So. I haven’t been able to post anything in awhile. And because of that I stopped writing. I feel different when I write. I can express a part of myself I wouldn’t otherwise be able to express. And I hope in doing that I’m able to express it for others too.

I feel like a toy mishandled and shoved to the back of the closet. My insides and my outsides are miserable and all I can do to keep any teeny tiny bit of sanity is to constantly “work on” my appearance. Hair extensions, consultations and heavy debates over dying my hair pink again, filing off my beautifully manicured fake nails EVERY NIGHT and putting new ones on just to keep myself busy, to keep my mind at peace. But lately even that isn’t working.

I’ve tried to work hard on my career. I’ve been an overachiever since day 1. Always trying to make that daddy proud. But now I don’t recognize myself. I can barely make it in to work by 10 every morning. I leave by 4. I can’t focus. I’m full of resentment for the people there. I feel cheated, I feel degraded, I feel like they think I’m dumb and naive. Just another vagina in a tight skirt to show her face in meetings and present ideas for them to turn down almost with an “aww honey that’s cute” expression on their face.

After a year of being beat down repeatedly it becomes very difficult to find your footing again. To look in the mirror and see the person you know should be there. She’s retreated to the back of the closet. It’s safe and dark and quiet in there. But most of all she’s alone. She doesn’t have to face the condescending bosses and the back stabbing coworkers. She doesn’t have to work as hard as she possibly can on an idea or a presentation only to have it ripped to pieces and put back together as an unrecognizable mess. She doesn’t have to write articles that get published across the internet in someone else’s name.

And she doesn’t have to hear the news that she makes as much money as the receptionist. A Director with an office. Running an entire department alone. And she makes as much as the person watching Netflix on their computer at the front desk.

So there she remains, tucked away in her closet. Where no one can find her. She’s always been very good at hide and seek. But I miss her. I need her back. I need her to stand up and take control. I need her to tell me that she has my back no matter what and will never let us fail. Because the part of me that she left behind can’t do any of those things.

But she stays put. And honestly, I don’t blame her. What sense does the world make when it takes someone so confident and talented, so excited and passionate about life, and puts people and situations in her path that beat her bloody. If her outsides matched her insides she would be a scared and broken mess. People’s hearts would break for her. They would help her stand up. They would demand to know who did this to her. But that’s not how emotional pain and abuse is treated or seen.

I don’t know how long she’ll be in there. But I want her to know something: I will take care of you the way you’ve always taken care of me. I will hold your head high and we will take those big, bold steps together. We will take on the world. We will smile again. And you won’t even miss the closet. It’s hard without you. Every single day is twice the struggle it needs to be. So please, please when you’re ready come  back. I’m not the only one who misses you. You have a fiercely loyal group around you, fighting for you. As much as I want to look in the mirror and see you again, they want to look into my eyes and see you too. So come back, please.

*Originally written March, 2015