Tuesday ▪ December Thirtieth, 2011 ▪ 10:01 pm

Mood: Sad

I’m not a very open person, honestly. Even to those who are “closest” to me don’t know half of what goes through my mind. People like Kevin, I tell “everything,” but everything isn’t really everything. I hide a lot and I keep a lot bottled up.

Let’s talk about Kevin first for a bit. I’ve known him since I was going into seventh grade. So I’ve known him since I was about twelve, at this point it’s almost four years. Yes we dated briefly and we are “good friends” (Not really as good as I’d like. We barely talk. We barely see each other. Oh, plus the unrequited feelings I have towards him. Yeah, basically it’s not “good” at all.) Despite all that, I still tell him more than anyone else in my life.

So yeah, I keep a lot bottled up. I have a very difficult time talking about my feelings. And this is due to the fact that throughout my whole life, no one really cared. No one asked me what’s wrong. People ignored me. People were mean. And when I would tell someone how I felt they would shrug it off. They would shrug it off like it was no big deal. And it hurts when you feel like crap and no one gives a shit. 

So I stopped. I stopped talking. People didn’t mind, people didn’t question, people didn’t care. It was all the same.

I’m a very insecure person, if you already hadn’t figured it out through all the other posts. But if there is one thing I am confident about, it has to be the fact I’m a good person. I’m nice, I’m not judgmental, I’m there when you need more, I give a mile. 

That’s great, you’re probably thinking. But it isn’t. When you’re like me, people don’t care. People treat you like shit when you treat them with decency and kindness. People accept how you give them a mile but never even give an inch. And it hurts. It hurts more than anything. 

I’m a good person and I always get treated like crap. And I go home and I cry and cry and cry and I never feel any better. I walk around and no one asks me how I’m doing or what’s wrong. 

When I’m upset, no one’s there. But when anyone is sad, I’m always there. No one is ever prepared to give me what I need. They use me like a tissue. They cry and I absorb their tears and then I’m thrown away because now they’re fine and I’m useless.

People treat me terribly and think I can just get up and be okay. But I’m not okay. I’m never okay. I lie, and I keep things in and I can’t tell anyone. If I did tell someone, it would fall on deaf ears. The words would come out but no one would listen to them.

No one would hug me or wipe away my tears or just tell me it’s okay. 

No one does anything.

Tuesday ▪ December Fifth, 2011 ▪ 8:12 pm

Mood: Confused

It’s weird how one day with someone I like so much could change my entire outlook. (For the worse, mind you.) For the longest time being single never hurt so much. When my ex broke up with me both the first and second time, I didn’t see us in every couple the way I see you.

Now I see couples and envy how they’re what I wish we could be. We have it all, everything necessary to be happy together. But we (you) just don’t take the leap.

Are you afraid? No, I know you, you’re not afraid of the relationship itself, you’ve been in many. I know for a fact you don’t think it’ll ruin our friendship. Maybe you’re not as interested in me as you and I thought you were. 

Maybe you don’t like me at all, even. Maybe you’re telling me what I want to hear all for the sake of a hook up.

I’m just so confused. I see you in the faces of couples, in the eyes of those who love each other. I see you everywhere, and it hurts. For years my feelings never hurt this much. But after those few kisses it’s all back. It’s here, possibly to stay for a long time. 

Tuesday ▪ November Twenty-Fifth, 2011 ▪ 5:58 pm

Mood: Unsure

Sometimes I just want to run away where nobody knows me. I want to disappear into the night and go somewhere that nobody knows my name. I want to start over, new name, new identity.

Sometimes I just want to get away from here. Away from all these people. To a new place, ya know? A place that gives me the chance to be who I always wanted to be.

Tuesday ▪ November Twenty-First, 2011 ▪ 5:58 pm

Mood: Unsure

I feel weird around gay and straight people sometimes. Like to so many of them, I’m not recognised as being attracted to everyone. I feel as though I’m thought of as straight by all the gay people and gay by all the straight people.

To escape this I go into periods where I’ll selectively talk about men around straight people and women around gay people, never the both together, never truly expressing my sexuality.

I’ve written this out many times before. I’ve never been able to keep it together when writing it, but tonight I will. I’ll force myself to, even.

Love is a strange thing. Some believe it’s the emotion the human race is based on and other’s feel as though the world would be a much better place without it. I’m still unsure, in all honesty. But now isn’t the time for my thoughts on love in general, but about a particular person and the relationship we had.

I was never really good at expressing my feelings to those I’m not close to, but I will anyway, as uncomfortable as it’s making me.

Around this time two years ago in 2009, I met a boy. His name was Joseph. He was one of the best people I’ve ever met. He made me smile, and no, not one of those cheap half smiles. He made me happy, he made everything okay. He could make me laugh even when I was so upset and didn’t want to. He made me feel beautiful, and more importantly, he made me feel loved, which wasn’t something I wasn’t used to feeling.

We met over the phone one night because of one of our friends. That night we talked for five hours about anything and everything. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone cared. It was great, very great in fact. We talked every day for maybe a week and a half until we started dating. It was unfortunately a long distance thing.

During our relationship I was the happiest I’d ever been in a long time. It’s weird how feelings are amplified when experiencing them after such a long time without them. Anyway, for nine months we dated. Unfortunately, like all good things, it came to an end on Tuesday, September seventh. Yes, I still remember the exact day. Days with a heavy impact do that, you know.

After our break up we talked a little, as much as it hurt me. But ya know, after a break up it always hurts to talk to them and it always hurts to not talk to them. There wasn’t any winning in the situation. After a couple weeks we stopped talking completely.

Six months later he talked to me one night on the phone. It was strange, and so many feelings were brought back. A couple days later he asked me if I still had feelings for him. I answered honestly. I still did love him, and I really never stopped.

We ended up giving it a second shot on May eighth of 2011. I felt lucky. I felt as though I was given a second chance to get everything right. I felt as if this time we would make it, like anything was possible. Unfortunately again all good things must come to an end and he broke up with me shortly after on September fourth of the same year.

And now here you are, all caught up on my long relationship history with this one person. Alas, my friend, it isn’t over. It’s never that easy.

The day he broke up with me he said something along these lines: “I’m sorry to do this. I love you, I really do but distance is too much of an issue. Find someone else.” And he was gone, just like that. In less than twenty five words he was out of my life.

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt, I’d be an even bigger liar if I said it didn’t still hurt. It hurts as if it was yesterday. He held a gun up to my heart and promised he wouldn’t shoot, but he lied. He lied about it all and he shot me.  He watched as the bullet went in and out so quickly and just walked away. And what do I feel? Guilt, because I stained his floor.

He told me he loved me up until the day it was over. I was fool for ever believing him. I’m a fool for ever trusting anyone. I’m a fool for ever thinking that someone anywhere would want something like me. That’s what sucks about this world most of all, people lie. It’s times like this where love becomes a bad thing, because it is so easily faked and its hold easily manipulates people.

People have asked me why I think he never loved me. If you really want to know, it’s the fact he acquired a new mate the same day he broke up with me. He didn’t leave me because of distance; he left me because someone better came along.

Someone prettier.

Someone smarter.

Someone better.

Someone I’m not.

Like always.

I don’t blame him. Look at me? A stupid kid. A chubby, short, unattractive, stupid, fucking child. I wouldn’t even want me. On top of that I’m weak. I’m sad, I’m lonely, I’m naive, I’m a perfect target. People always go for the weak. Liars like him always go for the believers like me, it’s life. I would have done the same thing. I would have brought me up and slammed me down. I would have hurt me too, because that’s what humans are like. Humans love control, humans love seeing others in pain. 

People treat others like toys, like they lack emotion and are merely disposable objects for play, like they don’t matter. Human beings find joy in breaking what they’ve created. Shown in our childhood as we knock over build block pyramids, and shown as adults as we break down others.

Before you ask, no I don’t hate him. I’m not even mad at him, I could never. I don’t even blame him.

What do I hate? Myself.

Who am I mad at? Myself.

Who do I blame? Myself.

Like always.

I hate how foolish I am. I hate how naive I’ve always been. I hate how clingy I am. I hate everything about me. I’m angry because I’m an idiot. I’m angry at myself for not being good enough. I thought for once I was good enough, but like always, I’m not. I’ll never be good enough. I blame myself for not being worth it. I blame myself for everything. I blame myself for ever thinking someone would have an actual interest in me. I blame myself for thinking he ever cared.

In the end, I wish him the best. I won’t break the promises I made. I promised him that I’d make him happy, and if it’s without me then so be it. I want him to have everything he ever wanted, the perfect life, even if I’m not a part of it. Even though he might not deserve it, I hope he gets it.

I hope he never goes through what I’m going through. I hope he never gets the pain in his chest. I hope he never spends nights and days soaking his bed with tears. I hope he never goes through the muscle aches and the cramps. I hope he doesn’t get the weakness in his legs. I hope he never spends a day where he’s sick when he eats and sick when he doesn’t. I hope he never goes through the shakes. I hope he never gets the puffy red eyes and nose. I hope he never goes through being reminded wherever you go. I hope he doesn’t go through any of it. 

But, then again, at the same time deep inside of me a little bit of me wants him to. A bit of me wants him to know what I went through. A bit of me wants him to realise what I went through. A little part of me just wants him to know.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll end up. All I know is that right now I’m alone and scared and I don’t know what to do. I lost both my best friend and the love of my life and now there’s no one here. There’s no one to lend me a shoulder to cry on, there’s no one here at all.

There’s no one who cares.

There’s no one to talk to.

There’s no one who will listen.

There’s no one.

Like always.

.

.

Joseph, if by chance one day you read this..

I’m sorry that I love you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry for being clingy; I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m sorry for not being worth it; I’m sorry for not being good enough. I’m sorry I wasn’t interesting; I’m sorry for being a bore. I’m sorry for it all, I’m so terribly sorry. Hopefully you forgive me.

I know these words won’t ever change a thing, but I love you.

.

People say that writing makes things better and it relieves you, but it doesn’t. I feel the same way I did before I wrote this.

Fuck everything.

(reblogged from old account
 date changed to date reblogged
 original date: Tuesday November 15th, 2011 7:46 Pm.)

Monday ▪ November Fourteenth, 2011 ▪ 4:45 pm

Mood: Angry

I never understood the urge to try to convert someone to your own religion outside of a religious debate. 

There I was, eating my chicken at the dinner table and having an alright time. My father decides to spew some bullshit about religion and Christianity towards me, in attempt to convert me back to it. 

I rolled my eyes and kept my face down without a word the rest of dinner. He doesn’t get it. He tells me to be myself and whenever I am he deems it unacceptable. He always wants something to yell at me for or complain about, so he doesn’t ever just let me be. 

Then he wonders what made me so insecure. I don’t know, maybe it’s you. No, not maybe, it’s  almost always been you. My whole life it’s been “but maybe if you were this” or “well if you improved a bit..” I’ve never once gotten a “you did well,” or a “I’m proud.” 

Maybe the problem isn’t me. It’s definitely you.

People wonder why I hate you, and you know what?

It’s because you’re a prick who can’t take a day without smoking a blunt and always wants a reason to complain so you find every little fault in me.

Fuck you.

Sunday ▪ November Thirteenth, 2011 ▪ 9:26 pm

Mood: Calm 

Well, here I am. My first post on this blog. 

It feels like when you move into a new house. You’re all excited, it’s a new place to explore with new people and a new view. But at the same time, it’s all new. There are no memories (yet) and there is no emotional attachment. You miss the old, even though you can probably visit it whenever you like.

I’m a bit worried that I won’t write as much as I hope I will on here, but only time will tell, I suppose.