getting reacquainted with myself and…’s hard.

I’m starting to try to write sentences write filled with air so I’ll stop here. I’m just…lost. I’m beginning to define the fucking word. Cool picture though, right? I’m going to use it again at some point when I have something real to say.

Why is that music is the only thing that ever makes me feel safe.

Shameless wanderer signing out.


[On the Fly]

I think it’s sad when people feel that they have to go all the way every time. I mean this in the sense that for most people who’ve had sex, sex becomes the end all be all of intimate encounters. I won’t pretend to be some enlightened being who’s moved beyond making the beast with two backs. Truth is, I love sex. It feels good. That being said, sometimes I just don’t want to go all the way. Sometimes I just want do what the virgins do; do what I did back in high school, make out.

I want kissing. To be kissed and to kiss all over in return. I want clothes on–well, pants on. I miss the sound of clothes ruffling on clothes. There’s something intoxicating about knowing you could have something but not taking it. Making out after you’ve lost your virginity is akin to a…

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Skinny Love


I’ve been trying to write this for a couple of weeks.

In each half-written post, I explain my inability to produce anything worth reading, how my mind has been completely blocked, and how I’ve abandoned my blog and the followers who enjoy reading my work. The problem lies in executing this apologetic post.

I can’t make it sound like…me. Like it isn’t forced. Because it isn’t, I swear. I really do feel terrible for giving up, but it just sounds like I’m trying to be witty and just…no. So I’ll just say this:

New and old followers, I’m not a piece of shit. I promise. Life has just thrown me slightly (majorly) off balance and instead of pouring my energy writing and creating amazing works of art, I’ve just been watching a lot of HBO and riding in cars with boys. Okay, not the last part. Just work and television. I’ve been working on two stories that’ve actually captured my interest and thy actually go further (farther?) than a paragraph and a half in length. I’m taking my time with the both of them, but I’m glad I’m at least working on something. Exercising my brain/talents and all that.

I certainly have missed WP though. I can’t believe it’s been a month and four days since my last post. Which was about my cat -.-
If that doesn’t just spell out my sheer piece of shitness, I’m not sure what will.

My WP app has been lounging in the corner of my phone, glowering brightly and not withholding the judgements only I can hear. It whispers loudly in the middle of the night and calls me a fake writer. It mocks me with notifications of new followers and then tells me these new followers will soon realize their mistake.

Seriously though, I’ve felt crappy for not keeping up with this. I suppose not crappy enough to do anything about it right? Not anymore though. I miss the interaction. I miss reading your posts, the community, the support. I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere and helping others feel that way too. I’ve filled my phone with incomplete entries in my Notes, and I’m just going to put them all together. They’re all about the same thing so it’ll make sense in a weirdly interesting way, I’m sure.

I suppose I’ve to thank a friend for inspiring me. That and myself for rummaging through my page, surprising myself with certain works, and reading posts from you guys. It filled me with sadness to be missing from this world.

I have a lot of catching up to do, but it feels nice. Let’s hope I’m not doing this again in another few months…
Im kidding.


There’s something quite grand about your presence. You aren’t, and have never been, a beacon of ebullience, nor do you pretend to be. You’re actually quite somber. Your humor a tad dark, your lips withholding truths that might possibly set you free. Your heart is a pit of a glowing blaze, and your face is simply beautiful. You’re striking. You’ve struck me and I can’t say I’m all too pleased about that. You’re confusing in all your odd glory, but I can’t stop myself from drinking you in. Or, breathing in the sweaty scent that rests itself upon your neck, I can’t not want to lick you. Taste you.

I’ve been working on the art of restraint. I’ve been leaning toward being observant and understanding of your actions rather than spewing misguided emotions based on the falsehood of my tormented mind, and I can’t say I’m completely understanding of current happenings&unfortunate series of events. Your absence has moved me. It has left me stumped and my confidence is drowning in a puddle of murky water on the side of your heart. I hate what you’ve turned me into. Except it’s not really you, is it? I have come to realize that I do not know what love is. I do not know what it means to love, but my desires and my wants and the little things that feel like needs are pulling my sleeves and whimpering. They’re telling me that I feel strong things, but I won’t call it love.

I’ll be wise and leave the accumulation of the letters e, o, v, and l alone.

I’ve decided to lock them up in the rusty, wooden shed. I’m hoping the letters will collect dust, become obsolete and immediately removed from my word bank. For the time being, at least. Even still, I can’t help but to wonder how you’re choosing to use your time. I wonder if you wonder about me the way I wonder about you. Or if you’re wondering if I’m wondering about you. In case you’ve wondered, the answer is yes. If you haven’t wondered, the answer is no. The question is “how?” 10 steps forward, 20 steps back. The only thing is that my mind hasn’t retreated. It’s hasn’t followed suit and I’m still at step 9.

How we destruct ourselves in the flight of time.

I long to feel your lips pressed against mine. Your clammy hands exploring me, your laugh in my ear. I long to feel your warmth and the closeness we shared..the togetherness in individuality wrapped in sacred unity. Sweet memories for a harsh reality. It’s hard to forget. Have you forgotten? If only to take back words I thought were my allies, if only to retrieve time we believed belonged to us.

If only…to.
Make you return.
Without making you return.

The ‘L’ Word


“To tell you the truth, I’m pretty lonely. I’ve been surrounded by people my entire life, but there’s a special kind of sadness that accompanies you when you don’t have anyone around to understand the scary things growing in the corner of your mind. It drove me to alcoholism. It drove me to losing my first my husband. Loneliness is the one thing in my life I haven’t been able to shake, and well, it makes me unrecognizable to my own self. At my age, I don’t know who I am. From being lonely, I’ve gotten into business that had nothing to do with me. On the bright side, it makes me look at people differently. It makes me wonder who’s hiding a frown or a confused expression under a glittering mask of gold smiles. It’s wise to see beyond certain things. You know how they say that curiosity killed the cat? Let’s just say I’m constantly wondering why I’m still here. Loneliness is an unwavering force, much stronger than some might think. It comes in the stillness of the night…and it never, ever leaves. Not even in the brightness of the morning light.”

Part 2

Before we got out of the car, Michael grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly. I looked at him with concern and asked what was on his mind.

“What if they don’t like me? What if they want you to leave me or something?” He cast his eyes in the direction of the front door, fearing that stepping through the threshold would change the course of our paths forever. I put my hand over his heart, and then I grabbed his to put over mine. Michael was letting his wild assumptions and every worst case scenario he’d created to get the best of him. He wouldn’t even look at me. With my free hand, I lifted his chin and finally found his eyes. Trying my best to reassure him, I spoke softly and said, “Hey, it’s me and you. We’re in this together, no one else. It’ll always be just us, okay? I love you. I really, really love you, Michael.”

Still not sure about the evening, he dropped his hand and sat back in his seat looking defeated without even having gone into battle. I didn’t know him to be this way. I made light of the situation and threatened, “If you don’t say that you love me back right now, I’ll give you wet willies while you’re sleeping every day for the next week.” The car immediately filled up with the sound of his boisterous laughter, and then the brightness of my smile.

“You think I won’t? I totally will, like I swear. Every single day.” I jokingly put my finger in his ear and made it seem as if I was going to give him one right then.

He continued to laugh and then pulled me into him. “You’re insane.” We kissed for a few seconds, and then finally stepped out into the brisk air.

Walking on the cobble stone pathway leading to the red painted door of my parents’ house, it’s safe to say that my energy had shifted. Now, I was the one who probably needed some consoling. Not having been there in a while, I admired the tree swing that hung from the huge oak tree in their front yard. Flashbacks of my childhood bombarded me and all I could see were visions of my sister and me running all across the yard. We’d take turns pushing each other on the swing and chase each other endlessly for reasons unknown to me after all these years. I couldn’t help my notice that my mother had done some gardening, and from the looks of it, my father trimmed the hedges. Forty-five years of marriage and they still did everything together. Right before we got to the door, I swept the front yard with my eyes once more and breathed in the pine scented air. Then finally, I rang the doorbell.

“You ready?” Michael asked. I looped my arm through his and winked at him. I was as ready as I could be.

About five seconds later, the door swung wide open and my parents stood there standing with their arms outstretched and smiles so big it couldn’t fit on their faces.

“Lysseeeeeee!” they shouted in unison.

My mom immediately began to squeal, grabbing me and touching my everywhere. She spewed the same line she always did about me abandoning her for the big city, and as I always did, I told her we only lived thirty minutes away from each other. She’s very dramatic, my mother. My dad swooped me up into a big hug and kissed my cheek. He pushed me away and gave me a once over only to pull me back in for a bigger hug. Every time I saw my parents, they acted as if I didn’t come by at least once a month. Michael stood there smiling awkwardly until I could introduce him. When I was finally set free, I put my arm around Michael and said, “Guys, this is my boyfriend Michael.”

He extended his hand to my father for a handshake and leaned into my mother to kiss her on the cheek. Pleasant smiles were exchanged, and with words dripping in sincerity, Michael said, “Please, just call me Mike. It’s so nice to finally meet you guys. Alyssa has told me so much about how great you are.”

Before they spoke, they stared at him. They ushered us inside, and my mom laughed awkwardly, but they actually really just stared at him.

“We’re glad to meet you too, Mike. What is that you like to drink? I’m not sure I have any Vodka or anything else that’s hip.”

I froze.


I looked at Michael and prayed to baby Jesus that this evening wouldn’t crash and burn before the main course. Before I could interject, Michael laughed and said, “I’ll just have whatever you’re drinking.”

“Good man, Mike.” My dad clapped him on the back and began to pour him a drink.

As they talked, my mother pulled me aside and said, “Honey, why didn’t you fill us in on your friend?”

This couldn’t be happening.

I gave her a warning look with my eyes and said, “Mom…don’t.”

“No, honey, it’s fine. It just would’ve been nice to know, is all.”

Trying to keep our voices down, I harshly whispered to her, “What does it matter? Mom, seriously, don’t bring this up again. Be. Nice.”

She put her arms up in defense and walked away from me to finish preparing things in the kitchen.

While walking toward the guys, assuming that Michael needed some saving, my mom called out to us from the kitchen and said, “I hope you don’t mind Michael, but I made rack of lamb. I could whip up some chicken if you’d like, though!”

I cringed. I cringed deeply and wanted to set the entire house on fire, with my parents inside. Michael, again, laughed and I had to love him for it. I slid my hand into his and squeezed, silently apologizing for the last ten minutes and everything else that would transpire after that.

Very kindly, Michael called back, “I guess Alyssa didn’t tell you guys I’m a vegetarian.”