I show my heart to a lot of people. I trust them, and open up. They can see every crack, stitch, and chip in my heart, but they can also see it beating in time, fluttering like a living creature, like the wings of a butterfly. It’s hopeful; it’s a hopeful heart. I hold it in one hand, holding your hand in the other, looking you in the eyes. My green, round eyes are both scared and hopeful as I put my heart in your hand and close your fingers around it; can you feel it fluttering? Can you feel it beating for you? It’s fragile and delicate, but you know it’s resilient because of all the damage. All I can do is hold my breath and hope you accept it for what it is; accept me for who I am. No, don’t shake your head and shove my heart away like it’s something scary. A heart is a heavy burden to bear, and I was hoping we could carry it together. Please, look past the scratches, cracks, and chips and find something beautiful. Please, tell me who I am is enough. Can’t you feel it beating for you? Look past the surface and feel the hope in my heart; don’t be the one to shatter it again, leaving me alone to pick up the pieces.

Please.

This depression…it pulled me back under the surface and away from the light, were all the noises from the surface are muffled and people from up above only exist in my mind, which can’t or won’t stop thinking. It’s colder under here, and it’s numbed me from the inside out. The world is losing it’s color the deeper I get pulled under, and everything blurs into one, emotionless, tasteless, colorless world. The lifeguards come in the form of my friends and family, jumping in and swimming to save me before the air has all been released from my lungs and I finish sinking to the bottom. They’ve reached me, and some days they thrust the oxygen mask from their supply over my nose and mouth and force me to look upward toward the growing pinprick of sunlight, while other days, the dark, cold tendrils of complete sadness wrap around my limbs and struggle to pull me farther down, like some twisted tug-of-war. Some days I see, think, or hear things that act as torpedos; hitting me forcefully and knocking me out of the grasp of the lifeguards. I feel dark and twisted inside and I hurt, and I miss everything, but those few people in the red swim suits seem determined to tie the ropes to a buoy around my wrist to raise me up yet again.

I hate that this seems so one-sided, because I know that nothing in life ever is.

To two different people I’ve said this: “Everybody says you deserve better, but nobody is willing to give it to you,” and I have gotten the same response: people think they aren’t good enough.

Hearing the same thing from two different people who don’t even know each other within a span of two days…it was just weird, and it made me think. I don’t exactly know how to put it into words.

I took it two ways: personally and generally. A lot of people say that when they leave me…that they’re not a good enough person to handle me. A LOT of people say that. I don’t put myself on some pedestal, because that’s ridiculous. All I know is that when I care about someone, I think they’re good enough whether they do or not. Some people use it as an excuse while some people genuinely believe it, and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. 

I also understand that I’m different. I’ve been through things that make me see the world differently, and I know that. 

I don’t know what else to write.

I guess I just wish that I didn’t have to redeem myself; that I didn’t have to try so hard to make people see past the labels to prove that I really am a good person and that I AM worth it….that I AM bigger and better and that my personality and the good things about my outweigh the fact that I’m sick. I don’t want “I love you, BUT…” Who I am as a person…I think it does outweigh my illness, and I want to know that it does too, but the fact is that, a lot of the time, it doesn’t; who I am as a person just doesn’t cut it. Sometimes I wonder why I even try, but that’s just not me; I don’t give up. I never give up on the things that are important to me. 

That’s a promise.

Autumn Skye Morrison - The Seer

One of my nicknames is also Owl, or Owlie, partially because it sounds like “Al/Ali,” and partially because I look/act like one. I’m a watcher.

Even when I was a baby, my sisters would be crying and screaming, and I’d just sit there watching them silently. Like I said, I’m a watcher. People think I’m shy when they first meet me, but I’m not; I just like to observe and see what I’m getting into. That, and I think people are interesting. I like them, and I like being able to see what other people can’t, don’t, or won’t. 

I saw a lot, and I still do. I like to look inside your heart, not inside your head. I sat back and watched so much happening around me, and it’s almost like I became invisible. So then, there was nothing else to do but watch, so that’s what I did. I watched, I observed, and I learned.

At first the smart thing was just that: I was smart. If you guys have read my story, you know that I prided myself on my intelligence, because that was the one thing I could do well. I sat at my desk behind my glasses reading a book meant for people twice my age.

I’m also pretty wise for a college freshman. I’ve gone through more than most people ever will, and it’s humbled me; it’s made me see the world differently. I’ve had to do a lot by myself to get where I am today, and those experiences help me help others. I love seeing other people smile. :) 

So that’s why they call me Owl, or Owlie. 

A wise old owl sat on an oak. The more she saw, the less she spoke.

Right after I spent fifteen weeks out of the gym because I tore the ligaments in my ankle, this happened. It was literally the last thing of the night: a trak pass after our conditioning. I went to do a back pass, but in the middle of the back handspring, my hand went one way while the rest of my arm went the other. 

My joints naturally hyperextend, but this looked a little crazy. Since I’m so flexible, my joints aren’t very strong, and it’s easy for me to break. I have been to the ER five times in the past year: once when I dislocated my kneecap and microfractured my knee, when I tore all the ligaments in my ankle, when I had a cyst burst, when I was so sick I couldn’t breathe, and now this. Let’s just say I know all of these doctor’s first names, and even (disturbingly) the joke the xray technician makes every time about “covering my lady bits” with the lead apron. This time, they think I broke one of the little bones in my wrist that you can’t see from an xray. At this point, they should just reserve me a bed, because they know I’ll be back. 

Most people would have quit gymnastics a long time ago, but then again, I’m not like most people. Gymnastics means so much to me…living life with the circumstances I’ve been given, gymnastics gives me something that I can actually control. Everything I do, every success, and every failure is because of ME. It’s the one thing in life where I know my hard work will pay off and where I can see actual progress. It’s hard to describe to someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be chronically ill. Tomorrow is never promised, so I have to do all I can NOW. Gymnastics lets me do that. I love it, and I will never give up. To take gymnastics away from me would be extremely cruel. 

So now I’ve got to make an appointment with my orthopedist, who probably thought she’d never see me again. I swear, I keep these people in business. Driving’s going to be interesting, and I’m starting to get the hang of typing. Writing will be impossible, because, of course, I’m left handed. Sometimes I feel like I’m the butt of all of God’s jokes. 

One more hospital bracelet for the collection.

At least I have a real handicap for my Meisner activity…

I always thought it strange that people refer to the dead as the lost. It’s as though you’ll be walking along and TA-DA! There they are, just waiting to be found. Turn a corner, and OMG! It was just a joke! Here’s your loved one. Nothing ever happened. They’re fine, just fine.  It’s like you’ll be reunited not in the next life, but this one here, and it’s just something you’ll all laugh about together later. 

Then I learned that, in more ways than one, you CAN find them. When something sparks a memory of them, it’s clear as day, as if they never left. Ta-da. The moment passes, but your heart is warmed and you think about them for the rest of the day. It could be a flower, a scent, music, anything. Whatever it is, those precious moments are waiting for you. All you have to do is look

I wrote that almost exactly a year ago, and it’s still true. I have ghosts, and they’re always popping up in my life. I’ll go about my day and see or hear something that reminds me of them, and for a second, I’m not in this world anymore. 

I still freeze and hold my breath when I hear a train horn, or when I see one go by. I get nervous when my dad goes on business trips or has to drive home from rehearsal or a show late at night. I have had ten friends pass away in the last four years; literally one every six months, and I am absolutely terrified that death will reach closer to me and wrap its tendrils around the ones I love. I can’t. I couldn’t deal with it if my sisters or one of my parents were taken, I just couldn’t. I hate it when I text my parents and they text me back while I KNOW they’re driving. I hate that people are so careless with their lives…they don’t know. They don’t know. 

I hate that it TAKES a death for people to realize all of these things. It takes a death to realize that maybe we should be kind to one another, that we need to say “I love you,” and that it CAN happen to you.  Nobody thinks that it will, but it does, and it will continue to do so, or it least it has for me…

Be safe.

I love these days.

Everything is clear and still, except for the thoughts in your head. A little breeze makes your soul flutter and lifts it from your body. 

You are free.

Even something broken can be really beautiful sometimes.

God saw you getting tired

and a cure was not to be

so he put his arms around you

and whispered,“Come to Me”

With tearful eyes we watched you

and saw you pass away

and although we love you dearly

we could not make you stay.

A Golden heart stopped beating

hard working hands at rest.

God broke our hearts to prove to us

He only takes the best

“Beyond the door, there’s peace I’m sure…”