With awareness of your access,

I wish I had the experience in writing to convey the conviction of the story that’s itching my heart. A story that must be shared, as badly as this itch must be scratched. The restlessness in me is condemning whatever bit of peace I had left. The level of anxiety nearly drove me to a madness I’d have not returned from. The same highway exit I saw many take to never be found again.

There’s an ease in my writing today, though. Allowing me to share these simple (or quite heavy) feelings that I’ve carried with me for months. A peaceful song playing on repeat and my dog laying on the other side of my bed. As if she was guarding any other intrusive thoughts from reaching me and swallowing me whole again. So, in the name of everything I’ve found dear to me; in the name of bravery and every action that I’ve taken that has proven that I am… brave, I will start writing this story.

It would be easy to say that the world conspired against me. A conspiracy *just* to prove a point. “Just” to make me mad, or bring me down a notch. To prove the point of the internal voice in my head that’s constantly been saying you’re not worth this every single time that something in my life went right. The self sabotaging evidence that only pointed out that no matter how hard I worked, how kind I was, how much I loved or cared— it simply was not enough.

This story has been difficult for me to decipher. And the lesson? Well that’s been near impossible to fathom. It’s as if I’ve kept this web of consequences, of lies and every negative emotion you can think of, resting in the palms of my hands. Unwilling to put this mass of energy down. Afraid of any further breaking, yet knowing that holding on is, quite possibly, more harmful.

Before continuing down this rabbit hole, allow me to elaborate on how this topic came to mind. When I think of how identity theft can come from deciphering someone’s password, my heart aches for the intrusion that person is now faced with. Someone, somewhere, discovered some intimate information about that person–and now has access to finding even more. The questions that are asked of us when inputting a password are in fact personal. For some of us, more personal than we truly stop to realize.

When I’m asked about my childhood friend or pet’s name, a smile often comes to mind. I remember those answers fondly and as I type away their name my heart is calm and my smile curved. I dive into a treasured person, time or even a specific moment, just to give a computer (soulless machine) a little bit of who I am. Thinking that this could do no harm. There’s a significant level of ignorance that comes with inputting information into a computer. Maybe even the same goes into trusting someone you are meeting for the first time.

Now, going back to the hacker who has stolen your identity; they not only have access to your life, they have an advantage. The advantage being that you are unaware of the vulnerability you are found in. It’s hard enough to be vulnerable to someone else’s decision making, but being unaware seems far too cruel a thought. The connection to these thoughts? My lack of awareness of what was unveiling all around me made the outcome that much more explosive. The certainty of being able to trust the people around me made me that much more expressive. And thus continued the cycle of giving access to parts of me I shouldn’t have, which always resulted in keeping me vulnerable in the dark.

Unaware of your vulnerability seems like a hidden superpower, until you realize it’s quite the contrary. As children dive into the adventures of the world without acknowledgment of their fragility. As you dive blindly into your first love, unknowing of what a broken heart can even begin to feel like. As you pack your life in boxes and move in hopes that you’ll find everything your heart’s been aching for wherever you are going.

Like a walk around the park, or a hike atop a mountain, awareness of your surroundings can be life-threatening. Maybe that's why I haven't been big on hiking or surfing. Knowing that as I walk, or swim, a predator has full access to me is a vulnerability I have not spent much time trying to strengthen.

On the train of thought: awareness, I’m aware that this story won’t make much sense, to most. I am a poet after all. I live hidden in the words and lines I write. Pouring my heart and soul for that cathartic release the moment that the poem’s finished. Clicking “publish” for the world to see, but resting in the belief that few–if any– will truly know what I am saying. Or rather, the specifics of what I’m sharing. Keeping those people, places, thoughts-–myself still safe.

Safe, let’s dive into that one real quick, as it demonstrates a hint of awareness of the vulnerability we writers cannot shake. When putting pen to paper the reality of our feelings, the reality of our situations— rather, our stories— come to life. I’ve refrained from writing stories for the sake of keeping myself and loved ones safe. Safe of judgment, safe of exposure to the rest of the world’s view or maybe, even, safe from what I really think.

Well, that’s what this experience was for me. This experience felt like meeting the narrator of my life. Connecting all these characters, intentions, personalities, facts and actions I had skipped over in one tiny, godforsaken, town. This experience that made me stop logging into this account is now the reason I am back.

This story will mostly write itself one day and my heart will breathe without this weight again. For now, I rest in the satisfaction of starting a new account and creating a new password. I’m beginning my commitment to the written word of stories by creating a new entryway with knowledge of the access that I give to readers, yourselves included. Exposed and vulnerable, yet confident in knowing I will only strengthen my confidence in who I am by staying truthful and committed to my writing. Which, honestly, seems far more empowering than just saying I’ve created a new password for my account.