You know there was a time when I thought I was the princess in a storybook

Well, maybe not princess, but the protagonist, of course, at that age I didn’t know of the word protagonist

I thought I was the center of everything and that everyday the sky was blue like an upside down tropical ocean, shining and beautiful

I believed that stories always ended happily with “the end” and that

I was like Rapunzel (in Tangled), waiting for my life to begin

(Let me be clear, I was not waiting for a prince to save me, I was too worried about cooties.)

I was waiting for my call to adventure

I was waiting for everything to fall into place

I still kind of am to be honest

But the thing is, at one point I realized that the sky is gray and that good didn’t always win

I don’t know when it happened, or how, whether it was just a part of growing up or if I just had a revelation or something

But it came like oil into a river, and I didn’t notice until it was too late

There wasn’t even enough time for me to go through a state of denial.

 

I think it started in history class

Where I learned about all the stupid wars that stupid people had

No, wars that smart people had

Because here were these intelligent people that were in charge, these people who I thought would make the right freaking choice because they were adults, and adults were supposed to freaking know what they were doing, these people got into freaking wars

Maybe that’s what started it. Maybe that was my wake up call

Or maybe it was when I started “paying attention to the news,” and by pay attention to the news

I mean pay attention to my friends who paid attention to the news. I even to this day avoid the news

Call me unaware or stubborn, but I can’t handle it

I could barely handle when my friends talked melancholically about the shooting that had occurred, because then I realized that such things had always happened

Maybe that’s how I lost it

I will say there are two moments I can recall where my heart sank in flames with anger

both - surprise - were in history class.

I don’t know what grade, but probably not 6th, I was in Mrs. Kollars’ middle school social studies classroom learning about the Crusades

Her voice normally enthralls me with the pictures of the past but today I could see everything too much

They sent children to get killed thinking that sending kids was the way to win the war

Fighting, killing over land, a freaking piece of land, and yes I know how important it is, but not important enough to kill thousands of innocents over

I don’t like to curse

And most of the time I don’t curse, but I was so mad I no longer had notes written down but a string of swear words filling my page.

Why is this f@#$ing world so messed up?

Why can’t we f#$#ing compromise?

You know what’s f#$%ing scary is that we haven’t f#$%ing changed!

I’m so f#@$ing mad and this f@#$ed up world!

I’m too f@#$ing small to make a f#$@ing difference!

I promise I don’t curse like that normally. But that day I was so frustrated and angry and scared that I didn’t know what to do. I needed to express myself and let some of it out without being loud or hurtful

So I wrote.

I wrote again in Mr. Covey’s class when we learned about those malicious murdering Spaniards

I wanted to scream. “Babies were thrown into rivers...people burned to death…”

Mr. Covey read like it was boring science textbook

No emotion.

It hurt me

Everybody in the class was half asleep, they didn’t care.

My heart was thrashing back and forth, trying to dodge the whippings of reality

I couldn’t do anything to erase the knowledge that was thrown at me

Nobody did anything as they stared into their thoughts with their eyes on the social studies hand out

Mr. Covey’s voice  was like the inner conscience in each of us of whispering the cruelty of the world, the voice that we try so hard to ignore.

 

I couldn’t.

 

So I wrote, to try and keep sane.

But nothing would be the same

Once a boat is leaking it cannot be fixed

Once my hope started leaking, it could not be saved

And once I started crying I couldn’t stop it anymore.

 

I had a streak that I was proud of

It was that I didn’t cry. Ever. I HATED crying

I never did it because I loathed it with such an ingrained passion

Until one day

 

It was at cheer, we were stunting. (Stunting is where you throw the flier, me, into the air, or you just lift the flier into the air. )

I kept falling, which wasn’t what was frustrating me, what was frustrating me was that I had been falling for years

YThat I felt I could never fly

I was a bird who was kicked out of the nest and was destined to fall eternally, living life afraid of finally hitting the ground

I tried using wings, but I didn’t have any

I just kept flailing and failing

And I just thought “I can’t do anything, I can’t do anything

I can’t even do this. I can’t even…” And the list grew for everytime I fell

I found a new thing from the past or from the present that I couldn’t do for everything I did wrong at that practice

But I held on to the air that was there, see the thread I was holding onto already broke

all I had left was air. But it worked.

I didn’t cry. I would not cry.

No.

No.

No.

I was fine.

“Mia you look terrified,” my coach said. I nodded, too terrified to speak, so I just took the correction.

“I know. I’m fine though.” I respond.

“Hey,” she said softly, “come over here.” I protested that I was fine, but she didn’t take no for an answer.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I said. I would not cry.

I would not let all my emotions out,

because once I slip then I would never be able to climb back up.

“That’s what I always say when I’m not fine, tell me the truth.”

Snap.

The dam I worked so hard to build broke.

Tears my heart had drowned in leaked out of me like a flash flood.

I couldn’t stop it.

And people hugged me and told me I was doing great: lies, but it didn’t matter.

The dam had broken.  

Eventually I stopped crying.

Thank God.

I walked out of cheer without any dignity and got in the car to go to dance

And then I just started crying in the front seat, and I didn’t no why, I thought I was done crying.

After 10 minutes or so I stopped again because I had to

I hated crying.

I was okay.

I was FINE.

But I wasn’t.

And as soon as I saw my dance teacher I began crying again.

Again, I had no idea why.

But later that night I made a list of all the possible reasons I cried.

It was 3 pages long.

Talk about build up.

After that crying came easy.

It just happened anytime I felt bad

ANYTIME!

Do you know how often that is!?

I cried so much after that day that I started a new streak.

A crying streak.

Why?

Because I lost something.

I lost it in history class;

I lost it at cheer;

I lost it when I learned to be afraid of the world;

I lost it when I started comparing myself;

I lost it when I saw there’s evil in people;

I lost it when I could no longer accept that happiness could be found in any situation;

I lost it when I lost my hope;

I lost it when I became so lost I could never be found again.

I lost my happily ever after that I never had, and I lost my journey,

and I lost the ability to travel it.