#i do miss jance and i always accept jance asks even if it takes me 39048 years to get to them

[lovvecherrymotion]

some of The photos ever

some of the photos ever. you're correct.

[penpaperandstories-blog]

Her Killer

July 8

First of all, this whole notion of writing was Mr. Suarez’s idea-my therapist. On our third meeting, he handed me this dark covered blank notebook. He motioned that I need to have a journal because he thinks I am having a hard time of expressing my thoughts and feelings. He said that, I need an outlet, for me to get it out.

“I do not write.” I said to him but he uttered,

“It is not helpful if you will keep everything inside. It is not actually good for your sake. That is why I want you to write whatever struck you—the daily happenings, your thoughts, much good if your feelings. ”

I do not know why I accepted it and agreed with him because I am not even a writer on my own. Suddenly, there’s a certain prick I felt in my stomach.

“Right after, are you planning to read it?” I asked.

“Hopefully, one day you’ll be comfortably enough to share with me what you have scribbled.” Mr. Suarez said.

No way am I going to give him my journal. What if he takes it home and scrutinizes my grammar and laugh at me? What if he broadcast it? And what is the point of sharing your tragic life to the person you barely knew?

July 21

Indeed, I am having a trouble in writing but I am really having a trouble on my panic attacks. Last time, it only happens once in a blue moon but now it seems to happen on many occasions. It merely became a part of me, an inside part of me. Well, I cannot even stay away from it because it comes naturally. What can I do with it? I am like a bird. Yes I have my wings but I cannot even fly. I am caged that I cannot even escape. The memory of the past is still there. Though, I already dropped it. Still, it stains, it keeps staining me.

 July 23

I told Jance about what was happening--the panic attacks. Jance was my boyfriend. Oh, I mean my best of friend. Honestly, I do not know what our shot is but there is one thing I am sure about, it is… we have this special friendship and we are a team.

“I want you to promise me, if you feel like it is coming, like you want to---“

“No, I won’t” I interrupt him.

I don’t want him to see me on my breakdown nor should I say I don’t want him just to pity me.

“But if you want, you have to confide it with me. Call me, text me or chat me, wake me up at the middle of the night, I do not care. I want to know about it. I am always here for you.”

I replied, “That’s good. Alright, promise. I promise.” But I worried that he was just telling me what he knew I wanted to hear.

July 30

After class I meet Mr. Suarez at his office to attend my session to him.

“How are you?” he asked

“I would lie if I say I am fine.” I said

I told Mr. Suarez about the panic attacks. He offered me an antidepressant called Lexapro. I refused because antidepressants are “cry for help” as they say. And whether you like it or not, it has a kick, a side effect.

“Your mom once told me that you have a boyfriend.” Mr. Suarez voiced.

“Ohh, Jance… he is just my best friend”

“Do you open up with him? About certain matters”

“Not all. I cautiously pick every word I say.” I respond

“But he is your best friend isn’t?”

“Yes but not all things are meant to be divulged, even in your best of friend.”

Mr. Suarez ended up our session with a certain reminder that I need to continue working on my journal. Since I declined for antidepressant, this will also serves as an alternative.

August 4

I already got my schedule on this upcoming new semester. I have this particular subject that deals with writing. I think this will be a big help for me. It will turn out to be an advantage to my assignment to Mr. Suarez.

 August 9

Two o’clock a.m. I woke up. My feet direct me outside of our flat. As I was staring into the darkness, my thoughts let me float. I can’t feel the gravity of the Earth. I feel weightless. I stretched out my arms and let the air touch my skin. Out of a sudden, I found myself drowning in my own tears.

 August 14

Two days before our family reunion. Mom and I start to prepare the food that we will bring. The aroma of the Southern Pecan Pies lingers all throughout the kitchen. It tempted me. I popped a slice of a Pecan Pie inside my mouth. Emotional exhaustion always makes me hungry.      

August 16

I saw him which makes the freaking grief hole open up in my chest. I wait for it to pass, but it doesn’t; it feels so much longer than the normal 25 seconds. I grasped for breath

“I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

It continuously runs in my head.

August 17

When your heart is shattered into a million pieces, all you can do is try to keep holding on. You breathe. You try to fall asleep. You try to not think about him. I wish emotional bruises healed like physical ones.

 August 18

Do I look familiar to you? Or do you still remember this eyes that scream with tears? This lips that trembled as it begs you to set it free, this nose that refused to trace your manly scent, this scar that claimed by you. Do you still remember me? The wrinkles beneath your eyes remind me that time had passed. Your pale lips that once indulge my innocence with lust, your nose that exposed the perfume of my blooming bud; you rewarded yourself with your aimed spot. You.  .  . Do you still remember me? Your voice, an authoritative one who caress me with your pleasure’s sake.Your laugh, a demonic kind who’s a villain of my sweet fantasy. I can hardly breathe with the pressure of your cruelty. Screaming out loud, panting upon awake. But why? I can feel your presence standing in front of me. Smirking. Am I still dreaming? Look, I am grown up now. Do you still remember me? Look at me straight into the eye the way you stare at me before, so you can gaze your reflection into my eye, so you can see my soul’s desire. Trace down my posture the way you did before, hope you’ll realize you’ve stolen my smiles; hope you’ll recognize the lyrics of my cries. It’s been a while. Do you still remember me???? I keep it a secret as you wish, but those scenes tease me, a single night they never miss. Years passed and I had never confessed, but then I found myself caged on my own chest. A nightmare that reminds me I don’t deserve to be loved, that makes me feel I don’t exist, that gives me urges to let my life cease! I’m tired waking up with screams, though I’m used lean on cold walls accompanied by silence and dim. I’m worn out isolating myself from the crowd, but love the crumpling and tearing of paper’s sound. I just want to redeem the worth of my teardrops. So, please. Please do remember me. Just pretend or be sincere, for I beg you to kneel in front of me, then, I will be free.

 August 19

 Blood spurt on my wrist—a liquid that runs down through my warm palms. I love the concept of it.

 August 20

Please just let me die, being alive hurts too much. I want to end up my life. I want to. I really do. I'm tired of living. I just exist in this cruel world. I cannot wait to leave this place and never look back.

 August 21

 I am below empty.   .   . I wish I could forget.

  August 22

 Being tormented day after day after relentless freaking day weighs me down. After a while, that weight becomes too much to carry.

 August 23

 It was already three a.m. and I am still awake. These past few days I am turning nights into days. I wanted to call Jance. . . I ring his phone three times. At the fourth time, he answered.

“Hey” his low voice indicates that he’s in a deep sleep before I phone him. I heard his yawn on the other side.

“Hey I’m sorry to disturb you” I apologized.

“It’s okay. What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

“I feel like anytime I will explode.” I muttered.

"Youcan tell me everything.I can be a shoulder to lean on and an ear to patiently listen to you."

There is a moment of silence between us.

"Still there? Lara?"

"I don't know how to start. I don't know how to begin it." I said in my lowest voice.

"Whenever you feel like you can." he replied

I startedto cry. My eyes bursted into tears. Remembering what happened before. Years have passed but it is still fresh to me. There’s an uncertain pain in my stomach and my heart starts to palpitate. I remained like that for 40 seconds, letting Jance heard my loudest cry.

"I was raped by my uncle back when I was too young to know what was happening." I let it out while sobbing.

The words fly through the air, which fills up my room. I can hear my own panting. I do not care what Jance may think of me. What important is. . . I made it. I already put my thoughts into words.

"Life is hard, but that doesn't mean we give up. You don't have to let one scenario dictates your whole being. I understand that it is not that simple, but Lara you need to unleash the chains inside you. You have to free yourself from it. Though, tears became part of your anatomy, you have to dry those. You are beautiful Lara, even though you have those scars . . .” Jance said.

I deeply sigh. I don’t want to be comforted. I just wanted to be understand. Hearing those words coming from him makes me feel relieve. Jance watered me and I feel so alive at that night.

August 26

I deserve to be happy. I am sad it took me so long to get that. But I get it now.

First of all, I would like to thank all of you for sending your deepest sympathy and for joining us today. I think it will be blissful if we were on a celebration rather than mourning. One of the hardest things a person has to do in life is give a eulogy to a loved one. It takes a lot of strength to stand here, right in front of you and right in front of my daughter’s coffin. I am Amanda, Lara’s mom.

I remember the day when Lara was born. She’s the most beautiful little baby girl we’ve ever seen. Everyone laid their eyes on her. She’s an angel, a gift from Above, but now she joined our Father in her heavenly home.

Our dearest daughter, Lara was truly beautiful inside and out. She was 19, thoughtful and bighearted. I already learn by heart that she allows every circumstance in her life without any rants and she takes this on her own. After school, unlike other child, you would only see her in her room, doing her thing. Lara loved solitude so much.

In life, everyone carry a baggage. No one is perfect. I didn’t contain my feelings when I first read Lara’s journal. My heart was being slowly tormented while I am reading it. She had demons inside her that turned on a constant battle.

Being Lara’s mom, I realized that I have failed her a lot. I failed to be her mother; I failed to be her best friend. I am sorry Lara for I didn’t know it earlier. In your existence here on Earth, you already died a lot, much worst to a car crash…

We all know that Lara’s heart stopped beating, but we never know that her heart keeps on fighting. Lara taught us that we can choose to be suffocated. Or we can find a way to keep breathing. I wish I could go back and take all Lara’s agony. While I was browsing her journal last night, a piece of paper fell, it was a poem.

A Story

By Lara C.

This is a story

Of a small child

So silent, so fragile

So afraid of the big people

 This is a story

Of a happy child

Looking forward to school

Her friends and words and colors

 This is a story

Of a sad child

Feeling outcast

At the corner keeping quite

 This is a story

Of a growing teen

So hoping to grow outside of her

But seems to just shrink in

 This is a story

Of a junior high

Just beginning to realize

That there still so much more to life

 This is a story

Of a girl now in college

Just beginning to enjoy

The new self she created

 This a story

Of the girl now turning twenty

Now finding out that no

No, she just can’t escape

 This is a story

Of the girl now stuck in between

Tomorrow and yesterday

Confuse on what exactly is scarier

 This is a story

Of me now twenty-three

Not quite there yet

Not quite ready

 But this is my story

And I have a say

On where I will be.

  - Kimberly Santos