My Story

The world that we live in is created by the stories we tell ourselves and the ones we tell each other. For a long time I told the world a story about a girl I didn't understand and didn't know. She shared my name, but she was not me. I didn't really know who she was. She was the girl I thought I was supposed to be. She had all the right answers, read her scriptures every day, and said her prayers. She got good grades and she didn't need anyone because she was the life of the party and obviously had all the friends, love, support she could need. Her teachers loved her and people told her she was going somewhere someday.

Then the story fell apart.

I saw the pieces lying around me and started frantically picking them up trying to piece them back together as I went, attempting to get everything back its proper place before anyone looked to closely and saw the cracks around the edges and the stain right down the middle or the missing teeth in my smile. The harder I tried to force the pieces back into the story frame, the more other pieces came apart until there was nothing left of my story, nothing left of the other me.

For four years I've kept trying to put the pieces back together. Tried and failed, tried and failed, tried and failed.

Today I'm not trying to fit old pieces into me.

I'm creating a new me every day. And the story I tell the world is renewed daily in those ever-changing pieces--whirling, twirling, evolving, trying again over and over. It is a story of truth and depth now. It's a story that doesn't have a set ending and that doesn't worry about the way it will be perceived by the people around me. I am beautiful. I am messy. I love learning to be organised. I am late. I am imaginative. I love pink finger nail polish. I want to play the violin again. I am funny. I need you. I can't do this alone. I trust in God. I love reading. I don't have things figured out...and it's okay.

Goodnight, dear void.