The Long Road Behind Me

This time two years ago was a dark time for me. The summer before I moved to Atlanta for physical therapy school. It’s not something I have opened up to a lot of people about. It’s deeply personal and it’s hard to share. Sometimes I feel ashamed that I wasn’t stronger. What was happening and the mistakes I made during that time. All the sad songs I listened to, trying to capture the extent of my heartbreak – the lonely nights alone, just my cat and I, spent in a big, empty apartment with hardly any furniture. I would leave the TV on all the time just so I didn’t have to live in silence.

I went to work at the local children’s gymnastics facility down the street. I swam occasionally. I worked out. I cooked quinoa and chicken. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. And at night – I’d suffer. Those of you who know me close, knew that during my time in Georgia, I’d been in the same relationship – the one that had ended the February of that year. Through those long, lonely summer nights, I suffered as I struggled with letting go of a relationship that I knew I needed to let go of, but didn’t know how.

One night in particular comes back to me – it was one of the worst that summer. Against my better judgement, I went to see my ex. I knew that I shouldn’t – every time I did, I felt in my heart and stomach a pit of despair and darkness. But I didn’t know what else to do. I hurt so incredibly badly. And the alternative – the scary thought of being alone – sometimes, it seemed like that was worse… I couldn’t get out of the cycle. I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. Breaking up was one step – saying goodbye forever was another. It was that night that he confronted me about talking to other people. I was young, I was newly single – and I was trying to mask my heartbreak by distracting myself and moving on. I was in a terrible place, and seeing my ex during that time only made it exponentially worse. I hadn’t known it, but my ex was capable of doing something called “cloning” my phone – he was able to see all of the messages I received from other people. He was even able to see if anyone came over to my apartment based on IP addresses pinging my wifi from their phones, since he had helped set the wifi up. And it was bad. He confronted me about it – and I didn’t have anything good to say. How could I explain the heartbreak I felt? How utterly terrifying it was to face the thought of truly letting go of my first and only love, forever, and facing a scary new world alone? But knowing that that relationship was terrible and poisonous to both of us – and so at the same time I couldn’t help but try and move on? Trying to explain that I felt both of those at the same time seemed impossibly shallow to me, but it was much more complex than that. Maybe you’ve been in a similar situation.

A confrontation that night turned into raised voices, and raised voices turned into complete screaming. I don’t even remember exactly what was said, but I remember that – the harsh, grating, scary screaming.  His anger. The feeling of being paralyzed by helplessness. I tried to leave – I wasn’t allowed to. He took my phone and locked me in a completely pitch black room and wouldn’t let me go. I cried and cried desperately. I was so desperate to get out that I literally broke the old wood door keeping me in – which only made him yell worse. I ran out the door and down the street. He followed. “You can’t leave,” he said, threatening me. Tears poured down my face. I knew he wouldn’t let me leave – I sat down on the curb in the dark of the night and cried. In an effort to get him to let me go, I let him drive me to the house of this guy I had been on a few dates with – and he forced me to walk to his door while he knocked on it and yelled that I didn’t care about him. I finally got the chance to go home, then – I’d changed my locks so that he couldn’t get in anymore, and I tried to pretend the notes on my car when I went to random places didn’t bother me, and tried to pretend that I didn’t feel like this was an endlessly hopeless situation that I would struggle with forever. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t worried that I would be stalked around town. That I couldn’t even invite people over for worry that he would find out. I just wanted to close my eyes and forget everything. I wanted to be free. But I didn’t know how I could get there.

I don’t have a word for what that summer was like. Abuse? I don’t know. The thing about that word is, at least in my case, I didn’t think about it that way as it was happening to me. I just thought, “I deserve this. I’m an awful person – what I’ve done, by breaking someone’s heart – was awful, and these are the consequences I have to live with. This is my burden to bear. This is a hell I don’t know how to escape from, but it will be ok. I’ll be ok. He’s justified in being angry and emotional. He’s hurt too.”

Atlanta was a scary place, but it was a beacon of hope to me that summer, compared to Macon where I spent those last few months. Atlanta was a chance to be free. If I could just make it through that summer… that horrible, horrible summer – THAT was my chance to leave this hell behind. And the day I moved, oh thank god, I was so ready. I was ready for my new life. It turns out it wasn’t as easy as that, of course – my past still followed me. In fact, my ex followed me – he moved to Atlanta shortly after. I was careful to conceal my address, but somehow, he found my new address, and he’d leave notes for me there, too. Sometimes he’d wait for me to come back home. One night, I had to stay at my friend’s house, for fear of him confronting me if I went home.

One morning, it must have been 3 am – I got repeated phone calls from his new number. I hadn’t blocked it yet. Finally, he sent me a message saying there was something for me downstairs. School was at 8 am in the morning, and I was exhausted. I went downstairs, though. There were big windows that my roommate liked to leave the blinds open to that faced the street – I remember literally crawling down them, afraid to walk up tall, worried me might see me if he was still there. I opened the door, and there was a plastic bag. In it was a box – a box I had painted for him long ago for his birthday, filled with all the cards and letters I’d ever written. And one last letter from him – the last I ever received. And I wept, and wept, and wept. I was so tired, and so hurt, and so heartbroken from these last few months. I felt like I was dragging a body, the body of what my life used to be - behind me wherever I want – that’s how big the burden felt to me. I lived in fear, and heartbreak, and darkness, and no one could get me out of it. This was my burden to bear. This was my loneliness. My past. I filled journals with my hurt that the memories and that the lack of privacy and the stalking and the notes left me. His constant ability to find ways to leave my messages and get in touch with me and never leave me alone or let me forget. 

In fact, it wasn’t until the week before I met Kris, that things finally ended – for good. That I finally cut all ties with that dark piece of my past. I had still been trying to come to terms with the fact that even though I had moved on and I was seeing other people, that it didn’t make me forget my hurt – and I felt as though I constantly lived in a state of questioning if my decisions over the last year had been the right ones, or if I would be doomed to date people under a state of heartbreak that shadowed any feelings I felt forever. Just comeuppance for my bad deeds, perhaps. I remember the last time I ever saw him – I went to a bar with one of my friends, and there he was, bartending – and he brushed past me. I had a long cry that night… and then I let it go. I blocked every form of communication I could possibly find for him to talk to me to. I finally felt ready. And then I met Kris 3 days later. And for the first time ever – I finally, truly let go. I let go of the heartbreak and the hurt. I told Kris everything, and this burden was lifted from me. For the first time, I could think back on all of those memories – and they didn’t hurt anymore.

I felt peace. And funny enough, that’s one of the many reasons how I knew that Kris was the man that I would marry. Kris is kind, he’s hysterically funny, and he makes the best life partner and partner in crime I could ever ask for. He shares my longing for adventure and my passionate, determined spirit. And loving him – it’s just like one of my favourite poems, which goes like this:

“She asked ‘you are in love, what does love look like’,

To which I replied, ’like everything I’ve ever lost come back to me.”

Atlanta’s symbol is the phoenix, and the phoenix perfectly captures my life here. Out of ashes, my life was reborn and remade. I was always whole before I met Kris, but Kris gave me something more than that. He filled my whole self with joy, and all the things I’d lost in those dark pieces of my past – the loss I felt – was replaced my peace, replaced by a feeling of wholeness. He brings me closer to God and he taught me to let go of that hurt. He is the man that makes me feel as though everything I’ve ever lost and that I used to mourn every day and night before I cried myself to sleep – has come back to me. Newer, brighter and more perfect than ever before.

And in just less than 5 days, I’m lucky enough to get to marry him. If that isn’t a happy beginning to a love story, I don’t know what is. 

Why I'm Glad I Conceal Carry - And What Happened That Made Me Even More Glad.

I want to share with you guys a story of a recent trip I went on. 

As you know (if you follow any of my feeds or anything, or you just know me), I'm super pro-gun and pro-carry. It started as an annual hobby: we'd go shooting for summer camp in high school every year. That was cool. Then I moved to Georgia - it was normal for a lot of people to carry there, so I had some practice. By the time I was 21, I had already made up my mind to apply for my concealed carry. It took a while - between having to take a class, obtaining finger prints, a background check, a passport photo, complete my application and pay a lot of money throughout the process, I finally was able to submit my application. On top of that, actually getting a firearm wasn't easy either. I was a Florida resident living in a different state, where they didn't sell guns to you if you lived out of state and had no license to carry. It took me a month to actually get my gun once I'd bought it because of Florida's 3-day wait period (you have to wait 3 days after buying your gun to pick it up) - and trying to plan that in between full-time classes and work.

The day I actually picked up my Bersa 9 mm was a proud day for me. A lot of research and a lot of practice had gone into my decision to get my gun, and I loved it from day 1. Guns are fun to shoot - but I also liked having the knowledge and the comfort that having a gun could at least give me a shot (no pun intended) of not becoming a victim should anything ever happen. Going out of town, traveling, staying at hotels, even being at home alone just felt a lot more secure knowing that I had a weapon that was both intimidating and that was powerful enough to hurt someone that was trying to hurt me. Especially being a woman - a woman that goes to stranger's houses for a living to entertain at parties and events - it just felt nice to know that I had something in between me and danger. I became increasingly more pro-carry after actually being license to carry a gun (and doing so). Bachelorette party? Carry. Trip to charleston with a friend? Carry. Walking around Atlanta? Carry. I'd worked hard for my permit and I'd trained to use my weapon. The campus carry bill was exciting for me. I hoped it would be passed. I'm pretty sure a lot of my friends thought I was a little too over the top about wanting to carry my gun places - but again, after having a firearm and getting used to the security that it lent me, it was hard to leave it at home. I trusted my ability to protect myself a lot more with a gun than I did with pepper spray or a knife.

As far as actual self defense goes (and I know, this isn't great), I didn't know a ton about it. Someone attacks you? Make noise and try and fight them off. Go for the areas that hurt. I knew stuff like that. I recently took a class in self defense and I had no idea that I might actually have to use it sometime soon - but I guess that's the point. You never know why you might need to use it. Something I appreciated about the class was that they did address having a firearm. I had a gun and I knew how to use it, but it's hard to predict that you'll know the appropriate thing to do in a situation where you actually need it. I learned a lot about how you shouldn't pull your gun out obviously - how you need to read the situation - and when to make the choice either to run for it, or if the person needs to not be able to run after you.

The day after the self defense class, some girlfriends and I decided to go on a camping trip in Alabama. I've never been hammocking before, but I thought it might be fun. We built a fire, brought out wine, and set up our camp site. We were sitting around the fire in our chairs when my friend and I were laughing about what might happen if something actually did go down. "You've got the gun. You'll distract them and keep them away while I run to the car. And then you get to the car."
It was around midnight when I heard something and asked, "What am I hearing?"
"Coyotes," One of the girls said, obviously much more comfortable with camping and much less worried about the coyotes than I was. All I could picture was coyotes eating me in my sleep before saying, "Uhh.... I don't like coyotes." One of the other girls piped up that she wasn't the biggest fan, either. The hammocks weren't high - the fire was dying and the wood was low - we decided to go home. We started picking up and putting out the fire.
But I'd never been in a hammock! I crawled in just to spend some time seeing what it was like. It was comforting - rocking gently between the trees. But I was glad we were going home. It was dark and a little creeepy.

The occasional car had passed by on the dirt road at this point, but this one was louder. I peeked my head out of the hammock and saw the girls were over by the fire, putting it out and listening to. I turned off my headlight. Rocks and gravel rolled underneath big tires of an obviously large vehicle. I looked at the girls again, then back at the road. Something wasn't right. "Get to the car," one of them shouted. I leaped out of the hammock and grabbed my backpack full of insulin immediately. I pulled my gun out of its holster and hid it in my sweater; I ran to the car, ready to bolt. I hid back behind the headlights of my friend's car, slightly in the dark. A huge truck blocked the entrance to the gravel exit of the campsite and a loud voice shouted over the intercom, "THIS IS THE TUSKEGEE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE. PUT YOUR HANDS UP and QUIET. STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE." I could hardly see because the lights of the giant truck were on high beams and they were so bright. Adrenaline was pumping through my body at this point. My hand gripped my gun harder, finger off the trigger, but ready to shoot. My hands weren't up, but I was off to the side. The other girls had their hands up. "STAY WHERE YOU ARE. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY WEAPONS". I said nothing - I didn't want anyone knowing I had a gun. One of the girls shouted "Yes." Silence enveloped the 4 of us. "No... tell them it's a knife. A pocketknife. Or something." I muttered. "Just not a gun." "We're not a threat." One of them said. "Don't tell them," I said as I shook my head, hand still on my gun. They kept demanding to know what the weapon was. I thought. No. "Ask to see their identification," I said, remembering my mom's old lessons to me to never trust someone saying they were law enforcement - especially until they could show some identification. "You can have the site if you want it." One of the girls said. "We were just leaving." "DO YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS OR ALCOHOL. IT IS ILLEGAL TO HAVE ALCOHOL ON THE PREMISES." I later learned this wasn't true, but part of me legitimately thought "Shit, am I seriously gonna go to jail tonight for drinking and possession of a weapon?" We were all silent. I was ready to shoot or bolt depending on what happened next.

A woman in a pink shirt with ratty brown hair smoking a cigarette got out of the car, laughing. "Aww... we're just kidding!" She said. I was so angry. My hand was still on my gun, hidden in my sweater. I walked closer to her. "You need to leave. Now." I said. My friend was nicer. "You guys have a good night," she said. The lady threw the cigarette on the ground. "Aw, we're just out driving around. You guys have a good night." We tried to catch their plates but the lights around the plate were busted out as the truck backed up and away - and we bolted, hurrying to pack up the rest, not wanting to stick around in case anyone came back.

And what's more: one of the girls called 911 right away to tell them that someone was visiting campsites impersonating an officer and was likely drunk and tried to give as good of a description of the people and vehicle as possible. 911 said: "That's cool... well, I don't know what you want us to do." "Well, we're leaving. Just wanted to let you know," the girl said. "You're leaving? Really?" 911 asked. "Uh, yeah. We're leaving. Of course we're leaving."
It seems like such a silly situation, but being in that situation - it was scary. We had no way of knowing who these people were: Threat? Not a threat? It was unpredictable and we were 4 women alone in the woods. It was pitch black except for the bright vehicle lights. I didn't know if these people had a gun, or if they meant harm. I was thankful for that self defense class though, so that I didn't just pull my gun out in plain sight and potentially make myself a target. And I was also thankful for my gun - thankful I didn't have to use it, but thankful I had it, in case things became worse. I'm glad we're all safe, and I'm glad it was just some people pulling a joke. But it could have been a lot worse... impersonating an officer isn't cool.

So, yeah. It's situations like that that there's NO way that you could predict that make me very, very glad that I conceal carry.

Puzzle Pieces.

My paths have brought me back to Macon again today.

Funny enough, in Atlanta; city of so much everything, it's a lot harder to get Dr.'s appointments at the health department. I always just make an appointment at the one close to Macon because I'm always able to be seen there, and it's so easy. It's always been worth the drive to me, which is a little less than an hour, depending on how fast you drive.

Driving back is always like driving back into the past to me. The nostalgia never leaves - if anything, it just grows stronger, as I start to realize that the people I know and the connections I have in Macon are slowly growing smaller, fading away, until one day they will be nothing at all and Macon will simply be a place  used to live. Not a place to reconnect with old friends who still carry out their lives here. 2 years ago, I was sitting in this coffee shop lamenting about leaving here. 2 years later, I drive back with a sense of how small this world is here; how small the shops are, how small the community is. How people know each other. And I'm amazed at how I ended up here, in this little town of all places, when I had a world of choices at my feet my senior year of High School. 

Do I regret it? Spending time in a place as seemingly tiny and unimportant as Macon? I don't. Because I have memories here. And this is how I met Kris, a year after leaving it. 

I think that my decision to attend Wesleyan was grounded in a lot of reasons. Some of them were stupid teenage girl reasons. Others were very founded - Wesleyan is a wonderful school, and I loved the ability to be taught in classes that were reasonably sized and build community with my small group of friends. And Macon... as small as it is, is a good place to learn about who you are if you're a first-timer at living away from home. It wasn't too big to intimidate me, like Atlanta likely would have been. It was a good medium - set apart from my hometown of Orlando, and different, big enough to keep me occupied, small enough to feel like home away from home. I won't bore you with the details of the things I did here because that's encapsulated in a variety of my other blog posts here. The bottom line is, I know this place isn't the best. It's not even close to it. But it was my home, and I'll always go easy on Macon because of that. I'll miss seeing Lake Tobosofkee and shopping at River Crossing (The New Mall) and hanging out at one of the few speciality coffee shops in town. I loved the Rookery and the shitty, sketchy clubs and the old, moss covered tombstones of Rose Creek cemetery on the banks of the muddy Ocmulgee. And I think of these things... and I think of me, still a girl at 16, who came up here to spend a Summer some 6 years ago. I think of the hot, hot July days that summer of 2010 - no ocean breeze to cool them. I think of driving around the neighborhoods just to see the pretty houses - driven by someone, because I didn't have my license yet. I remember this goat that sometimes got into the house I stayed at. The strawberry patch: picking so many berries that we couldn't find enough use for them and we got sick of eating them. Staying up until the early morning playing video games. Wondering why I got cranky and shaky when I didn't eat - thinking I was hypoglycemic, when I couldn't have predicted that it was actually more. My online classes... the 10 page essays due every week. Walking barefoot on the gravel until my feet learned to be tough, sitting on the porch with the kittens at dusk,. Watching the kittens pass away... 4th of July by the lake. The best sweet tea at Aunt Shirley's on her lovely porch. 

Those things made me feel as though I belonged, and for a whisper in time, I did belong there. I made my life there. I met people there. I loved there. My heart broke there. I learned so much about life and I became who I needed to be. 

One summer spent in Forsyth, years ago - it must have been 4, or 5 - I was browsing on the internet, struggling to find a way to stay in Macon when I knew inevitably I'd have to leave: there were no physical therapy schools there for Graduate school.

Mercer had one... Mercer's main campus was in Macon. But this program was in Atlanta. Maybe it was close enough to make it work. Atlanta wasn't so bad, after all. 

I didn't make a decision yet, but the seed was planted. It was, inevitably, my love for Macon and my desire to stay close that pushed me to apply to Mercer. 

After I was accepted to Mercer in 2014, UCF back home called me. I was tempted to say yes... and maybe I could have. At the time I was accepted to Mercer and after I had applied to graduate school, it turns out I no longer had any more reason to stay in Macon. My 5-year long relationship hadn't worked out; it had died, and with it, my ability to belong here. 

Did I go back home where I had friends and family and for a brief period of time, I could relive that? I could get back what I'd sacrificed when I'd left home to make a life in Georgia. It was safe. It was familiar. 

Atlanta was huge, cold, unknown, mysterious. Scary. 

I thought for a second on the phone, feeling bad for going silent after being told I'd been accepted into their program. I'd already been accepted to Mercer.

I made the decision that would change the rest of my life:

I told them I'd made my decision to attend Mercer.

At the end of Summer, I moved to this big beautiful lonely city and I learned to love it. To find the kind of nooks and crannies I'd found in Macon. My life and my world blossomed. I met my friends Robert and Chelsea - I still dated someone from back home in Florida. In an effort to please them and also to see what it was all about after hearing Robert rave about it, I decided to attend my first swing dance. I struggled with it, I questioned whether I wanted to do it, but I stuck with it. Something drew me to it... even when I didn't dance well with the person I'd initially learned it for. The fun, the excitement, the variety - I loved it. I felt alive. Keep coming back. Something told me. Keep going. Exams came and went, competencies passed and failed, semesters ended... spring, my second semester in PT school, ended and I found myself at swing dance again. And there I found a man: There I found the man I'm about to spend the rest of my life with.

This is the story of how unlikely places can still lead you to where you need to be. How they can pave the path for greater things, and how life is a marvelous puzzle made up of pieces so tiny that sometimes you can't see the big picture until it's done and you get a good chunk of a section put together. Which takes time. 

Macon brought me to Atlanta, and Atlanta brought me to Kris. And PT school brought me to Kris, even when it discouraged me and made me feel as if maybe I'd chose the wrong profession. And dancing! Even dancing brought me to where I needed to be - despite saying I'd never learn to dance and swearing I have two left feet. 

2 years ago, I wondered where my life was going: I was headed into the great unknown. 2 years later, and I'm about to get married. I'm off to clinic. The puzzle pieces have come together: Not all, but some. Some of them have revealed their mysteries to me and showed me where my life is headed. 

2 years from now, I wonder what I'll be writing about then? All the new joys, responsibilities, and troubles I'll have, no doubt. I guess I'll have to wait until that section of the puzzle is complete.