I can’t stop thinking about you.
You need to quit this, good sir.
Steam is literally coming out of my ears right now.
I need to chill the fuck out.
I don’t think you quite understand what is happening.
And I haven’t really informed anyone about much of anything in my life. I try, I pretend to, but it never really works.
I don’t think you quite understand the severity of this.
You mentioned something about how I would rather be miserable than ask for help… Well you’re right. I’m prideful. And I told you that. You’d think you’d damn well get it. I would rather suffer than admit I am weak. That I can no longer help others, and that I need someone to come bring me back to my feet. I believe I am strong enough to do it on my own.
You hear the words ‘I’m fine’ and ‘It’s okay’.
You don’t really see what’s behind the words.
You don’t see the dark, late nights of tears, where sleep evades my wakefulness.
You don’t see how prayers that are supposed to be about happiness and life turn into sadness and death.
I have legitimately prayed for death more times than I can count, because I do not want to kill myself and leave my love ones blaming themselves. I would rather die of causes that make it seem like I was never this weak.
You don’t see how I fight with myself every second for the things I have done that are no good. And even the things I do that are good. I always find fault.
You don’t see that the nausea and the colds and the headaches and the bruises and the lack of exercise and the puking and the nosebleeds are from stress.
You don’t see how much blame I take for the things that plague my family. And have since I was a sophomore.
You don’t see how much I worry at night, and why I never get sleep, and why the bags under my eyes are hidden with layers of makeup, and still sometimes shine through. You don’t see that when I say I’m tired all the time it’s because I can’t sleep due to everything weighing down.
You don’t see how much I want to end everything. You don’t see how much I want to make myself happy. How BAD I feel that the loved ones and good things in my life don’t make me happy enough. You don’t see me hurt myself.
But if you looked, you might notice how I hide it.
I cry in the backroom at work sometimes, after the nosebleeds. I cry and hate myself for crying.
Just like I can’t find the energy to workout much anymore, and I hate myself for not being able to find it. I hate myself. I loathe myself. I hate how I act, how I look, how I exist. I hate how everything I have ever wanted has fallen through my fingertips.
I hate how I please people instead of doing things for myself. I hate how well I hide things, too. I hate how I can so easily coax you into thinking things are fine. Because I’m to scared to let you in.
I’m my own worst enemy, truthfully.
And I will be my own downfall.
For now, I’m just done.
Don’t come to my house and be all cute now and have tattoos and piercings and not leave and stay to talk and make jokes and remind me of the old days and ask me about things in my life and don’t you dare tell me you’ll see me soon or later or whatever you said I’m trying to forget.
This was supposed to be the last night I ever looked into your eyes again. This was the final link between us.
And you had to be all perf.
So I don’t know much about the show… But I’m a little worried to find out that the dude named Klaus and I have the same tattoo….
He sincerely told me that I look good.
And I’ve been waiting years to hear that from him.
But you know something funny?
It did not even reach the summit of the time you called me “beautiful”.
Why the hell is that.
I usually try to be nice but the second you set me off… Well there’s really no going back.
So tonight my mom’s friend wanted to see my new fish, so I brought her into my room.
And we looked at them, then she noticed my quote wall. She began reading them quietly; out loud too.
“When I fall in love, it will be forever” -Jane Austen was the first, then she read a few more. And told me a story about her first marriage. Then she stops and tells me to not fall in love too young.
And I said, blankly, “I won’t.”
Then she looks at me and goes, “What’s his name?”
And I kind of froze, trying to play it off. It’s so hard. So hard to speak his name. It’s so hard to remember the feel of it against my tongue; the way it lulls out of my mouth like some addicting music.
I told her, and then I tried to pretend like it didn’t hurt. I scrolled for a picture and showed her. She asked about him with a smile. So I told her a bit. His age, where is he now, what’s he’s done for me… I could have gone on a tangent forever. Everything he has done for me would take forever to speak of.
He gave me wholeness. He gave me comfort. He gave me courage. He gave me strength. He gave me a reason to wake up and feel good. He gave me hope…
I felt content when I spoke of him, like I had before. I told her he said I was beautiful, and that he was always concerned for me. I didn’t say how deeply I remembered his eyes; the way they looked at me with such worry. The dark chocolates and the specks of hazel… I will never forget staring into them and feeling electricity and purpose.
I remembered it all, like a lost dream. It swept over me, and I could feel that same old, soft, heartfelt smile like when I used to speak of him.
I’ve said his name maybe twice in the past month. Texting, a few more times, but verbally, I cannot say it very often. It stings. It tastes bitter. But not a bad kind of bitter. The kind of bitter that you want more of, but you know if you taste more you’ll make a strange, uncertain face.
I shared a few memories of him. I shared things I have buried deep within me, trying to keep the emotions at bay. If I start those feelings again, I will never be able to stop them.
All I want to do is gaze peacefully into those eyes again, knowing that they’re looking back for the same reasons. But that won’t ever happen, and I have to learn to accept it. I have to learn to not hide my emotions. But I know that I will mask them for the rest of my life.
They’re right when they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
I promised myself I wouldn’t fall in love anytime soon…
That’s the first time I’ve ever broken a promise.
She told me to keep her posted.
I couldn’t agree to it. There’s nothing to keep her posted on anymore.