7/18/2023

Recovering from a host of things- loneliness, sickness, period woes, anxiety, food troubles, a fire at work, just to name a few. Finally a little OK today. I've not had a day off in 10 days now, but only 2 more to go. I leave Friday for the wedding, to meet Ziggy's family. I wonder how it will be- I'm a little nervous, but not really. More excited to relax. We have been together so long, this will be six years- and I am finally meeting his parents. We've been together long enough that it seems there is less pressure? Like, I'm already here! I've been here! It will be nice to see his sister all made up, and what choices she makes for her wedding day. I love events. I don't know her very well but she is nice, and has good taste- I wonder what decorations and colors she chose, and what her dress looks like. I wonder if it will make me ponder my own special day, or if it will make ziggy think about his. I guess, technically, ours. I would like to marry ziggy, someday. It would have to be the right time though. I want to have enough time to enjoy it- the engagement, the wedding, the honeymoon. I don't want to rush it. I don't think I could have a big wedding. I dream of going away, to another country, getting engaged. Coming back shiny. Having a little wedding, private, silly, maybe in the woods, or a funny one in Vegas. something to remember, just us. It would be nice to have our families together, but I don't know which world this could ever happen in. Everything seems so expensive? Everyone is so busy? It's so difficult. I know my mother would kill me if I didn't have some sort of ceremony for her to watch. But, I don't like attention. I don't want everyone watching us, kissing, holding hands, dancing. I don't think it's anyone elses business! I would like to put on my cute dress, and run around some alleys in Spain or something. Then, go to a fancy restaurant and order a whole bottle of wine, eat and drink, just him and I! Everyone in the restaurant will be laughing- look at the silly couple, all dressed up, behaving like children, playing house, bride and groom. Where are their families? What are they doing here? What fun. Then we could go stay at a pretty hotel. Go see a late band at a jazz club. Go get some churros. I don't know, something, anything that the night calls for. Sit at a fountain in the dark. Whatever we want, because it's our day. Then, we can have a party when we come back home for everyone else.

x

5/12/2023

I wonder when this battle against my body will end, if ever. I am so tired of looking at myself, wondering, poking, pulling, squishing. Wondering if I am really monstrous, or just insecure. I am curved, womanly, full figured- but people make it very clear, I am not fat. What is the difference? How do you know the difference? Why do I have to find the right spot to exist in? I love food, I hate food. I am in one of those moods again, where I want to feel free by eating as little as I can. It’s not as bad as it was- I used to be able to go days on about 500 calories. Now, I am on my feet all day, walking miles, working, lifting, moving.. I try to hover around 1400 and even that is hard sometimes. I’m tired of counting- but if I don’t count, I lose control. If I do count, it’s all I think about. What is it like to just live? I feel so much guilt if I eat, if I don’t eat. I wonder if everyone sees me the same way I see myself. I fear that someday, they will. It feels like a race, to get smaller and smaller, before I lose the ability to control it. I fear when Z leaves for Japan, I will really need to starve. I can’t have too much food in the house, I will be too lonely. I will eat, bored, sad, stressed. I don’t want to eat. I hate saying it out loud, or even writing it, but I want to get so small in a month that people notice. So small that they know something is wrong. I want people to know I need help, but I cannot ask for it. I need to prove it. I imagine the care in his eyes when he comes back and notices I’ve gotten smaller. I hate this feeling. The feeling like you still need somebody to notice, and care, and even save you. You cannot depend on anybody to save you, but it is nice to imagine it sometimes. I love him so much, and sometimes I want to be the best person I can for him. I am not sure if the best version of me is the one that is healthy, curvy, and hungry, or the one that is restrictive, willful, slim, and elegant. I want to lose weight for me, for him, for the wedding. I see pictures of when I was at my sickest, and I envy her. I am mad, that I am healthy again. I am mad that I have lost that. I feel like I am losing control. It’s so easy, on paper, just don’t eat. But, in this world, eating is such a social, caring, intimate act. I love food, I love enjoying things, especially with my people.  I think I will have to designate one day a week as a cheat day when he’s gone. That’s the only way I won’t go crazy. Maybe one day, I will just drink, and eat, and not care. Then, I will go back to caring. It’s hard, because we have so many things in the house thanks to him. I mean that in a great way. He is very caring, and stocks the fridge, the pantry, everywhere, with good food and even little treats. The life I have always wanted, but should not have. He is able to stay skinny in all of it- I can’t. I need to get a grip on this.

4/26/2023

I search for the right words, the right books, the right quotes, the right anythings- somebody, somewhere, must know the right words? I don’t know know to say these things. It feels like hooks, barbs, something. It doesn’t really hurt, until you pull on it. It’s a dull hurt, like a sore ankle, or a burn, it always hurts, but you just have to stop paying attention to it after a while. It really only hurts when you put pressure on it or pick at it. You don’t do yourself any favors by focusing on the pain. It’s important, but distant, and the distance grows the older you get. I tell people I don’t know my him, because it’s easier that way- but I do know him, very well, better than anybody. You stop seeking closure, revenge, reconciliation, destruction, anything, after long enough. I have learned to let the ship sink, but I worry. I see myself sinking with it- genetically, hereditary, fatherly- my own ship is half gutted out. I am half you. The water is dark. I have dreams that you are going under, and you pull me with you. You try to float, and you use me for leverage. I have dreams we are in the desert, and I am barefoot, bloodied, blistered, while you wear my own shoes and walk gracefully. I have all sorts of dreams- horrible, ungodly, evil dreams. Realistic, honest, despairing dreams, because of you. I worry I will become as mad as you. I worry my delight and frenzy and spirit are all just more optimistic versions of your own delusions. But, I guess questioning them is proof that I am nothing like you. I am half you, but you will never be half me. I am kind, honest, sweet, funny, and nurturing. I hold my people close to me, like a tree with budding fruits and flowers, and I feed them all of the love that I can. I have the same faults and horrors as you- the same wild, angry bucking horses inside of me- but I have learned to tame mine. I can look at my ugly parts- the same ugly parts you deny in yourself. If it weren’t for all of the horror you put us through, I would not have learned to carry these parts of me gracefully. I am still learning to iron them out, but I will never hurt others the way you do. I am giving you your last name back- that is one less of yours I need to carry.

4/15/2023

It’s been busy, but in a good way, I think. April is halfway done, and I will be 28 soon. I submitted all of the forms for my name change about a month ago, and I’m still waiting to hear the final verdict. I know it will be approved, but I hate waiting for the papers. I know they will come on the day that I need them. I know everything is lined up in a particular, exact way.  I have been having dreams the last few weeks, dreams like I used to have. It’s a hard feeling to explain. I am ecstatic about taking my mother’s maiden name. I am elated, it is all I have ever wanted, to give my father his last name back- but it also opens the door again. A door I have kept shut for about 15 years now. Well, maybe not shut, but ajar. I have dealt with so many things alone. I have accepted so many realities, endings, and facts of life at this point.. but I don’t know if you ever really get used to it.  It’s easy to sit and say, hey, he’s just a bad man. A terrible, broken man. It’s easy to accept that you were just dealt some bad cards. I am even at the point in my life where I am almost grateful for all of the things I have survived, because it made me who I am today. Regardless, even if I consciously know these things, the dreams don’t stop. There are things begging to be looked at again, pictures and rooms and feelings that have been hiding for years.  I have dreams about my father breaking into the house again, creeping in the windows, finding me, following me. I think back to the period when we had finally moved out- I felt like a mouse being hunted by something wild. I slept with a metal baseball bat at the door, a knife under my bed, and bells on the doors to ring when opened. I walked through the house, every few hours, pulling down all the shades and closing the blinds, checking the locks, even watching where my shadow would land, so not to be seen. I felt like a ghost floating, auto-pilot, cursed to wander in the same circles for an eternity, until I was granted peace, a release, something to get out of this limbo. I have dreams again, that I miss a door, or I hear a lock jingling, or a face in the window. He follows me to work, into my house, into the hallway, creeping up and down the hall, standing close to the walls so the floor doesn’t creak. He drives by in the dark, I see his teeth and eyes for a moment in the car window. He breaks in, unnoticed, and gets me when I am least expecting it. In my sleep, in my bed.  He is monstrous, rabid, horrific. He is not human, and never was. There is no reason, no feeling, no practicality. I dream of him, coming into my bedroom with weapons, guns, knives, bats, brooms, anything. He watches me sleep, and as soon as I notice him in the corner, he lunges at me. He hides, just out of view, for god knows how long- and then, a flash, and I notice he has been there all along. I am dreaming of the house again, my bedroom and the attic, my favorite places. I cry, I miss the leaves my mom painted on the walls. I miss the wallpapers. I miss the smell of the attic, the window at the very top of the house. The nails sticking out funny, the iron doorknobs. My purple bedroom, the green livingroom with the yellowing stained lace curtains. The strange treasures and antiques I found in every corner of the house. Tiny cups that looked like little sailors, dozens of porcelain dolls, antique irons, washboards, the colonial apple peeler built into the kitchen wall. The hydrangea bush out front that was white, but would wilt in a way that it looked like tea stains. The few weeks in the spring it turned a violet color. The dining room with the little coffee nook- the finish was done a bit poorly so there were ancient, hardened, dropping amber globs in the corners under the wood. So many tiny pieces I missed, I mourn them in the dream. I feel relief, because I am home again. It’s all mine, and I am alone. Nothing and nobody to fear. But I know I cannot stay.  x

2/15/2023

It is warm out today, but not warm enough. I guess it’s still winter, but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s too cold to be spring, and too warm to be winter. I really miss being outside, especially at the benches by the water. There is something much healthier about hanging out outside, opposed to hanging out inside. I would like to try and bring Poe out on a leash at some point when it gets warmer, but I always worry he will escape and get lost or hurt. I could bring him in the backyard, that way no dogs or other animals try to get at him. Maybe I will order that in a few weeks, since he seems to be done growing for the most part.  Valentines day was sweet. Z got me a peachy pink peony, with some eucalyptus leaves to accent. It is really beautiful, I wish I didn’t feel guilty when people do sweet things for me. I cried a little bit when I came home to it. I brought home a persian love cake for him too.  He goes to Japan in May, he will be gone for a month. I get a knot in my stomach- I trust him, and I know he will be faithful and everything. That is a big deal for me- I have never trusted anybody this much. Of course I worry, maybe he will see how girls in Japan look, and compare me to them, or see a better lifestyle, or something, and I will be pale by comparison. I know that is foolish, presumptuous of me. I have to believe that he doesn’t *see* that way. I do trust him, though, and it’s nice to not worry about that stuff. I try and think about how a month will be a nice opportunity for me to do something for myself. Maybe a solid diet, or a nice haircut, new wardrobe. Maybe learn some new recipes, watch some new movies. The only thing I fear is how I might be once I’m alone, really alone. I hate going to bed without him. I hate waking up without him. I can do it obviously, but many many days in a row is a little different. At least I have the cat. If I didn’t have the cat I think I would really lose my mind. It would be nice to have some friends or family over. I worry my faults will try and take over for the sake of comfort, or familiarity once he is gone. I fear my relationship with food will go bad again, either eating too much or too little. I fear drinking will be one of the only things to get me to sleep. I fear I will not keep the house clean enough, or Poe will get hurt, or something will happen that he can’t talk me down through. Z is really good for helping calm me down, or sorting my thoughts, or picking up the times when I have nothing left in me. I am really happy for him, this is something he really wants to do. I am trying to let go and let him do all of the things life will grant him. I just always hope he will come back home at the end of the day.

x

1/31/2023

The first month of 2023 is over. It went by quick. Life has been really good, though slow, considering the winter. I miss walking around outside and sitting on the benches at the beach. I miss walking around late at night and seeing bunnies and foxes. I miss grabbing a mid-day coffee and sitting on the stoop by old town hall. I guess you have to say goodbye to those things so you can enjoy them more when they come back. I do like things about the winter- I like big socks, and sweaters. I like keeping to myself and my home for a while. I like the shiny new opportunity of a new year, though it seems most people are always bitter about resolutions now.  My resolutions are going good- I have lost about five pounds this month, give or take a couple ounces. Birth control made me gain 8 pounds, so I am glad it’s coming off. I have been doing the spin bike and eating 1400 calories a day. I started with 1200, but was getting too lightheaded in addition to workouts. If I want to exercise daily, I need to do atleast 1400. It feels a lot better. I try to imagine myself in 2 years, at 30. Not old, but more mature. More established. My hair will be long, and if I keep it up, my body will stay healthy. Maybe it’s vain, but I want to look good as I get older. I fear becoming one of the many that stop trying, that let themselves go, that start taking medications for things they could have prevented, that look at themselves and wish they would have started working out and eating better 10 years earlier. I know that sounds superior, or high and mighty, but I don’t want to get to that point when I’m older, I want to start now. It’s very difficult to not let this dip back into eating disorder territory.  In other news, Z has been very busy, balancing basically three jobs. Not because he needs the money, but because he’s trying to switch his career path ultimately, so he has hit foot in a couple different doors. I have faith in him, more and more everyday. I trust that he knows what he’s doing, even if I don’t always understand it. Sometimes my anxiety pops back up- another thing I have worked on is my drinking. I only drank twice this month, but each time seems to bring up feelings. I worry that he will choose a path that doesn’t involve me. I worry that he will find something better elsewhere. I worry that when he goes to Japan, he will see a light that he has never seen here, with me. I worry he will come back to me, and be disappointed with the life he chose. It’s overthinking, though. I can always shut it off, but when I am drinking, the fearful voice inside wins. We argue and I trip over whatever I was upset about in the first place. Drinking doesn’t fit into my health goals anyway, so that has helped me in cutting back.  I know my fears come from the things people have done to me in the past. It has been a pattern, and the pattern is being broken. You sometimes have to see it to believe it. I tell myself that hey, even if in some universe, Z did decide he wanted to leave.. That is just the way it would go. What would I do? I would pick up my pieces like I always do, and move on to the next path. I don’t like to think about it, but I know I would be ok. I have handled a million terrible things. I can handle anything. It sometimes frightens me how much I trust him. I wonder if I am naive, or I have been tricked into comfort, like so many tricked me before. I guess that is part of loving somebody, is being vulnerable to what terrible things could happen. You can’t know until it’s too late. I sometimes think about us being married. I think it’s a natural progression, we’ve joked and talked about it. Sometimes people ask if I am his wife, and we laugh. I am not in a hurry.. but I do hope the time comes someday, if it’s meant to be. I want a better apartment first. I want to go away and get married in a hidden place, and not tell anybody until after. I want it to just be about us. I don’t want people staring and taking photos and wedding invitations and ugly cakes. I want a pretty dress, and running through a back alley, and holding hands, and laughing and singing, where nobody knows us.  Daydreamy, anyways, talk to you later. x

12/13/2022

I have to wonder if there is something wrong with me, sometimes. As I grow older, I find myself feeling like the odd one out, but in a strange way. I am very loved, well-liked, and appreciated. Everybody is kind to me, wants to spend time with me, reaches out to me.. why do I not want to reciprocate 90% of the time? I don’t really like when my phone rings.. I don’t really like having to go out and about on the weekends.. I don’t like getting shitfaced and listening to women complain about their boyfriends, their mothers, or their medications. I wonder if something is wrong with me, why is that not enough for me? I don’t even mean it in a pretentious way- I sometimes wish I could really give a shit about that stuff. Of course, it’s different when the time calls for it- I will always help someone through their family life, their relationship, or their other issues... but at what point am I just a therapist? At what point does the sympathy well run dry? Why is it always such serious, heavy conversation? I think sometimes I am a little further on the healing path than some of the people I hang out with. I hate calling it the “healing path”, but I don’t know what else you could call it. I delt with very disgusting, horrible things, very very young. I have already spent the last fifteen years recovering, understanding, and moving forward. I suppose some people have just started unlearning and unearthing some things from their past, they may have felt pains much more recently. It makes me feel old and bitter sometimes. I think part of me is jealous that I had to fix everything myself, I had nobody to vent to, to cry to, to lean on.. You would think that makes me the perfect person to come to, maybe I could give others what I never had. Sometimes, though, I just get angry. I see trivial problems, things people should be dealing with, not loading onto me, especially when I hardly know them. Is that wrong? I don’t go around telling people at cocktail night that I watched my father strangle my mother regularly, or the other million not-ok things that happened. I try, I really try, to be there for people.. but so many times, I open the door, and barge right in. 

Nobody knows what went on for all those years, not really, anyway. Z knows a bit, but not even the surface. And that’s ok. I know he would be there for me if I needed to talk about it.. I wonder if something subconscious comes through, or energetically, spiritually, some dimension somewhere I can’t really see or name- maybe because I have spent so long healing, I end up attracting people that need healing themselves. Maybe I am kind, and give them a space where they can let these wounds hang open. I have to say, I don’t think you should air any of your pain around anyone until you’ve dealt with it yourself. You have to feel it and let it hurt, bad. You have to be alone with it. That is the only way I have found any peace. Maybe over time some of them will start to feel that way too.

11/20/2022

I can’t believe I’ve found this old thing. I am sitting at work wondering what all the accounts attached to my email are, and ended up logging into this one. Isn’t that funny? How strange and terrifying and hilarious it is, to look back at these old entries. Just a few, but I had forgotten about them entirely. At this point in life, that heart wrenching breakup I couldn’t stop writing about just feels like an ugly little bump now. I had almost forgotten his last name, his face, the hurt I had unnecessarily carried afterwards. His face replaced by a few more afterwards, some kinder, some worse, some dirtier, some scarier. I was so young- but it was only five years ago,

At the end of 2017 I met Z. It feels very quick; almost too sudden sometimes. There were a few strange people inbetween the two. To be honest with you, I sometimes wonder if I had jumped into this too quickly. Truthfully, though, I have never felt so sure of anything until Z. I have never had to question him, question anything, besides myself these last few years. All of my jealousy, fear, rage, insecurity- it has been slowly melting off of me, the longer we make it. 

I have learned the best things are maybe not a blasting, dazzling fire. They are more of a slow-burning, reliable, infinitely warm burn. Logs that turn hot red when you blow on them. A fire that doesn’t go out. Deep and hot to the core.  I have learned to let go of a lot, since I last wrote here. I have let go of whoever I thought I was supposed to be- I am just letting her come through, however she’d like. I have followed a long and twisting path of magic, coincidence, wishes, impulse, dreams, and longing since finishing school. I have pulled a strange new woman out of my old body- but maybe she isn’t new at all. Maybe she was there all along. I see glimpses in my old writing that make me want to fight for her. The jaw pain was not anxiety, like so many people had told me. I was whoever they told me I was; anxious, erratic, overthinking, worrisome. I was never any of those things, was I? Five years later I have had 4 teeth removed, 12 fillings, 3 root canals, 4 crowns, and a jaw surgery. I am all caught up. I feel good today. What started as a twinge became a nightmare. About 10,000 dollars of work to fix all of the dental neglect. I do believe there is a reason now for everything. I know myself, better than anything on this entire planet. I trust her, I trust me, I trust the woman I have become. I often thought about the past, living inside of my mouth. My roots, my parents, my home, my circle, my lovers, all of the words I never got say, they were locked up. My jaw would hardly open. The past was stuck- under my gums, in the roots, infected, cracked, blistered... and I scraped it all out. It killed me, for years. Years of blood, pulling, drilling, stretching, scraping- and today, it is beautiful. How lucky I am to have learned to fight.

5/13/2017

Where did the time go? I have pretty much finished college now. I had my exit interviews yesterday, they went fine. I didn’t really take much from them.. other than maybe have a PDF version of a portfolio, and to make more small talk. I can’t write about school anymore, or think about it at all- I need some time. I’ll talk about it eventually. I’m sick of it, and so thankful to be done.

The only thing I can think about right now is the pain at the back of my jaw. I know it’s a sore, or a bit of wisdom tooth poking through, or a spot where I brushed too hard, but you know it gets. Hypochondria is such an elaborate word for such a stupid, inconvenient thing. I can tell myself a million times over that it’s nothing to worry about, that the human body can heal itself much better than you think it can; but it doesn’t ever help. I’ve been having dreams of my teeth cracking, turning into powder, coming out in puffs when I talk. Dreams about the one spot I keep irritating with my tongue, suddenly caving in, and being rushed to a hospital where I have to get my whole jaw removed.

You know, it will be better by this time next week. It’s already less sore than it’s been, and I’ve been rinsing it with saltwater, and trying to avoid touching it. The thing is though, when you really focus in on the pain, you start to feel it everywhere. It’s not just the spot, its the area around the spot. It’s the whole side of the jaw, then circling around the ear, and down the side of the neck. It’s up into the right side of the brain, the eye, the temples, and into the collarbone, and the shoulder. It’s not that bad, but I think it is. Your brain can do more harm than good, sometimes. I just need to stop touching it.

I’ve never been so excited to move back up North as I am now. I miss my family too much, I miss waking up next to a hot window and smelling the mock orange tree. A fan blowing hot, sticky, orange-scented air into my bedroom every morning, with the sound of my uncle downstairs listening to his game shows a little too loudly, and the sound of my mother laughing and rustling through all the rocks she finds at the lake, the ones she holds up to her magnifying glass while she’s got a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I don’t know if that sounds like paradise to anybody else, but that is absolutely mine.

I want to eat again, I want to wake up and have coffee and cigarettes with my mother, I want to be in my own shower again with that clean mountain water. I’ve had nothing but instant noodles, instant coffee, and canned vegetables for the last month. One more week of this, and I’ll be home. 

4/23/2017

Minutes without you were heavy- now I am starting to notice how light an entire day can be. I have been keeping myself busy with work today- and it feels good. I have been making things my entire life, but I'm still always surprised by how quickly the time passes when I'm working. It's almost like it went somewhere when I wasn't looking. I didn't cry once today. In fact, I barely thought about you until now. I still feel it in my chest, picturing your face in my brain. I wonder how long it will be before I stop writing about you entirely. I like to think now, I finally have closure with us. I do not want any possibility of a future "us". I do not want to ever speak to you again. Before, you were a "someday" and I think thats why it was so hard to let go. Now, you are a "never again". My friend is going to read my cards during the next full moon. I try to do it myself sometimes, but I think it's unfair since I'm missing a few cards. Last time they did it for me, they predicted Micky and I drifting apart. You know I take everything with a grain of salt, but sometimes I have to wonder.. I am hoping it will at least give me a little bit of optimism. I've been oddly excited about journaling, lately. It's so satisfying getting everything out, with no rules, no censorship, no worry of how someone will react. It's also teaching me how temporary some of my moods are... and making me feel a bit overdramatic. It's good, though, I think it is disgusting to stop yourself from feeling things. I think honesty is the most important thing when it comes to journaling, right? I read a quote once, from someone I forget, and I also forget most of the quote.. but it was something about how we write in our diaries with the idea that someday, someone, somewhere, will be reading it. I wonder if we've felt that way all along? I think of all the diaries of poets and artists I've read- did they know I was going to read it? I don't believe anyone will ever read this, but I guess that's what everyone might think. Maybe we keep it so neat, so correct, so articulate, just in case somebody does. I have so much to say tonight. Why do I keep writing so much? Maybe I have missed myself for a while. I am realizing how invested in the other person I get when in a relationship... I need to remember to be with myself sometimes. It's almost as if I disappear every time he's in my life. I'm glad I came back. I also want to talk about my new job. It's sex chatting and sending risqué photos for money online. I didn't know how to write that sentence lightly, so I didn't. I've done it before, but now I'm focusing on it like a real job. I am putting my hours in, and technically, making about $20-$50 an hour, depending on the time and day. Better than being miserable for minimum wage, you know? It's much more business oriented than you would think, too. It's strictly sexual, not personal, or romantic, or any of that. There are clear boundaries, and rules, and you do only what you are comfortable with, since its your own "business", technically. Sexually, I am very curious. It sounds like the opposite, but I think this is a much safer way to explore my sexuality. Anonymously talking dirty with faceless people, exchanging photos with people who will never even know my name, all the while making money for it too. I know a million people that would judge me; I know a million and one people that would ask me where to sign up.

4/22/2017

This week, this month, this year, maybe this whole life- it's so hard at times. It seems one bad thing has been happening after the other. I know I sound dramatic, but I'm so sick of never being able to catch a break. I need to write down some things to make sure I keep up with, I think it's the only thing keeping me sane; -final editorial illustrations, sunday -blind contours, at least 15, sunday -science essays, at least 4, sunday -portfolio illustration, sunday & monday -print internship info, monday -send out call for work, sunday & monday more to come, I'm sure of it. The more I do however, the closer I am to finally being done with school. I think I am reaching my breaking point- tonight I was written up, and had my room randomly searched by campus life, and they found an empty jug of wine under my bed. It's funny, how absurd it is. A sweet girl getting in trouble for drinking sweet wine, at almost 22 years old. Someone actually ratted me out from an instagram post- I was actually drinking off campus at Maria's, like always, but they still searched my room. I would laugh it off easier, especially with 3 weeks until graduation, if it weren't for the fact that someone I know had been the narc. What kind of boring, bitter, authority-complex-having person do you have to be to report a legal adult drinking off campus? It blows my mind. Again, people get whats coming to them. Part of me feels stupid for posting a photo of booze- but at the same time, it's legal for me to drink, legal for me to share photos, legal to post whatever I want- I'm most upset over the fact that I now need to censor myself. Last time something like this happened, K was there to text me through the night, and through my anxiety belly-aches. He'd remind me how temporary and trivial it all is- and he's been in much much worse trouble before. I know this is stupid and won't matter a month from now, but you know how anxiety blows things up... I am trying not to miss him. I miss having someone to talk me to sleep, to remind of the world outside of school, to tell me pretty things all day; but I will adjust, I will learn to keep myself company. It's a change in routine, it will feel normal eventually.

4/19/2017

I cried yesterday. I cried all night. I cried this morning. I am crying now. I just want it to stop. Will it ever stop? 

He told me over and over again that I’m not like other girls; I guess if anything, I am much more foolish than the rest of them. 

I should have known better than to fall for the same person twice. It only took seeing him once after a year to fall again, but harder. I always like to think with boys, I am one step ahead; this time, I was twenty behind. I asked him, nagged him, joked with him, begged him- please tell me if there are other girls. It was so easy for him to say no. 

I feel sick, and used, and dirty. I hate my body now because I know it’s the same one I let him touch. That’s all I was to him, anyway- something to touch, to corrupt. 

When I was with him, or talking to him, or even just thinking about him, things felt right. Things lined up. Things made sense for once. I felt light, and beautiful, and cared about for the first time in my life. I felt interesting, and special, and warm. He used to kiss the back of my head when we were sleeping. He told me I was cute every time it popped into his head. He said he wanted to protect me, to take care of me; It’s kind of funny, how he ended up doing the exact opposite.

He said he had feelings for me, too. Then proceeded to tell me he has a girlfriend.

I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I thought it was loneliness, and sadness, and misery, and sobbing on the bathroom floor, wishing the person would have just killed you while they were at it.

Turns out, it’s much different. It feels like bricks on your chest, and acid in your stomach. And It isn’t sobbing, per say, it’s more having tears fall out of your eyes quietly, nonstop, and hiding sniffles when your roommate walks in. It’s headaches and sour stomachs and unfinished paintings. It’s pretending you weren’t just crying when you get to class. It’s gullible, and foolish, and young, and naive. It’s lying in bed, staring at an ugly, badly spackled wall, and wondering how long it will be before you can act like a normal person again.