I’m so happy that I’m sad and I just want to lay down and cry….yeah that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
I got to enjoy this message today
"You’re not insane. From what I have gathered, (and I don’t say this to sound self righteous in anyway, but rather to prove a point) you are constantly wondering why, after being treated like shit by so many guys why I am here and not treating you like shit. The truth of the matter is that you need to accept the fact you deserve to be happy. You are an incredible, beautiful, smart, exciting, blunt/honest woman who deserves to be as happy as possible. I have learned that no matter what, you always make me happy. You make me feel a way that I haven’t felt in a long time. You make me excited. You make me want to make you happy every step of the way. You have to accept that fact that someone wants to dedicate themselves to you, share something with you, and make you happy and treat you right. The second you accept that, all of this will become easier"
I didn’t get to say goodbye to my dogs, Maggie and Lucy.
Then again, I didn’t know my stepdad planned on leaving my mom a month after dropping me off at school. He wished me the best in an email I opened in my dorm room while doing my make up on a Wednesday morning. After I left him the ballsiest voicemail I will ever have the courage to verbalize, I cried and skipped my Spanish oral and written expression discussion. Pero en serio, ¿quien le importaba?
On August 31st, 1999 I left my house to go be a mermaid at the beach with some friends. I came home to being a 5 year old, land locked girl, and learned that Dad moved to be with God, but we weren’t going. I was okay, I had a Shirley Temple and presents, what good was Dad after all? I didn’t care until I found out Dad couldn’t watch the Red Sox anymore and only then did I realize the seriousness of what living with God meant.
Men terrify me. I’m totally comfortable with being lured and wooed by a man, maybe sleep with him and then him just falling off the face of the planet. I think it’s normal: that’s what men do after they get their fulfillment of food and sex. I think that’s my level of worth, and I always expect it. My counselor tells me it’s fucked up that you and your friends call me crazy or Dragon (since I breathe fire and could cause massive destruction at the drop of the hat) but I don’t care about myself enough to immediately rule you off.I rubbed your back while you laid on the floor of my bathroom after you wandered to my dorm room blackout. You didn’t care. I literally cleaned your piss off myself and my bathroom at 4 in the morning. You didn’t care. I gave you my bed and slept on my deflating air mattress, the last surface a spinal fusion patient should sleep on. You didn’t care. I drove out to visit you as soon as I received authorization from my surgeon. You didn’t care. You slept with someone else while I waited for you to text me when I was alone in the spinal trauma unit, 2 weeks after we admitted there were feelings and we’d stay in touch, hoping that just maybe you’d ponder the idea of visiting or just surprise me, maybe just shoot me a few words of comfort, because I would have. You still didn’t care. Thinking about that instance alone makes me cry and bitterly hate myself.You never “just have” to sleep with someone, you could have asked her to leave rather than “fuck her to get her out”. Even when you broke down the other night and I was there for you. I always told you “I just care” and I meant it whole heartedly.
I’m so torn and broken. I am selfish and either way I lean, I hurt someone. I shouldn’t care about hurting you. You have scarred me so much that I can’t commit to a man that calls 5 grocery stores to find my favorite flowers, who texts me some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read or heard someone say about me. Someone that when I’m with them, I can hold a great conversation, doors open themselves, and dinner checks are paid. Someone who just is happy when they think about making me happy.Someone who is patient, thoughtful, and kind. Who accepts my past and doesn’t jump to make judgements. Someone who makes me feel normal.
I can’t make you care about me, I can’t bring you out of your admitted denial. I sometimes wonder if you would even think twice if something happened to me and I was in the hospital again or I suddenly died. You didn’t care before, so why should you then? I still can’t bring myself to do the same things you did to me. I can’t do that to anyone: I can’t do things people have done that hurt me to anyone else, no matter how much I should.
I can’t wait anymore, I’ve waited for a year for the smoke of fear, uncertainty, arrogance, ignorance and naivety to dissipate from your eyes, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere. You have so much potential to be an incredible human being and your wasting it on weed, angst, and women that only exist in your torrented anime collection. I can’t keep supporting a lost cause that has a map.
and not feel devilish.
when i am missing you, i go on google earth and pretend that we are going on walks together. i play conversations out in my head that are based off previous conversations. i offer commentary on the things that we walk past and sometimes it makes you smile.