art.

art.

noun. the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual for such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power

"VIRGO: darling, you should surround your room with plants and flowers and life to remind you of what you are every morning when you wake up, because you are art and life and color. but in a different way than most people, and i think that's pretty damn cool. you're so you, and you should embrace that more. if there's something you want to change, something you just want to do, just go ahead and follow your pretty mind. the path you walk on will be paved with sunshine." 

you guys have read this quote before (if you’ve been following me and the brand for awhile). almost 2 years ago I decided I wanted to get the word art tattooed on me. 

almost 2 years ago, i decided that i was going to start fully valuing myself.

almost 2 years ago, i decided that i was going to start loving myself each and every fucking day. 

and now, i am going to tear down all my walls and tell you guys my story…

of course, to kick off “tell your story” campaign that the brand is working on.

read on if you dare. you’re about to get an exclusive on my very messy, cluster fuck of soul. 

_____________________________________________________________________

i am a virgo.

i over-analyze.

i worry.

i feel deeply.

i am an asshole.

i love. 

i am a virgo.

then…

i used to be really happy. really really happy. 

i didn’t have anxiety.

i was not depressed.

i was happy and outgoing and sunshine-y.

i liked who i was.

in fact, i loved who i was.

then freshman year of high school happened.

even 5 fucking years later it’s hard to articulate what happened and how it made me feel.

i hate talking about it.

like even though it was forever ago, talking about it makes it real all over again.

i got told every single day that i was worthless.

i got told every day that i wouldn’t be anything other than somebody to fuck.

i got de-valued. 

a 15-year-old virgin felt so dirty. so corrupted. by words.

they would sit down and tell me what they would do to me. 

disgusting things. 

every day.

and i think about me sitting there and remembering how much i hated my life.

how much i would give to erase all those things out of my memory.

how much i would give to run away.

and it breaks my heart. 

i want to hold 15-year-old me and let her cry.

god knows she didn’t cry for 8 fucking months.

god knows that she didn’t cry until she moved away.

god knows she held it all in.

god knows she was so depressed because she had to make herself numb just to bear going to school. 

she had to make herself numb to not cry when boys said those things.

and when strangers thought they had some right to grab her ass in the hallway. 

but she survived. 

it took me all of sophomore year of high school to teach myself it was okay to feel. 

it took me all of sophomore year to learn that i didn’t deserve that. 

and i learned. 

each year i healed a little more.

each day i had to decide to heal. 

each day i had to choose to nourish my soul with positivity. 

then junior year happened.

that’s when anxiety knocked on my door.

i was scared. 

i didn’t know what was happening.

i didn’t know why i was drowning in panic.

i didn’t know why i couldn’t swim out of it. 

i had to learn patience with my mind, my soul, my chemicals. 

i had to learn that it was okay to feel so scared, so unbalanced, so not at peace. 

i had to learn to breathe.

and i learned. 

but then…

i lost a huge part of myself senior year. 

my anxiety grew tremendously. 

and i felt lost. 

i knew i wasn’t who i wanted to be.

i knew that i wasn’t happy.

i knew that i wasn’t watering my soul with pure water and love.

and i think a large portion of that was because i was with someone who didn’t really want me to feel emotions.

if i was anxious, it was an inconvenience. 

if i was mad, i was crazy.

if i was happy and excited, it was too much.

if i loved, it had to be in the way he wanted. 

and i know he didn’t intend to be manipulative on purpose.

but despite his intentions, he was toxic.

the relationship was toxic.

we were toxic for each other. 

there’s something so absolutely draining about watering a flower that’s dead. 

you want it to resurrect it so badly but all that energy is from you lighting yourself on fire.

and you wringing yourself out to give it a drop of hope. 

at the end of that relationship, i knew that i could not live my life like that anymore.

i can’t love something that mentally and emotionally hurts me. 

i can’t set myself on fire.

i can’t wring myself out. 

my soul needed more.

i deserved more.

that sad, angry, lonely summer before college was so enlightening. 

and with the right vitamins and sunshine and love, i grew.

my soul woke the fuck up.

my god.

i am art.

i am worth it.

i am valuable.

why would i treat myself any less than that?

i am a masterpiece. 

god and neurons and science and stars and pure love made me.

pure love.

real stars are in me.

they are inside of me.

they are me.

and anyone who says that stars and love and flowers and humans are not art, is wrong.

this world is so painfully beautiful.

it is a mess.

there’s heartbreak. there’s pain.

but if you ever look at poems and songs and books and art that stemmed from heartbreak and pain…they’re incredible. they are so raw and beautiful.

and my god, darling, so are you.

let your soul be so beautiful. let your soul be art.

and that’s why i got art carved into my left side.

that’s why art is there.

that’s why it is my reminder to love and nurture my soul.

my heart.

my mind.

my body. 

despite the anxieties.

despite the sadness.

despite the whole fucking mess that makes up my brain. 

i am art.

and

now…

i still struggle. 

i still cry.

i still want to scream.

i still have to remind myself that i deserve love.

i still want to give up…

BUT

i choose to grow.

i remind myself that i deserve love.

i choose to love myself including all imperfections.

i choose peace.

i choose psithurism.

i choose to see myself as art.

because i am.

and so are you.

so take my story.

take your story.

take your own sadness.

take your own heartbreak.

take your own pain.

take your own anger.

and love it.

and love YOURSELF out of that dark, negative, sad world that i know isn’t fun.

love YOURSELF out of all agony.

and once you choose to do so, you can heal.

you can be happy.

you can grow.

my god, you deserve it.

i promise,

eventually it will all be okay.

if you allow it to be. 

xoxo.