When coming together looks a lot like falling apart.
I stalk myself sometimes when I’m feeling brave. Scrolling years and years back, I start to see the difference everyone talks about. The color comes flooding back into my now pretty neutral-toned photos. I used to be so conventionally happy, full of life in a very obvious way. I wore bright colors because I felt like one. I thought I made it out of the darkness and permanently into the light, so I didn’t let the first few tragedies change me too much. I hear the echoes of people telling me that they miss the way I was, the way I looked when I presented so colorfully, yearning for me to go back to that, and sometimes I wish I could. But that version of myself was an effortless product of a perfect storm, a moment in time that could never be replicated. She could only exist under those very specific conditions that I found myself in. It was so special that my partner at the time and I would always utter the words to each other, “We’re never going to have these moments again; this is so lucky; we have to savor this, my love.” I always expect magic, but I’m never prepared for when it runs out. Our fairy godmothers always warn us about when the clock strikes twelve, so why is it so hard to remember to leave the ball in a timely manner? My love stories always turn into horror films. Must I always be typecast as “Sweet Girl in Danger”?…so cliché.
At least we both sensed the temporary nature of it all—the way it was too good to be true, the timer would run out, and we didn’t know what would happen when it did, so we devoted ourselves to being irrevocably present. Foreshadowing something we couldn’t vocalize but could deeply feel. It reminded me of how we can sense that it’s going to rain soon even though the clouds haven’t appeared yet. It was a shared premonition. My delusions are always so much sweeter than our reality could ever allow. So I savored every drop like it was my last, until I gave myself a stomachache. I didn’t recognize the moment when I stopped being her. Like most things, it happened as an undercurrent, like flowing water under a frozen river. Continuous and ever-changing. I couldn’t fight the current, so she swallowed me whole, and I let her.
becoming an ice princess
soul merging (soul mer·ging)
the process of a person's consciousness becoming one with the universe. It’s a greater sense of self-awareness and connection to the world. Unifying your consciousness with the totality of your soul. Both a gift and a curse, eyes wide open.
As the winter approached, the old me froze into a top layer of ice as my future self flowed quietly beneath. When spring set in, the ice melted into who I am now, and the two versions became one. I merged. I’m still a ball of light, but one with shadows trailing behind her. That’s the romanticized version of the story anyway, and it’s only half true. In reality, the winter was deadly and unforgiving. The river froze over before it was forecast to, trapping me somewhere I didn’t belong. I had plans to save myself, to go some place warmer, even if I had to go by myself, but the time must’ve gotten away from me. Mother Nature always has her own plans. A rescue team spotted my shadow under the ice. Long black curls and a body withered down to 90 pounds; a breaking heart disintegrates the body stealthily and with haste. Another thing I didn’t notice before it was too late. There came a wave of surrender when I truly thought I’d reached the point of no return; I felt myself drowning almost willingly. I stopped fighting, and that’s when I saw the ice picks breaking through the surface; the light peeked through; I felt it on my skin—even through the water. Hope. They pulled me out from down under as I kicked and screamed the whole way up; there was an element of force. Some people don’t want to be saved. I was willing to stay in hell because that’s where our love lived; somehow, I grew fond of our suffering.
I wasn’t alone. He was under the ice with me, or honestly, I was with him. This was his world, and there was a time when I’d follow him anywhere, mostly because our skin fused together over the years. They couldn’t save him, and legend says that he’s frozen there to this day. I visit the area looking for traces of someone I used to know, but I never find anything; I only feel remnants of his presence. I pride myself on keeping my spark despite the horrors, but I wasn’t able to preserve the exact girl I used to be. So seamlessly, I became different. Ice melting into water, similar but worlds apart. I’m happy in a different way than I used to be, in a way born from struggle. Agony. Severance. I found the beauty in enduring pain and having the privilege of coming out of it. My soul shattered, and I learned why it needed to. The scariest thing a person could do is stay the same. Change is necessary and beautiful, but when you’re forced to do it, it feels, looks, and tastes like a punishment. I spent months cleaning off my glasses until I could finally see clearly. The deeper scratches made it hard, but perspective is healing, so I taught myself how to change the channel even though I had to surf for months before landing on the right one.
tethered or tied?
I always felt that our attachments in this life were otherworldly. Meant to be, fated, every person I’ve ever loved has got to be a divine counterpart of some sort…right? I was on a walk when the trees spoke to me. Maybe some souls aren’t tethered, just tied. By hand and on purpose. I started to see all of the ways that I forced things to fit, how my heart is so big that maybe I could just be loving anything or anyone that makes me feel seen. To be loved is to be seen after all, but as complicated as I am, I couldn’t help but wonder if it’s possible that I’m easy to see, easy to want, and easy to crave. Even a fool loves gold but would trade it for anything that piques their interest in the moment. I just don’t want to yearn for things that don’t serve me anymore; I’m looking for ways to dismantle my attachment to tough love. Why do I feel so destined for it? Why do I love it a little when it hurts so bad? My subconscious is addicted to passion and allergic to slow burns. Maybe that’s my problem. Being a lover girl feels like a death sentence. I’ve opened my heart to so many kinds of people, yet it all ends the same way, tragically. Still I move forward with an unwavering belief that there’s someone out there with a heart that mirrors mine, despite my countless escapades that point glaringly with flashing lights at the possibility that there isn’t. Am I insane?
I’ve lost so many kinds of things, especially in the recent years. Friends, lovers, places, things, and thoughts. I never imagined that my biggest fears manifesting in front of me; watching my worlds burn, would make me feel so free. Once I stopped trying so hard to be the backbone for everything and everyone, I watched all the parts of my life that weren’t meant for me collapse on themselves and disappear into thin air. I took a moment. I realized that I was the one tying myself to people and things that weren’t meant for me anymore. Romanticizing it all and overstaying my welcome while attaching myself with double knots. Some things are meant to be, but in a very different way than we’d imagine. I was meant to fall in love with him; I was meant to live in that loft, and I was meant to be friends with her—just not forever. Things do happen for a reason, and it’s not always pretty. We serve purposes, and we guide each other to the next stop. Humans travel so well in pairs, but all good things either come to an end or evolve into something more beautiful. I’ve just got to learn to spot the difference between meant to be and manufactured. It’s hard to win games that you don’t know you’re playing, and sometimes what looks like losing is actually the angels delivering your get-out-of-jail-free card right to your front door.
through the cracks
When your soul shatters, sometimes people notice. For many months I tried to hide myself from the outside world. I didn’t see the change on my own at first, but when I started to let people see me, they didn’t hesitate to play spot the difference. I like to think that the things said to me that are hard to hear are born out of love, but that didn’t make the blades any less sharp. It started online; I decided that coming out of hiding virtually would be an easier baby step towards joining society. The messages started flooding in. The spectrum was between, “Oh my god, Queen how did you lose the weight? Workout routine ASAP!” to “You’ve lost a lot of weight; I hope you’re taking care of yourself, angel.” I wasn’t, but I genuinely didn’t realize. I didn’t look at myself during that time; I wasn’t real; I didn’t feel that way, at least. I’d think, cry, stare, stay up, repeat. That day I remembered that they left his digital scale behind, so I took my clothes off and stepped on. The bathroom was dark. A few seconds went by, and I stared down in disbelief as the red 89 flashed back at me. I remember saying out loud to myself, “Where’d I go?” and, most importantly, how could I not notice?
At the end of the day, I did the best I could with the light I had left. Even if it was a little late, when I spotted my pieces on the floor, I scooped them up and got to rebuilding. Yes, there were many pieces missing, but I had enough to move forward. Where once I was pale and dull, my olive skin revived herself. Slowly but surely I fell in love with participating in life again, I lost my spark to gain a more evolved one. I embarked on a journey to the heart. I always thought patchwork was a beautiful practice, the way things that don’t necessarily go together can fit perfectly in the most unsuspecting places. On my journey, though, I discovered something amazing—after trying to make a variety of pieces fit and some kind of did, I realized that not every hole needs to be filled. The cracks are where the light gets in. The sun brings warmth to my darkest parts; and the breeze is refreshing. Maybe I was meant to look unfinished but to feel so whole on the inside. We are not here to be understood but to understand ourselves. Maybe I’m not the same girl, but I am a better woman because of her.
sending love to wherever you are.
& thank you so much for reading.
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oh my this is so so SO beautifully written! your writing style is impeccable raimi! you really have a way with words! you are such a beautiful soul inside & out & your newsletters always give me the utmost comfort. i'm sending you so much love :)
this was perfect start to finish!!! your book would be so good