At Least I'm Trying

The first few days with you

TW: ed thoughts, mentions of trauma

Amelia's POV: 

I'm temporarily under Taylor's care, something that I never would've fathomed in my life. She let me stay in the guest room, provided me with cozy blankets, some clothes in my size, and a bookshelf full of some of her favorite books. The scent of coffee and cookies constantly wafts through the house, as we are both addicted to caffeine and baking. Her house has a homey feeling that is typical of anyone else's: picture frames of family and friends decorate shelves and  tables, pillows and blankets lay on the couch, organized but not meticulous. She has a characteristic warmth and kindness to her that is more prevalent than anyone I've ever known. Just as I am thinking about this past week, she steps into the door frame, wearing a warm smile that I'm not used to people directing to me. "Hey babe, I thought we could have some breakfast and then talk about what might happen for where you live." Taylor says, walking into my room. I nod and get out of bed and Taylor pulls me into a hug. I accept it, leaning into her shoulder. I tense up, knowing that she could decide she hated me any moment. Taylor seems to notice this and pulls me in tighter, rubbing soothing patterns on my back. 

She pulls back slightly and looks at me with the same warm smile, rubbing my arms. "I made some French toast and you can have whatever you want with it. I have some fruit, butter, Nutella, and jelly," Taylor says, keeping one arm wrapped around me as she guided me to the kitchen. I grab the Nutella, spreading it on my toast and topping it off with strawberries. Food is one of the few joys in my life, but also an object of guilt. I feel like I have to earn food, like if I so much as had a bad thought, I didn't deserve it. Taylor sits next to me, "Remember, you don't have to earn food," she reminds me, starting to eat her own French toast. 

"So, I was thinking of adopting you, it's a bit of a process, but don't worry: you'll stay here until I am able to," Taylor says. 

"Oh my god. You'd do that? Are you sure? I can be a pain," I say

"Of course, sweetie. You are not a pain or a burden, I don't want you thinking or saying that about yourself, ok," Taylor says, firmly but gently. 

"What makes you think that?" she continues, rubbing my back. I stare down at my lap, unsure of how to answer. My parents made me feel like a burden, but whenever I tried to tell them that they said, "you make yourself feel that way,". I haven't had a consistent friend group in a while. I float from group to group, tolerated but never fully accepted. 

"I don't know. Just my parents complaining about me in their life and just being there in any friend group," I say.

"How people treat you is a reflection of them and not you. I promise that you're so easy to love and you'll find the right people," Taylor says, pulling me into a side hug. I play with my food, pushing it around on the plate. I felt fine eating a few days ago, but its been getting hard. 

"What's going on, bub?" Taylor asks, noticing my hesitation in eating. 

Do I tell her? Maybe she'll agree with my parents: bad people don't deserve food. Maybe she'll get mad that I have so many problems and change her mind. 

"Amelia, I want you to know that you are safe here. You can tell me anything," Taylor says, tilting her head to look at me. I freeze, not knowing how to put it into words. I'm not good at being vulnerable: something about my inability to verbalize my emotions makes me feel stupid. It doesn't help that my parents yelled at me when I cried. Right now, they'd either say that I don't need all of this sugar or that I need to snap out of it and stop wasting food. 

"Is eating overwhelming?" Taylor probes, remaining patient. When I still don't answer, that's when I know she's mad. I can see her lifting her arm up in my peripheral vision, and she pulls me closer to her, something I didn't expect. I could've sworn she was so angry she was about to hit me. "It's ok sweetheart, if you can't talk about it right now. But you do still need to eat. Let's just take small steps: How about you have half of a piece," Taylor offers. 

I nod, wiping the tears off of my cheeks. I cut the piece in half; it seems more manageable now. Taylor remains firm, not letting me eat one bite fewer than our compromise. When I'm done, she pulls me into a hug, kissing me on the cheek. "You did great! I'm so proud of you," she says sweetly. 

We decide to spend the rest of the morning watching movies in an attempt to try and get my mind to unwind. 

"Is there anything you'd like to do today?" Taylor asks, turning to me. 

"Can I see the music room?" I ask, practically begging her. 

"Sure, honey. Would you like to write with me? I know it helps me feel better." Taylor offers.

Taylor Swift offered to help me write a song? What is life?

Taylor helps me write about my feelings of inadequacy

stained glass windows surround me

a mosaic of emotions

flashing memories like film scenes

sick to my stomach

hole away in self-despair

I've been brushed off

made to feel like it's impossible for people to care

tough armor of humor, aren't you proud

I'm sorry I'm too much

and my emotions are too loud

my fake persona: built so you don't have to leave the real me

i cant let go; I lose pieces of myself

I wish I was smart, so I could fire back something mean

my heartstrings are tied to people forever

I will hate you, but I'll always hate myself more

I just wish I was the kind of person who wasn't easy to ignore

I lost myself

sleepless nights, lost in a maze

I dream of someone coming to take it all away

I wake up, time drags on

drowning in a daze, the comfort from my dreams is gone

nothing stays the same, nothing tastes the same

the memory of who I used to be still lingers

everything I was, crushed in mere minutes

as I pick up the pieces with my fingers

nightmares of unclosed door

I can't run or hide

maybe I should let people back in

if only I could pull myself together and heal the tragic

A/N: original poem by me

Taylor looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. 

"Baby, I'm so sorry you feel like that," she says, closing the notebook to look at me. I've never taken other people's sympathy well: I always try to lighten the mood. 

"Maybe Jack could put some synth-pop background to it." I joked, alluding to I can do it with a broken heart and down bad.

"If that's what you want. You're so brave just for writing this; you're so talented" Taylor told me, smiling. 

"Can we bake?" I ask. My mind tends to jump all over the place, from task to task. 

"Of course my love! What were you thinking of baking?" Taylor asks

"Pumpkin cookies with chai tea," I reply, somewhat proud of my idea. 

"Awesome! That sounds delicious. You are so creative!" Taylor exclaims, as we rush to the kitchen.