an open apology to myself 


I am sorry for the times I doubted and ignored you. I’m sorry for damaging you for what I thought was eternal. I’m sorry for allowing others to, too. I’m sorry for overworking you until you felt empty. I’m sorry for not letting you make me happy, I know you tried. I’m sorry for redirecting your thoughts and changing your views. I’m sorry for not listening and not acting upon every instruction you rightfully gave me. I’m sorry for losing you when I needed you the most. 


I’m sorry for making you feel weak when all you wanted to be was strong. I’m sorry for letting others tug on your strings whenever they pleased. I’m sorry for not guarding you with my entire being. I should’ve. I’m sorry for letting you go, only to call back for you, again and again. I’m sorry for letting you break. I’m sorry for not realizing how much love you held until I took it all away.


I’m sorry for letting you become weary and dry. I’m sorry for the rivers you’ve cried and the sorrow, only you, have seen. I’m sorry for the things you saw; the things you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for not turning away. I’m sorry that you couldn’t speak the emotions your pupils conveyed. I’m sorry you had to sit there, watching, defenseless. I, at times, feel the same.


I’m sorry for the things I did and didn’t put inside of you. I’m sorry for neglecting you on the days you watered pining for nourishment and love. I’m sorry for letting mouths of those who mean nothing to me force themselves upon you. I’m sorry for their brittle touch and for the way it made you quiver. I’m sorry for the times you wished to scream, but said nothing at all. I couldn’t bare your sound. I’m sorry for the times you spoke too loudly and abruptly, creating no influence at all. I know you thought it would help. I’m sorry for not loving you the way you should be loved, I’m sorry for not letting others. 


I’m sorry for the way your ribs peak out when you breathe. I’m sorry for not providing adequate warmth. I’m sorry for trying to make you looking like something that’s photoshopped onto billboards; I’m sorry for only loving you when I felt that you did. I’m sorry for letting others look at you like something that’s already theirs. I’m sorry for letting you feel like instantly acquired property rather than a hidden buried treasure. I’m sorry for the hands that touched you in your coldest moments. I’m sorry that I believed that they could provide you warmth. 

I’m sorry for the times that I couldn’t avoid others’ grasps. I’m sorry for the way they gripped you; ways you shouldn’t ever be gripped. I’m sorry for not pushing back hard enough, for not defending you enough. I’m sorry that people feel entitled to your embrace. I’m sorry that they think you’re an open invitation. I wish that no meant no. Some tend to believe that no means yes, or at least that’s what they said. They thought you wanted their touch. Maybe they knew you didn’t, but didn’t care at all. I’m sorry for not loving you for what you precisely are. I wish I never expected more of you. I’m sorry for letting society conform you into a mold of something other than yourself. You are perfect, I hope it isn’t too late for you to see it. 


I’m sorry for not allowing you to be your true self. I’m sorry for seeing you worst qualities rather than your best. I’m sorry for thinking that critiquing  was the only path to bettering yourself. I’m sorry for truly believing that you weren’t ever enough for yourself, or much less the world. I’m sorry for not telling you your own worth, every morning and evening, of every day. I’m sorry for not cherishing you the way you should be cherished. I’m sorry for thinking that others could fulfill your needs. I’m sorry for seeing you as one human of the billions, rather than one of a kind. 

You are perfect and you are mine.“”


more than a number

one day you’re 115, the next you’re 110.

you know you shouldn’t desire to weigh any lower.

before you know it,

you weigh 106.

the world starts to spin on its axis again.

but little do you know,

each day fluctuates pound by pound.

soon you’re back at 110.

your lowest low feels like your highest high,

it’s time to start over again.

unless your ribs are perfectly defined,

is there really a point in living?

how do I wear a suit like this?

how do I walk around in a bra?

much less, how do I stand with my body on display like a sculpture

only to be analyzed with every curve and line?

how do I know you’ll see me

for more than a number?

for more than the grasp of my skin?

how do I know you won’t judge me

and forget the beauty inside?

how do I remember that I

am worth more than number?

when inside,

it feels that it’s all that’s left.

an unattainable number

and an unfit body on display

and a mind that reminds me

I’m not worth more

every single damn day.




Dear Ana 

To my dear friend Ana and to the friends who struggle because of her,

It is national eating disorder awareness week and I feel an obligation to at least blog to my few subscribers of my own journey and the countless others I’ve witnessed.

Ana starting talking to me my sophomore year of high school. Things weren’t going well with a boyfriend and I felt out of control. I made poor decisions that I regretted for the rest of high school (and in general life). I have major OCD which initially caused me to be a perfectionist within my school work and a constant need to control relationships and friendships.

When all of these things spiraled out of my control, there was a final resort: my weight. It felt like the most magnificent way to solve my problems. Once I hit my breakup, I had one thing left for myself: my appearance. I’m a short petite person. 115- 120 pounds is more than enough for me. But these high 120’s began to feel like 200’s. I wanted less 0’s. Around that time, I remember a friend took a picture of me jokingly as I changed somewhere in the high school. I remember her showing me my rib cage. It was the first time I noticed that I didn’t look as great as I thought I did.

But I kept going anyways. I picked the tightest dress I could for a dance. At this point, I was 100 pounds. I maintained that weight as long as I could in the worst ways possible. I didn’t eat. I recreationally took things I definitely shouldn’t have. My personality spiraled down the drain.

Boys noticed me. Girl friends asked me why I wasn’t eating at lunch, if everything was okay, are you hungry, etc. Friends would offer their sandwiches and I’d reply that I wasn’t hungry.

I did this for a long time my sophomore year without much notice from anyone. Eventually, I stopped. As I always do. In stages, Ana comes in and out of my life telling me to lose those 10 pounds so I can look acceptable again.

What’s funny is, I’ve never been told that I wasn’t enough. My parents told me more than enough times. My dad hounded on me to eat every meal. My mom tells me how skinny I look. I’m not sure where the insecurity comes from. I’m not sure it is even an insecurity.

All I know is that in a mirror, it’s the first thing I notice every day. If I’m one pound heavier, I feel worse than the day before. Things need to remain the same. I need that sense of stability. I think what I enjoy(ed) was the reaction of it all.

I craved the attention of looking like someone I wasn’t. With that, I became someone I wasn’t too.

Ana is a lifelong shadow for anyone who has experienced an eating disorder or insecurity. She has the power to mentally destroy you. But I plea with you not to let her.

I’m struggling daily to remind myself that I can be beautiful at 112 pounds. But I keep telling myself anyway. Find a reason to keep Ana locked in the shadows and not reflecting through your mirror.

Beautiful is beautiful. Beautiful is not skinny. Ana is not beautiful. You are the only one who determines your worth.

Stop believing society’s definition of beautiful. Stop commenting on skinny girls instagrams telling them “I want your body.” Chances are, she’s craving that comment so she has the motivation to lose more. Stop looking in the mirror and changing clothes in hopes of looking skinnier. You already look skinny. Eat a burger. Eat whatever. Just eat. Remember that a size doesn’t define you.

why is life so God damn unfair

I mean, I think this phrase comes up pretty often, but what the hell?

How many obstacles can you throw at people until they’ve hit their breaking point?

Why do you keep doing these things that are so unfair with no remorse?

You just keep doing it over and over again.

I want to scream. I want to tell you to stop. But how on earth can I control what you do?

I can’t.

There are those days when people come up to you and tell you that God has a plan, and that everything truly will be okay if you give it time. LIFE. I keep giving you time. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. How much of my time will I give you until it’s too late?

You keep taking people away from me. You keep shortening their time. You keep breaking hearts. You keep making us sad. You keep expecting us to grow, to be better, to move on.

How am I supposed to be better when all you do is make me sad? You keep giving these temporary people and temporary places to create this temporary sense of relief. When will something be permanent?

When will anything be permanent when all you do is turn things to dust?

When will the good times stay good? When will God tell me his plan? I can seek refuge all I want, but when will I ever gain understanding?

I just don’t understand, life. What are you trying to do to me?

Things I’ve learned PT 2

The night before my first day of senior year, and last day of my high school career has arrived. My mind is crowded with anticipation, fear, and happiness all at the same time.

I’ve learned a lot about myself this year, probably more than I ever have before. Junior year brought the best and the worst out of me, and I can’t distinguish which one there was more of. My year was mostly spent happy, but also very stressed at the same time. I didn’t and still don’t know where I’m going. I’m still stuck at school for another long year. Lastly, I’m still as cynical as I was at the end of my freshman year hating every day here just as before.

There are lots of things that made it better though I must say. My family and friends were pretty great and always there when I needed them. I got a boyfriend who made my life 1,000 times better as it seemed. I have a roof over my head and a life to look forward to. The life that I’ve always spent looking forward to; a life in college. Although I’m not done taking my tries at the ACT, I have solid options and hopefully will end up happy wherever I go.

But right now what I can really say is, I take things for granted a lot. I take for granted how good life is to me just based off of singular events and people in my life. I know people who are, and have been, struggling for years. I know people who don’t know if they’ll make it another day. I also know people who have to worry for the safety of others, ALL the time. I’m pretty freaking lucky as much as I hate to admit it.

I go to a school where teachers provide and promote a well rounded education every day. I live in a house where my family provides almost everything for me without a thank you. I have friends that would jump hoops for me whenever I ask them to.

I’m failing to get to the point here, so let me state this more clearly. Life sucks sometimes, to be honest, mine right now kinda even sucks. But honestly, it has to get better. Be optimistic. If you spend years dreading what’s to come and being unappreciative to those who matter, you’re obviously going to hate life. I’m not saying I take my own word by any means, but going into my senior year I’m starting to realize life is a little bigger than just me.

There are so many things to do and people to meet, always be openminded. Life will never stay boring unless you make it that way. I sometimes feel like where I live is the worst place in the world, but then I realize how much freaking worse it could actually be. If you’re bored, switch things up.

Do what makes you happy and keep whoever makes you happier. If neither of those things happen, you’re bound to a life filled with disappointment.

As cynical and afraid I am of the year and whats to come, I know how much I’ll end up missing this time in my life. Life is easy, easier than it probably ever will be. I’ve had the same friends since seventh grade and I don’t know what life will look like without them. I live with my beyond supportive family and my mom who does my laundry every single day.

Focus less on your doubts and more on your joys. Take life as it comes to you and always work to be more. Life isn’t easy, but usually we’re the ones that are making it harder.

Life is good, God has a plan, and things will and can be better. Always do your best.




Sad Eyes

She walks around with sad eyes

Every where she goes.

People think she’s happy,

But no one really knows.


She walks around with sad eyes

Every where she goes.

She wants someone to ask her,

But no one ever goes.


Her eyes sometimes get brighter,

But the sunshine goes away.

At 10:pm in her bedroom,

Memories start to fade.


She tries her best to recall them,

But always tries too much.

Her head starts to hurt,

Her face starts to flush.


Her smile starts to fade,

Her eyes begin to flutter.


The tears that are falling drown her underwater.


The next time you see a girl with sad eyes,

Go and ask her why.

Let her tell you how she’s feeling,

Sit and let her cry.

Don’t tell her to feel better,

It doesn’t work that way.

Hug her till she smiles,

Help it go away.


The next time you see a girl with sad eyes,

Don’t you let her down.

Put her on a pedestal,

Give her a crown.

Make her feel pretty,

Make her feel smart.

Tell her she’s worth it,

Don’t let her fall apart.

Why didn’t they tell me? 

My parents raised to me into who I thought would be a strong, well rounded, enthusiastic, big hearted, cautious minded woman.

They taught me to navigate towards love always instead of hate. They taught me the importance of second chances and to give others the benefit of the doubt. But most of all, they taught me to choose wisely who I let into my life because no matter what, they’d leave their mark.

What my parents forgot to teach me along the way was the disappointment of it all. The heartbreak of losing the ones who said they’d never leave, and afterwards the doubts and worries of letting anyone else inside. 

They didn’t tell me how bad it hurt. How bad life hurt; the times it would knock me down and not pick me back up. The times where my heart grew bigger than my head, so I just let myself shatter completely.

They didn’t tell me about the walls I’d shortly build. Brick by brick they stacked up; too hard to climb and too heavy to tear down. Every time a brick was added, another piece of me drifted further and further away.

The worst of it all was, they didn’t tell me who I’d be. They didn’t tell me I’d go from a lively, optimistic girl into a walking wall inside the body of a woman. They didn’t tell me that I’d keep falling apart.

Why didn’t they tell me I’d never stop falling apart?

long time, no write

Since I haven’t blogged in months and my life has turned back into an uneventful, summer bliss I figured it was time to get back into the writing game.

Unlike sophomore year summer Emilee, junior year summer Emilee has a minimum amount of complaints about her life.

Life is good. Really good. Annoyingly good. Good enough to make me unable to write the things I used to, and process emotions the way I used to. I hate to say it, but I’ve become one of those people; a person who is annoyingly talking about the joys in her life.

My parents are great… in fact, greater than ever. We get along? I don’t know how that happened within the span of a year, but I’d like to think that my anxiety meds had a GREAT deal to do with it. Thank you Prozac, you’re the shit. Since we’re on the topic of prozac, my dog used to take it too. He died, but I’d like to think the pill made both of our lives much better. RIP Baxter, I miss you. You were also “the shit.”

My friends… now that’s a subject that seems to never drastically change throughout the years. A lot of work as usual, but luckily I have a boyfriend that gives me the power to avoid most of them 99.9 % of the time. If I could redo anything starting from the beginning of my freshman year, I would choose befriending on close manners MORE than 5 females.

The thing that’s wrong with befriending ONLY 5 females is, they also only befriend 5 females. Therefore, you have the same friends. All the time. No breaks. With more and more and more shit piling between you over the many years. And what’s even worse than your 5 female friends, is your multiple male friends. The chubby, weird, AWESOME guys I befriended back in seventh grade have now learned to think with more than their brains. Instead, they now uses their penises.

Okay, okay, but now I’ll skip back to the positives. I mentioned earlier I have a boyfriend.  I love my boyfriend. He’s better than prozac, he’s like my savior. He rubs my head and gives me back massages when I’m tense. He deals with my anxiousness and awkwardness on a daily basis and still treats me like I’m the best thing ever (I’m so not). But what am I then? LUCKY. I’m lucky that I learned what I didn’t want and finally found what I did. Someone who’s kind, adorable, attentive, and most of all imperfect. Perfect is a word meant for the oblivious and ignorant. No one will ever be perfect. But damn, he’s pretty close. But what I have learned about love is, the imperfections become your favorite parts. You love someone for all the things you actually do LOVE about them, but you also learn to love the things you hate too.  I wouldn’t change a single thing. I mean I wouldn’t change a thing other  than the fact that he’s a year older and leaving me for college next year. That’s going to be a large, large, large, large, did i mention large? BUMMER!

Lastly (for today), I think that I’ve grown up. I learned my priorities and kinda, sorta what I want from the world and people around me. No, I’m not necessarily getting it. But I do plan to, someday. My life is full of somedays. But I like somedays because they give me something to look forward to. I can’t help but hope for that big journalism career, or going to the schools that are unattainable for me. I can’t help but dream of my perfect life with my three adorable boys and beautiful, kind husband. Someday sounds pretty good to me, of course if I make it there.


something I didn’t know

What I didn’t know was, you weren’t the answer. You never were.

And when I met someone else, I realized it; no one else is, or ever would be the answer to my problems.

The hollowness of my heart was my own problem, and no one else’s.

When I learned that, everything became fuller. More lively. More happy.

A relationship isn’t meant to fulfill you, it’s meant to be the cherry on top of it all.

Once your flaws and perfections are learned to be embraced rather than withheld, that’s when you’re ready.

You’re ready to be more. Not just yours, but someone else’s.

And when you do this, and it’s the right relationship, you shouldn’t feel like you’re someone else. You should feel exactly yourself, and maybe even learn a little more about yourself in the process.

A relationship isn’t meant to tear you down. A relationship isn’t meant to make you second guess your decisions. It should give you a level of certainty and comfort you may’ve never attained once before.

A relationship shouldn’t consume you, it should be just a little extra to you. It’s a tie, but it shouldn’t take over your entire life. It should just be another single part of it.

A relationship should push you to be better and feel better about all aspects of life. If your relationship isn’t doing that, it isn’t a relationship.


He told her to not think so much as he traced his fingers down her cringing back. Her mind spun with the words she couldn’t say, and the things she so badly wanted to. They sat in the backseat of the old pick up truck in the darkness of a summer night.

The car was parked in the furthest parking lot of the soccer and softball fields; the spot that he said he only took her. She felt an eerie sense of anticipation. But for what?  She wasn’t sure.

They’d been sitting for quite awhile, and all she wondered was how to find the words to say it. But she couldn’t. Her mouth was shut with a clasp so tight her eyes began to water. 

He noticed her silence but interpreted it the wrong way. He moved his hand from one section to another believing that was what she wanted. He believed that it was the anticipation masking her words, not her thoughts themselves. 

He thought it was a sexual satisfaction she desired, when really it wasn’t that at all. She wanted the words to come out of his mouth. The words she had waited for, for months and months. 

The words that originally made her drop her world and act irrationally. The words that made her abandon all that was good. The words that introduced her to a world so different than her own. 

She wanted to hear them. She wanted to feel them, and she wanted to understand them. She wanted to believe that all the decisions she made were right, she wanted to believe the hurt she caused had a purpose.

But as long as she waited, and as much as she acted, the words she longed for would never be repeated. 

The words held such an immense power over her that she would’ve done anything… and she almost did to hear their return. 

But at the end of the day, all she could see was his hands; the hands that desired nothing but a body to touch. She saw a mouth that spoke useless words that would change her perspective of them all. 

She heard nothing and felt nothing. Words turned into empty promises, and her mind held too many their her own.