Sunday Drives

Something kind of cool happened today.

I started out my day in a kind of shitty mood. Well, okay, in a really shitty mood. I continued my current trend of tears in the morning, tears in the shower, tears all over, all of the time. This time I actually had a legitimate reason (shoutout to you, boo boo) but that’s not really the important part.

For the first time in months, I felt an actual emotion. I felt something other than numb. I was angry. It’s not necessarily an improvement, but I’ll take it. I felt anger and it was actually kind of awesome. I felt like I was actually getting somewhere in my adventure to find myself again. What truly shocked me was how quickly that anger went away… and how quickly I found something else in its place.

Maybe it’s a maturity thing and it has nothing to do with the person or the current state of our relationship, but I found myself typing incredibly bitchy things and then deleting them. I got really, really nasty in my drafts, but when it came time to actually send something I couldn’t bring myself to explode. I realized how much I value this person, how hard it would be to say such horrible things and try to rebuild a friendship later on, and how shitty I would’ve felt tonight after I calmed down.

Not only did I completely save myself from a shit ton of regret, I felt a sense of closure. I got mad and I got over it. I got confused and I got over it. I got a little bit nostalgic but I GOT OVER IT. It was then that I decided to get out of the house and just drive. I’ve always dreamed of getting in my car and driving until I run out of gas or break down or reach some cool destination. Now, if you know anything about me you know I don’t really like to drive. I hate road construction, semi-trucks, rain and snow, traffic, and getting lost. I dislike driving in any condition that’s not perfect.

Well I challenged those fears today. I realized once I backed out of the garage that it was raining. Actually, it was pouring. I had half a thought to go back in the house and call it a day. I had a few episodes to watch on Netflix, I could go back to those, but I didn’t. So I drove. I left the neighborhood and I aimed for downtown. I wasn’t planning to get out of the car (it was raining and I put zero effort into my appearance) so I just wanted somewhere cool I could realistically get to and not waste allll of my tank of gas.

I know my way to Minneapolis from home. What I had forgotten to remember was the road construction that prevented me from getting there like I normally do. So I braved those ugly orange and white cones and I fought my way to the cities. I took semi-random exits that sounded like they’d get me to St. Paul (but actually brought me more towards home) because why not?  I took peace in not having anywhere to go, anywhere to be, or anyone to see. I blasted Hilary Duff’s new album (totally obsessed btw) and found myself exploring highways.

Even though I usually despise traffic and the stupid people who create it, I found myself wishing there were more people on the roads. There were plenty of people out there (enough to make me flinch on any other day) but I wanted more. Pushing the speed limit (by like 10 mph, lol much rebel so wow) in the pouring rain, passing people who don’t know me, who don’t know my story, who don’t know my pain was incredibly therapeutic. I had finally found some peace.

I made my way around the cities, around a few neighborhoods, and back onto a road that’d bring me to a familiar place. (I have zero sense of direction, so being able to find my way around and not get lost or stressed out about it was just the icing on the cake.) I spent two hours just driving around and it was truly the greatest part of my week.

This little adventure changed my attitude for the day. I started out with a huge wave of depression and all of my sad emotions, but I came home with a real smile on my face. A smile I had put there all on my own. I had found a way to make myself calm. I didn’t need to have somebody with me. I wasn’t doing it to make anybody else happy. I spent some quality time with myself and it was great.

Something really great happened today. Something really great will happen every Sunday from now on. J

The Story of (the End of) Us

This summer has been, in a word, tough.

Most people go into summer extremely excited. School is out so we all get a much-needed break. Its warmer, its sunnier, its freedom. The three months of summer break are the most anticipated of the year. I, too, was super ready for summer. I was ready to spend my days on the beach, hanging out with my best friend who I’d been separated from for the first time since 4^th grade, and doing cute summery dates with my boyfriend. But when summer finally came around, one major thing was different.

It’s definitely not a secret that I am no longer with my boyfriend. I mean if you’ve read any of my blog posts, you’ve probably got a pretty good idea of how I’m handling the break up. (Spoiler Alert: Not well.) Finals week came and so did the final days of our relationship, sort of.

I remember the day so vividly. He asked if we should try some time apart & I reluctantly agreed (“Um, I guess”). The next 24 hours came in waves of tears, anger, depression, confusion, and pain. I let little baby tears slip during lecture. I full out bawled on the phone to my roommate as I drove myself to his apartment to get my things before he came home. I curled up into a ball, under a blanket in my almost empty dorm room and cried my tear ducts dry.  I was nothing short of a mess.

That night, through the hurt and the tears, I put on a revealing outfit. I let my roommate do my makeup. I took shot after shot and I posted not-so-subtle pictures to my Instagram and Snapchat, letting him know what he was missing. I went out with my girls and I was ready to find somebody new. I wanted nothing more to get his memory, his face, his name out of my head. What I really did was come home after two hours and drunkenly cry myself straight to sleep.  I was starting to realize how over it was.

We continued texting and swapped stories of our post-breakup drinking adventures. He told me he had made a huge mistake and was extremely sorry for the hurt he had put me through. I loved this guy so hardcore, but I was emotionally down for the count. I explained that I didn’t want to just jump back into the relationship because I needed to have a little self-respect. He agreed and we set a day to go get coffee and talk. We continued to stay connected and tried to rebuild what was broken.

Our coffee date turned into a lunch date and it went well. We had fun just talking and being with each other; something we'd been lacking in the weeks before. He dropped me off and I just kind of left, without really saying goodbye. He was confused but I reassured him that we weren’t giving up on each other yet. We had a week or two where we were practically together (without the label) again and things were looking up. Obviously that’s not where this ends.

He has since told me he doesn’t have feelings for me anymore. He was over the relationship when it ended. He’s been seeing somebody else. But our story wasn't over. We were still seeing each other every once in a while. I was bored, horny, and missing him and he wasn’t going to say no to sex, so we got together again and again. Each time things were great until I realized this wasn’t a relationship, it meant nothing to him, and it wasn’t because he loved me. We had sex purely because we wanted it. I wanted it because I wanted him back in my life. He wanted it because he wasn’t really getting it anywhere else.

We went through four or five cycles of friendship, flirty, sex, Kiana freakouts, not talking, and back to friendship. Each time the consequences got more and more severe for me. (I’m an emotional person, what can I say?) I wasn’t stopping though. I wanted the connection. I was lonely and missing my other half and yeah, I was horny. Who isn’t these days? To make things harder, my silly brain thought that if I gave him something he wanted and tried really hard to be supportive, he’d realize how much dedication I had and how badly I wanted him and then he’d want me again. (I still kind of have this mentality, even though I know it’ll never work.)

All of this came to an end just over a week ago now. I was blamed for my own pain, because I was the one who suggested sex over and over. Which, sure, yeah, it was mostly me, but he wasn’t saying no. He made it clear that once he officially made this new girl his girlfriend that we’d be done with our little shenanigans (good for you bro, don’t cheat on your girl) and that was that. He stopped replying to my texts (I only sent four, okay? And the first 3 were part of the conversation we were having. I’m not obsessive and annoying) and I haven’t heard from him since. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since last July when we started things.

It’s taking every bit of restraint I have to keep myself from reaching out to him. I’ve had drafts of texts ready to send multiple times. I’ve been watching who has seen my snap stories to see when he sees it. I think of him almost constantly and I still spend most of my nights in tears, missing him. However, its time, I have to move on. I’ve let myself build hope for a second chance that’ll never come for 3 months now. I’m pathetic, honestly.

I’ve been starting to focus on bettering myself though. I’ve been going to the gym regularly, trying to avoid fast food, and drinking water instead of pop. I’ve dedicated myself to my job and having a blast with the kiddos I take care of before I move back up to school. I’m actually blogging for real sometimes. I’m expressing my feelings and letting things out for the first time in years. (Thanks for that, homeboy; you were right.) Most importantly, I’m taking this crappy situation as an opportunity to improve (even if it started out as a way to get him back).

With moving back to the place we spent most of our relationship and our would-be one-year anniversary coming up, things are going to be tougher still. I’ll be okay though. Just going to keep taking this one day at a time and keeping busy. My heart may still be his for now, but hopefully not for much longer. Things will get better. Slowly, real slowly, but surely. 

The Rest is Still Unwritten.

Take one look at my Facebook or Instagram and you’ll believe I’m just another happy, basic college girl. There are literally hundreds of pictures of me smiling with my sorority sisters, my best friends, my family, my ex-boyfriend(s), and, probably most frequently, myself… You’d think my life is pretty fantastic. I mean, I’d think so too, but I can’t really see how great it is.

Sure, I know I’m lucky. I am so blessed to have a family who loves me, friends who are always supportive, and anything I’d ever want in life. I have an amazing job, a reliable car of my own, a closet packed full of clothes… I have it all. And believe me, I am so thankful for everything I’ve got.

But I’m not happy. I haven’t been 100% happy for a long time.

I can’t pinpoint a specific time where it all changed, but it’s probably got something to do with my 8^th grade year. I lost my brother to cancer (everybody knows that, right?) and I have never fully grieved that loss. I don’t even think I know how to. How does somebody get over or move past losing somebody they were supposed to die before? If all goes right in the universe, the older sister is supposed to die before her younger brother. That’s not a crazy concept.

However, all did not work right in my universe. I watched my brother suffer for almost 5 years. Between chemotherapy, radiation and scary face-shielding masks, spending nights on a hard hospital couch, too much nasty hospital food, and watching him slowly deteriorate our life was tough. I can’t even imagine what it was like to actually experience this tragedy – just watching it happen was hard enough.

My brother, Kyle, fought and boy, did he fight hard. He went through years of cancer, remission, cancer, remission, cancer before he let the disease do its thing. He lost his hair to grow it back to lose it again. He got strong and then got weak, weak, and weaker still. He faced the hardest battle you could imagine, but he never stopped smiling.

Ask anybody who knew him and they’ll tell you something like this: “He was such a heartwarming, loving little boy,” “Kyle always knew how to make you smile, even when he was in pain,” “He’s the most selfless person I’ve ever known,” “He gave the best hugs.” To explain him in one word would be impossible. He was tough, courageous, hilarious, clever, sweet, selfless, and all around awesome.

This story isn’t just about Kyle. The majority of my first 13 years of life (except the first 3.5 where it was just me) were all about him. How could it not be? He was sick. He was suffering. He was fighting. He got all of the attention. This story is about how he’s changed me. Well, okay, yeah, this story is mostly about him.

As horrible as it makes me seem, I sort of resent him. My childhood was stripped from me. I had to grow up quicker than most. I spent half of my time with my grandparents while my mom took care of him. I took second string because I was healthy – what a horrible thing to be, right?

There are no words to describe how much guilt I have for feeling this way. My brother is dead and I’m mad that I didn’t get the love and attention I thought I deserved as a kid? What kind of person feels like that? Well, people like me. Don’t get me wrong, I love that little fuzzy headed kid with all of my being and I miss him terribly. There hasn’t been a single day in the last 5.5 years that’s gone by where I haven’t thought about him. I tear up thinking of him (like right now? All the tears). I can’t say his name without losing it. I would give anything to have him back; giving me shit and telling me silly knock knock jokes. 

He’s my inspiration and my motivation to live more selflessly. His lack of a life pushes me to continue mine. On the nights I feel like nothing was worth living for, I think of him. I think of the kids he’ll never have, the wife he’ll never meet, the career he’ll never love. I think of the family and the friends he left behind. The people, like myself, that have struggled to survive after losing him. It seems strange, but thinking of what he never got to have only makes me want to have them more. Part of me wants my own things, things that don’t revolve around or involve him, but part of me just wants to live the life he would’ve loved to have. I want to do it big and do it right, just for him. His memory and this mentality have saved my life more times than I can count.

Though I haven’t figured out a way to cope with such a tremendous loss yet (I still struggle all the time and sometimes this loss makes other, smaller ones harder), my story is still a work in progress. In my story, there are more than a few chapters solely dedicated to Kyle (he deserves nothing less), but there’s still more to me to be written.  I may not always be happy or satisfied with how my life is happening, but I have a life. That’s the greatest gift and it’s one I plan to cherish. I would not cherish my life as much as I do without the help of my little superhero.

This one’s for you, SuperKyle. I miss you so much, but I love you more. 

I’ve been broken before.

I was broken when my parents got a divorce.

I was broken when I found out my little brother had a terminal disease.

I was broken throughout the entire battle for his life.

I was broken when cancer claimed the only brother I’ve ever had.

I started to break again when I dated him during senior year.

I broke more each time he threatened suicide, each day he further cut me off from my family and friends, each hour I spent fighting him over his life.

I was relieved when we broke up, thinking it was all over.

I was broken again when he and a friend blackmailed me for months with private business.

I broke even more spending my days in a courthouse to get him out of my life, for good.

But I was put back together when you came into my life.

You showed me how to have fun again.

You taught me to be happy and leave my past where it belongs.

You became my guidance, my role model, my support system, my outlet.

You showed me how love is supposed to feel.

You made me want to be in love with myself.

You were my motivation to be the best person I could be.

You were my punching bag, my shoulder to cry on, the victim to my insane levels of sass.

You gave me so many memories, so much happiness, so much respect, so much life.

You are the only man I can truly say I love with all of my heart.

But I broke the hardest when we ended things.

I break every time I see your face in my photo library.

I break every time I read through texts from when we were happy.

I break every time you come over “just for fun” and leave with yet another piece of me.

I break more each time you say I need to move on, each time you say you don’t want me, each time you ignite the silence between us.

I break when you’re nice to me, even though I know it really means nothing.

I break hearing about how you’ve moved on, how great she is, how great you are.

I still break every night that I don’t get a “Goodnight Kiana, I love you” text.

I break thinking about what could’ve been.

I break without feeling.

I am constantly breaking.

But it’s okay… I’ve been broken before.

An Open Letter to the Man Who Stole My Heart

  

I want it back.

Not the first date or the first time you told me you loved me (when I was furious with you), not even my entire freshman year of college. Not the countless memories, not the crazy shit we talked about, not the last year of my life. Nope, I don’t want any of that back.

I want my heart back. I want my freedom to fall in love again. I want my sassy, flirty attitude that made you fall in love with me. I want to be able to go to Target or the racetrack or the beach and not think of you, just once. I want my happiness back.

You aren’t willing keeping these things hostage. You’re trying really hard to give them back to me and you’re doing the best you can and I don’t blame you. (I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.) There’s just something crazy about accepting that once I take them back, you’re just another piece of my life’s history.

Maybe it was just me being your stereotypical crazy girlfriend, but I knew I would fall in love with you by our second or third date. You know how everyone always says, “When you know, you just know”?? Well, I thought I knew. By winter break, I had already developed pictures of our future together in my mind. I pictured a big house with a huge garage for our summer, winter, and just for fun cars and even more space for your race car(s). Not to mention the fleet of motorcycles we’d undoubtedly occupy over the years. We talked about the future and even had determined you would get me a Cayenne (it’s definitely not an if, but a when). We were seriously in love. Or so I thought.

Honestly, I knew we were having some issues. I mean I chose to avoid most of them because I was happy enough and too used to the relationship we had built together, but I knew they were there. In typical Kiana fashion, I pushed as much of the negative away and tried my hardest to focus on all of the good things. I had somebody to cuddle with (pretty much) whenever I wanted. I had somebody to cook me things, even though sometimes it didn’t turn out (suuuuper burnt meat, anyone?). I had somebody who was always there when I needed to rant about my roommate who napped 24/7 or when I was feeling down about my past or my future, or that the stupid laundry machines were all full. I was extremely excited to have you in my life.

We had talked about how things just didn’t really feel right. We tried to diagnose the problems and we tried to make things fun again. For a while, it really seemed like things were going well. It seemed like we were finally happy with how things were going again. However, in a sick twist of fate, you weren’t as happy and excited as I was about a future “us”. None of the negatives of our relationship ever went away for you and things never really got back to feeling right for you.

It took me a long time to realize I couldn’t change that. I’m still trying to grasp the whole situation, two months later. Looking back on our downfall, the only things I can ever think about is how it came to me as a huge shock. I knew we had talked about maybe trying to be apart even though we agreed it wasn’t something we really wanted, so I never thought it would actually happen. Why would I? I was insanely in love with you.

I still am, actually. Despite the endless tears that have come from the break-up. Despite all of the times I told myself I wasn’t going to love you anymore (like it was really going to be that easy). Despite all of the advice you’ve given me on moving on and getting over you. I would do it all again. But that’s not an option anymore.

You’ve been over it for two months. You’re perfectly fine. You’ve moved on… Kiana who? Yeah, you’d never consider a second chance at this. Especially because I text you with my feels all the time, I get desperate when I’m drunk, and I keep making you explain why this happened over and over again.

What’s worst is that you’re so nice about it. I mean you can be really harsh and kind of an asshole, but you do it because you know that’s what it’ll take for me to get my shit together. You’re truly trying to make me realize that I can make myself happy. I can be perfectly okay without you. You see more in me than I could ever see in myself and you let me be stupid and make mistakes and you never get mad at me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you and I’m sorry.

Even though I’m still not excited to call you my ex, you’ve been a really great ex. Better yet, you’ve still continued to be an amazing friend and I am so incredibly grateful for that. We’re not talking right now (again) because I still can’t handle my shit around you and that’s probably for the better… But I want you to know how lucky I feel to have had you as a part of my life. You’re an amazing person and I truly wish you nothing but the best in your future endeavors. (God, that sounds so grownup and weird.)

I’ll be back to normal again someday, hopefully soon, but you’ll always be my favorite.