Over the times we've shared; It's all blackened out

I'll be the first to admit that I have quite a few flaws. 

One of the worst that I can think of---probably because I'm currently doing it right now is avoidance. I'm not big into conflict, I don't always face my fears or 'do what's right'. I hide away, I go the long way around, I keep my head down or I don't talk about it. 

I talk the talk but I can't walk the walk. 

You painted a picture so graphic.

This shouldn't be so hard. It's a simple thing after all.

But in typical fashion I'm making this into a much bigger deal than needs to be. Sitting here for the past couple of hours, sifting through various designs, colours, artists, sizes...

It's enough to make me want to throw my monitor against a wall. 

You'll spend every day; Shining your light my way

I'm sure you wonder why I've kept these jeans. 

There are days I wonder too. There was a brief moment where I toyed with chucking them. Unwearable I thought. Where I know people would see them in my drawers and wonder what I'm thinking. Why these jeans are sitting here with all the other clothes. Are they laundry day jeans, where nothing else is clean? 

It's not that they're especially tacky. They don't look special. They didn't cost a whole lot. In fact, I have another pair just like them. 

Sure, they don't fit that well. I've since lost the weight that held them snuggly to my curves. They sag in certain spots, especially around my knees. They're not super flattering, no one ever said I looked hot, sexy or particularly skinny in them. 

But what they lack in their ordinary little ways, they make up for in memories. 

There's a science to fear it plagues my mind and it keeps us right here

Worry gives a small thing a big shadow. - Swedish proverb

It was only last week that I sat down at this very computer, for this very blog to describe the crippling fear I had about going into surgery. I remember sitting here, trying vaguely to sum up the startling cold, twisted, paralyzing fear of being at someone else's mercy and being sliced open, taken apart and having a piece of me removed. 

I remember the feeling of suffocating under this weight, the feeling that no one truly understood where I was coming from. I remember the twisted and dark thoughts of wanting something bad to happen just to justify those fears, those terrors, that anxiety. 

I sit here almost a week from that day, describing a new fear, a new anxiety, a new worry. 

I know it's a sin to kiss and swallow; a random prose

Wish granter. Dream maker.

I fulfill your every desire.

I've been called many names, Jade is only the most recent. I'm one of dozens of girls in this city, bright eyed and bushy tailed. The sweet girl you pass on your way to class, the young businesswoman at the bar drowning her sorrows, the angry feminist at the rally. I can be anything. I can be your's, her's, his'...

But only for the night.

Gone for surgery but now I'm back again

Well I survived.

I won't go into too much detail about the whole thing. The one thing I can say is that you don't maintain your dignity when at the hospital. Between the outfit, the medicine (and certain placements of said medicine) and basically being treated like a piece of meat... it's not exactly an experience I want to repeat anytime soon. Either way, I'm now hobbling around like an old pregnant woman. 

Sexy, I know. 

Thank you to the people who were there for me. The texts, the visits, the presents, the care and the love...

It means the world. 

If only we could heal ourselves; We wouldn't need to be hooked up to these machines

It was a very late night during high school when I fell in love with writing. Back then it was always fiction, 'roleplaying' (yes, nerdy) with a couple of good friends and basically escaping my life. 

Back then, I didn't really realize how therapeutic it was. How easy it was to let my character feel what I felt, mold them, develop flaws (shockingly, similar to my own) and get the happily ever after I was always dreaming of--or at least to a better semblance than what I currently was experiencing. I wove stories with other people, picked up an ever developing vocabulary and it wasn't long until my short paragraphs slowly developed in pages and pages of text. My novice descriptions became lines of beautiful words, painting pictures, creating scenes, harvesting emotions.  I saw myself grow up through those pages, I saw myself improve, twist a phrase, rattle off a verse and generally fall in love with writing. 

It has been one of the few things that I am 100% proud of.