Music = Life

twloha:

Mom,

I don’t even know what to call you; legally or personally because you’ve never been real before. Not real to me. You’ve always been just some person that I imagined. You’re just someone who abandoned me.

Who left me.

Even though you could take care of three other kids, I was too much. Because you didn’t think that you could fight. Fight to raise me as your daughter. You didn’t want the extra trouble. You didn’t want the hassle.

You didn’t want me.

So you gave me up to people that you didn’t even know, to a life that you didn’t have to be a part of. I wanted to find you. Run into your arms. To cry. To scream. To question you. I needed answers, even if I knew you wouldn’t have all of them.

“’Cause this is not about what you’ve done,
But what’s been done for you.”

For years and years I carried around this burden, not like a chip, but more like a mountain on my shoulder weighing me down. Because if I wasn’t good enough for my own mother, I wasn’t good enough for anyone. I was so mad at you, caught up in this place of anger and confusion.

But that’s changed. I never thought that I’d be able to be okay with all of this. I’ve healed a bit, maybe not fully but enough to feel something different toward you than before—gratitude.

Thank you for letting me go. You did the right thing.

“This is not about where you’ve been,
But where your brokenness brings you to.”

It’s true that you left me, but it’s also true that you gave me away, and maybe in that you gave me a chance. If you hadn’t given me away, so many things would’ve ended up differently.

I wouldn’t have gotten this incredible education that empowered me to seek out new information and gave me a love for literature. I wouldn’t have spent my summers on the Outer Banks of North Carolina where I fell in love with sailing and learned how to be a friend and a leader. Without a doctor as a father, Graves’ disease would’ve taken an even greater toll on my body than it already had. I wouldn’t have become a swimmer and then never had the opportunity to go to boarding school to pursue college scholarships. I probably wouldn’t have gone to Auburn University, a place that stretched and grew me, where I learned to rise to a challenge and to love in a whole way.

“You are more than the choices that you’ve made.
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes.”

I almost blamed you for all of my darkness. It would be easy to do. I was raised in a place I didn’t come from and felt like I’ve never belonged. Truth is, my life wouldn’t have been guaranteed to be less hard or dark or difficult if you had kept me. Maybe I would’ve even been hurt more and not had the resources I needed to be healthy or the people who helped pull me back together.

Maybe, just maybe, you helped save me.

“You are more than the problems you create.
You’ve been remade.”

I forgive you. Forgiveness may not be something you need from me, but it’s something I’ve needed to give you for a long time. I am learning my way through this life, stumbling and growing and loving. Maybe we can meet, or just chat, someday, but if we never do, know that I’m okay.

Thanks to you, of course.

—Caitlin

Source: twloha

twloha:

“Frozen”
The Good Luck Joes

Five years ago you sat across from me. I bought us Wendy’s with my freshman meal card because you had spent all of yours. I wasn’t surprised.

I asked what you were doing, and you laughed and told me all of the reasons that moving home was what you wanted. I asked what you were really doing, what you were doing to yourself, and you said you didn’t know.

You didn’t know.

I told you for the millionth time how smart you were, how sickeningly smart you could be if you just stopped being stupid. And even though you shook your head I knew that you agreed because I could see it in your eyes. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would ever read what you weren’t saying in them.

“And I don’t mind, and I don’t mind to look inside your thoughts.
And I don’t mind, and I don’t mind, but I can’t find my way in.”

We were supposed to hang out during my free week between semesters, but I forgot to call you, and you didn’t call me. I think we would have gone to Steak and Shake. I think we would have talked about all of the times we’d eaten there while we were student directing. I would have shown you that I still had that key we had copied, and you would have asked for it again and I would have said no because it would be way too big of a temptation for you, and when I promised your mom that I would make sure you passed AP English, that also seemed to include a silent agreement that I wouldn’t give you the master key to the high school to help you to get in trouble.

I don’t know if I would have seen it in your face this time. I don’t know if I would have asked the right questions. This is the part that feels so hollowed by cliché. These are the questions that have been asked millions of times. Would I have known? How could I have seen it if no one else did? Why didn’t you tell someone? Why didn’t you tell me? But we didn’t go to Steak and Shake, and you didn’t tell anyone, and I went back to school, and you slipped away.

“Far away, what was deemed to never change, found a rift, made a void at its own pace.
In a blindside ambush fight, it all fell at the hands of a mind game.”

I wonder all the time what your last thoughts were. I wonder the last words you spoke. I wonder if you wished you could take it back. I try so hard to remember what the last thing I said to you was, but it’s moments like that one where you don’t realize how much you should hold on to it until you’ve already let it go.

“And I will, and I will, and I will set you free.
And I will, and I will, and I will set you free.”

I know that it’s been five years now, but I still see you almost every day. You don’t look the way you used to; your story isn’t the same. But then again, when you boil it down, isn’t every hurting person’s story about a human in pain? There are so many things I wish I could have said to you back then, but I didn’t know I needed to say them. I can say them to you now, though.

It is never too late for you. Never. There is no escape in a bottle, only another handful of chains. There is always hope. You might not see it, but it is there in your ska music and your frisbee golf and every time you play your trombone. There is hope in the battle. I am with you. Don’t stop fighting because I can’t win it on my own, and neither can you.

And I care. I care that you are hurting and I care that you make it through this. Please don’t give up. Please.

—Lindsey

Source: twloha

Today is March 30. 6 years ago I got to see Switchfoot with my best friend Cindy. This day holds special memories for me because it was the first time I had heard about TWLOHA. It’s an organization that helps people with with things like cutting, depression, suicide and other things. To me it’s become a way to tell a story and to help bring hope to the hurting.

I wear TWLOHA shirts to promote hope, healing and to let people know they are not alone in what they are going through. I’ve met so many wonderful and amazing people in the past 6 years and am so thankful to be a part of this movement.

If you want anymore information then please check out www.towriteloveonherarms.com

Tagged: TWLOHASwitchfootwearTWLOHA

Yesterday was 2 years since my friend Cindyhas been gone. I still think about her all the time and miss her.  She was such a dear friend to me and to many people.  I’ve been praying for everyone that was touched by Cindy’s life.  I’m glad I was blessed to have her in my life.  It’s better because she was in it. 

I was driving to band practice last week and was listening to the new Fireflight album.  They have a song called “He Weeps” that struck me so hard and made think about the hard time I had with Cindy’s passing.  It says that God is with us through the hard times and weeps with us while we are weeping.  Even though it might seem like everything is crashing down on us he is there with us and feels the pain. 

I’m so thankful for music that comes to me at the right time when I need it to remind me that I’m not alone. 

Tagged: Fireflight