The Difficult Perplexity that caused Distress

I would like to make a disclaimer for this post to say that I do not condone compromising your happiness to stay with someone that is toxic to your health. But I will say this: you do not choose to be mentally ill, it is out of your control sometimes. Disagree if you do, that’s ok I respect that, however I am an individual who at times does succumb to the struggles I have. I feel shame for this, and you must understand that your loved ones may feel ashamed as well for not being 100% ok all the time. While I understand you can only be patient for sometime I encourage you all to try and continue to love individuals and encourage them even on their worst days. Thank you for taking the time to read this. And to the person this post is for, I am sorry for disappointing you; you may say that I didn’t. But I know I did because I disappointed myself. I love you.

If you can’t love yourself how can you love someone else?

The very notion of this phrase stares me down and laughs at me; it tells me everyday that maybe I don’t deserve love, and I find that unfair.

Because everyday I wish, I pray my brain didn’t work the way it does. That I could read as many self help books, I could exercise and feel endorphins coursing through my veins, and somehow I would feel better.

I wish I could choose to be better, I wish that when I do choose it would stick. That it wouldn’t be a struggle some mornings to get out of bed and smile at a stranger. That it wouldn’t feel exhausting to eat or give myself basic care.

It’s easy for some. It’s so easy that you feel lazy. You feel like a bother, you feel like you don’t deserve to cry—to ask for a little more help. You feel disgusting, so unworthy. Pathetic.

I want to be better. I need to feel better. I feel like I’m screaming inside my head, screeching at the sky for some deity to rewire everything and make me new.

Sometimes I truly believe everyone would be better if I wasn’t me. If I was born with a completely healthy mind; one without baseless fears and paranoia, without the need for sensitivity, no gentle care needed the minute my fragility shows through.

Someone that didn’t need anyone. Someone that didn’t pretend that they were independent because the minute she would feel herself falter she could brush it away and smile.

But I can’t be her. I fucking wish I could, I wish more than anything in this entire world I could be that for everyone.

I wish it more than life itself.

So to answer the question, I can love others.

But I want so desperately to love myself, because that’s easier said than done.

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God Only Knows

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It’s been 2 months since I wrote on here last, and I have no regrets. You see, I don’t know what to write; I don’t know what you all would like to hear, what stories I should tell. But I’ve missed it, I’ve missed sharing my thoughts onto a keyboard and letting the words take off while I zone out into a comfortable silence.

When I last wrote on here I said this world lacks love, now I look back and I realize what I truly meant; this world lacks empathy. In the place I live in people are so entitled, whether it be material or emotional–what they feel they deserve they will monopolize with no need for explanation. Everyone is guilty of this, no one is perfect, a simple flaw within the long list of humanity’s errors.

I feel like I’m different; I think I continuously look back and put myself into other shoes. I’m not entitled to anything but the happiness I create myself, and focusing on myself does not make me egotistical or rude. It gives me strength, a strength untouchable by sad individuals so crystalline you can see the tendrils of their heart writhing like an infestation. I feel sorry for them, but that’s their problem and not mine.

And I leave for college soon, I’m scared. But yet I am so ready to leave, to venture off into the world and find out who I was born to be. I will try to write more on here, I will try to convey how I am growing through not only my experiences but the way I describe them. I am thankful to those of you who have read my writing.

Happy reading 🙂

Why.

why

 

You should’ve told me. I gave you every opportunity to confess even though the answer was right there the entire time, I was just hoping–praying–you wouldn’t hurt me like this. That you didn’t have the capacity to completely rip apart what little shreds of dignity I scraped along after him.

It’s not like December. Maybe in some raw form, but honestly if I take a clear look at the events of before and now, it’s day and night. You see, I had the courtesy, the respect, to be upfront about what happened between me and him. But you, you hid behind a fake facade of care and love to make yourself feel a little less guilty.

And I am hurting so much. This is to be expected from other people, people that we used to gawk and stare at incredulously; “How could someone do that” we’d ask each other “How can another girl sleep with her friend’s ex? They’re like sharing or something that’s so gross.” How could you do that? Especially knowing how I was with him not even a few days prior.

And I lied to you I’ll admit, I said that we weren’t going to hook up anymore. But that was a full, intentional lie. He told me to lie, said it was for the best and I fully believed that and I still kind of do. But then again I don’t. Because maybe you would’ve had a little bit more self control, maybe you would’ve remembered that I HATE LYING. Especially when you think it’ll make the truth a little bit more tolerable. But it doesn’t it makes it so much worst. It makes you wonder if every single memory of our friendship is fabricated and underlying with lies and betrayal.

It makes me wonder if you were ever my friend at all. You don’t care about me. Be honest with yourself and realize that “family” doesn’t do that shit. At least my family doesn’t. You only want me around because I care about you. You’re just like him. And don’t you dare say he cares about me ever again. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re saying that more to yourself than me. Which sickens me even more.

I can’t sleep, I don’t have any care to eat or take care of myself properly. I just want to punch a wall until my knuckles bleed, or cry until my throat goes hoarse. Anything to get rid of the burning I feel anytime I look at you.

So why do you continue to interact with me? If you cared you would leave me alone, you would let me hurt and heal and wait until I was ready to look you in the eyes. But instead you make attempts to smile at me, to wave, to make a joke. Do you not understand I’m too weak to properly ward you off? That you have literally stabbed me in the back and each glance my way is another twist.

That every single time I see you two within feet of each other I wonder how two people I thought I loved, that I thought loved me don’t give a fuck as long as I’ll be around to catch them when they slip.

And I was just a pawn in both of your lives.

So tell me Why. Why should I forgive and forget?

 

first.

first

I think there is a twisted beauty in a person’s first heartbreak. The cliche angst filled words coming from a teenage mind is familiar in the sense that we expect it; we’ve grown accustomed to the toxic metaphors and cheap similes that fill a tear stained keyboard or piece of paper. But, as I sit here writing my very own prose–I cannot find this twisted beauty anywhere. Because no matter how intricate and detailed you try to make it sound, it doesn’t prepare you for the heavy chest and shortening of breath. Nothing prepares you for this ache that resides in every inch of your body.

You hurt me. Plain and simple, no elaborate description behind it. You lied to me, you lied to her, you lied to everyone; the one thing that plays over and over in my mind is the fact that in 24 hours it all changed. We went from laughing in my living room, to me being told that the whole time you were with me–you were thinking of her.

And you know what hurts even more? I thought that she was the “other girl” when the whole fucking time it was me. You promised her the moon and stars and simply recycled the same leftover lines for me–oh a cliche metaphor, how original of me. But, that’s what you did; you gave her “I love you’s” and me, “someday”.

But what I really need from you is closure. I need you to explain why you lied when I told you that night in a hushed whisper that that was my greatest fear, to have someone make so many promises but deny making them at all. I need to know why you looked at me the way you did and made me feel like I had the galaxy spinning on my fingertips. I need to know why you let me waste a word count filled with the thoughts that floated around in my head about you.

I know she is getting these answers from you, I know that right now–at this very minute– you are calling her your “baby girl” and begging for her to give you another chance. I know you’re calling me the “desperate one” and lying right to her, and maybe she’ll believe you. For her sake, I hope she doesn’t.

I had to be the bigger person though didn’t I? Instead of making you apologize 100 times like she is, I simply forgave but I will never forget. Well, maybe not never because as much as this pain feels like it will last forever I know that someday it will stop. So, I hope you find what you’re looking for. I’m going to take it one day at a time and find what I’m looking for as well.

 

 

 

 

Update on Exodus: I haven’t posted anything new because guess what? I’m in the works of converting it into a short film for you guys! Really excited! As you can see  from this post, things didn’t work out–it hurts a ton but I’m going to make it though. Happy reading 

-One girl