I’ll Find It

I’ll find what I am looking for

through awful men like him.

I’ll find it passed out on the floor,

from drinking too much gin.

I’ll find it through the devil’s eyes

by being so deceived.

I’ll find it within all their lies,

because they only lie to me.

I’ll find it through my broken heart,

that will heal on its own.

I’ll find it when I fall apart

’cause that’s the only thing I know.

I’ll find it when the left wrist bleeds,

and it takes a lot to stop.

I’ll find it when the medicine sinks,

and I am done falling apart.

I’ll find it when I am okay,

and everything would have been worth it.

Sadly, it is not today,

but that does not mean I don’t deserve it.

 

 

Anal Sex

My friend Mel is working up the courage to get ass-fucked by her boyfriend. It’s really sweet when you think about it. Ugh. I’m so happy for her. Anyway, let’s talk about the reality of anal sex:

It can suck my motherfucking dick. That shit hurts sooooooo fucking bad. There was probably ONCE when it was tolerable for me, and by tolerable I mean I wasn’t clenching the blanket in my fists as bad, and my eyes weren’t shut as tight, and my silent cries of help were just silent moans of pain. Too far? I sound like I’m getting anally raped. I wasn’t, for the record. I’m being slightly overdramatic. Colleen, if it’s that awful, why do you fucking do it? Super good question. So, when I was in a relationship with my ex, I wanted to experience everything sexual with him; we were incredibly inexperienced. I knew anal would hurt, despite girls in pornos taking it like a FUCKING CHAMP. He wasn’t too fond of period sex and to be honest, I don’t think I am either. But like, just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t want you to offer. Like… if my vagina is bleeding that shouldn’t stop you from wanting to fuck me, regardless of whether it looks like a motherfuckin’ crime scene afterwards or not. At least be a gentleman and offer. Fuck. Anyway, so, I was on my period probably, or we just did it because we both wanted to try it. We went to Walgreens and got lube. Lol. I can’t with my 18 year old self. Were we 18 or 19…? We first had sex at 18, but I can’t see myself waiting a year to try anal sex – that’s insane and unjust.

So girls, you know when he’s fucking you and it legitimately accidentally almost goes into your ass? How many of you have been like: NOPE, NO, NOPE. WRONG HOLE! WRONG HOLE! Yeah. We’ve all been there. Only this time it was the right hole and I wasn’t only losing my butt virginity, but my dignity as well.  Just kidding. At least I did it with someone that loved and cared about me, right? Anyway. So, I lubed up my ass, and lubed up his dick. I’m pretty sure I used almost the entire bottle. I remember him being like do we really need that much? And me giving him a look like this is my asshole. Do you not know that it hurts? And he says what I’m sure a lot of guys say their first time fucking a girl, or guy’s ass: It hurts? No fucking shit. PORN IS NOT ALWAYS REALISTIC. Shortly thereafter, I was bent over my bed, and he slowly went in, and holy fucking shit, did that hurt. He was like, does it hurt? And I was thinking in my head: YES IT FUCKING HURTS SHUT THE FUCK UP. JUST HURRY UP AND CUM IN MY ASS. But I didn’t say anything and I think he could tell by my silence that it fucking hurt. He also tried rubbing my clit while doing it and I was like don’t fucking do that – don’t touch me. That, I said out loud… lmao. Oops. How incredibly unsexy. In short, I’m not a huge fan of anal. I did it with him because he didn’t like period sex, and I loved him. After doing it for a while and not being a stranger to it, it wasn’t as bad. And I always vowed to myself that I’d do it and could get into it if the person was into it and I liked them a lot or whatever. Obviously I am older, and a little bit more experienced, and so are the guys (sort of), so I think it’s something you could definitely get into. Ass play is becoming more and more popular. A lot of guys are ass guys now a days, in every form. I won’t lie to you, there are times where you’ll have anal, and then be scared to take a shit. And I don’t mean  like, shit on his dick, I mean scared to take a shit even if you have to the day after or a couple hours after because it hurts so bad. Too graphic? To the guys who are reading this, get the fuck over it.

Okay so let’s talk about guys who like anal sex more than vaginal sex. Some girls have their reservations with it. I mean, if a guy only wanted anal and never wanted to fuck my vagina I’d be insanely offended. Just because it’s like…. is my vagina not good enough for your dick, bitch? Like, sure, give it attention if you’re into it, that’s cool. But don’t make my ass the focal point. Especially since it’s not even my best asset: my boobs are. It is extremely hard in my opinion to tit-fuck unless you have fake tits. Like, big fake tits. But whatever. Back to anal. If you’re dating a guy that won’t fuck your vagina, I’d talk to him. I get that it’s tighter, but come on dude. Sex is a two-way street…in two-way sheets. Too lame?
The last guy I talked to loved blowjobs, so like, that was great for me. He liked sex, obviously, but he said that he’d rather fuck someone in the ass. And I asked over FaceTime while he was probably stroking his dick, Is it just because it’s tighter? I’m pretty sure he said yeah. But I know that for some people it’s a dominance thing. Even though doggy-style is alive and well, it’s different when you put ass into the mix. I think for him also it was like a punishment thing…? And I feel that may be the case for some people as well. Like, you’ve been a bad girl…bend over. And then bam: there’s a dick in your asshole. Without Lube. Most times it’s a bad surprise, and sometimes it’s a good one…like if you’ve been drinking and you’re numb to life and pain. Just Kidding. Not really. Whatever. Moral of the story is, don’t knock the back door until you try it. Personally I am not opposed to it, But if I’m not one for casual sex, then I’m definitely not going to be one for casual anal sex.

The Fuckboy

The names that we’ve given guys has actually had quite an interesting evolution. I’m sure there was once a cave woman gathering around some newly discovered fire with her girlfriends, drinking some wine or river water, whatever the fuck they had back then, grunting shit about her stupid husband because he thinks he’s so fucking cool just because he discovered fire. I’m pretty sure it’s a scientifical fact that the first name a guy was ever called, was UGH. From then on, it has evolved so beautifully, so vividly, that it’s almost unbelievable. What’s the latest term? Fuckboy. Or, Fuqboi. However you want to say it, spell it, snort it, it all means the same thing. I mean, asshole will always be a classic. So will douchebag. But Fuckboy…that’s turning into a real respected word. What is a Fuckboy, you might ask? The answer is simple: a Fuckboy is primitive to the male species. Think back to all of the ever-so-changing bad terms we’ve referred guys to: he’s all of that in one. He’s lame. Or he’s a loser. Or he’s a cheater. Or he uses you. He’s a liar. He’s a player. All of the above. He gives no fucks about you, just wants to fuck you. Probably either hates his mom, or loves his mom way too much – there is no in between. He also has at least 1 mirror selfie with his shirt off, and wears sunglasses indoors.
I so desperately wish that I could say The Fuckboy is a species that is slowly dying off and becoming extinct, but unfortunately, they’re like cockroaches – those motherfuckers have been around since the dawn of time; they survive nuclear wars and shit. THEY DON’T FUCKING DIE! Even if you squish one, mofo’s probably still gonna try and fuck another bitch with its legs broken and back cracked. How is that possible, you might ask? Well, it’s simple: They’re Fuckboys. The Fuckboy, much like the beloved cockroach, can withstand even the harshest of conditions. The only difference between the two, like, literally, the only difference, is that a cockroach cannot get up in the morning, find girls on tinder to fuck, and douse itself in cologne in which it thinks attracts the opposite sex. I mean, maybe cockroaches do that. Also, another thing, cockroaches actually want to stick around and never fucking leave. A Fuckboy does not do that – maybe just a psycho who you talked to at a bar and won’t stop fucking calling and texting you even though you’ve blocked their number more than once.
The Fuckboy is a very tricky species – it can inhabit its host as early on as birth, or, possibly later on in the host’s life. Very rarely is the host ever able to overcome the Fuckboy species. It is volatile and progressive. 10 in every 10 girls have either been exposed to, or were affected by the Fuckboy species. There is no actual cure; it’s like AIDS. That shit stays with you. Just one brief encounter, and you’re fucked. And not in a good way. There are, however, ways to nurse yourself back to health. After you’ve been quarantined for an unknown amount of hours, (hours may vary upon patient) watch some SATC with your best friends and or cat (if your life is sad like mine) and realize that the Fuckboy is just a bad moment in life, not a bad life, and realize you should love yourself before any boy because if you’re insecure as fuck and tell them that, you’re gonna be vulnerable. And no one deserves your vulnerability until they have proven to be worthy of it. But beware of them. They are proficient in lying and manipulation. We like to think that the species of woman has evolved to become smarter, and given said species a resistance to the Fuckboy, but sadly, scientists are still working on it. What makes the Fuckboy so dangerous is its ability to adapt in any situation, thus becoming the situation. The Fuckboy also camouflages itself to appear less volatile, which leads the female species under false pretenses in thinking that the Fuckboy is nice or different than the others. They are very good at this. But I beg you…please don’t be fooled. Their deception is on fucking point. You will believe that you are the only person he’s talking to or is interested in. He will lie and say things like how you’re different; I’m so comfortable around you; your head is amazing – be my girlfriend; I really like you; I don’t want you as a fuck buddy, I want you as something more eventually, and the list goes on and on and on. Fuckboys exist in all shapes and sizes. Some of them even give themselves nicknames. Gross. There is also a very high possibility that he will ghost you. That means if he’s not feelin’ it, he’ll just slowly stop talking to you and hope you get the hint, or just stop cold turkey. If he has any respect for himself and humanity, he will tell you what’s up. But even then, he’ll probably say something fucking dumb as fuck like and cliche like: It’s not you, it’s me; I’m just not ready to settle down yet; yeah, you’re nice and sweet but I want to fuck other people; you’re too good for me; I’m too fucked up and have too much going on; I want to focus on my career; you’re just not good enough for me; you’re too insecure; you’re not skinny enough for me, sorry. Some of those aren’t that cliche, and almost all of those things have been said to me, if that makes any girl out there feel better.

So, how do you weed out the Fuckboys from the good guys? Well fuck if I know. I’d say just don’t blow them on the first date, but even if you didn’t, that wouldn’t stop their Fuckboy-ness. I won’t curse the last Fuckboy I encountered. He wasn’t a Fuckboy at first, but, then again, isn’t that what they do…? Act like super sweet and pretend to like you and then hit you with a couple lines that make you feel like you’re pathetic and crazy for thinking they ever liked you in that way to begin with? Then they just become another number on the list, and another person you write about. Actually I was impressed with the last one, and I told him why. He really had me fooled. Either he lied the entire time, or he just realized later on that I wasn’t amazing enough for him to be with. That was what was said by the way: he alluded that he wasn’t really feeling it, or feeling just me anymore, so I was like you’re not the problem, apparently it’s me because you think I’m nice and sweet and my head game is decent, but I’m not an amazing enough girl for you to want to be with. And he replied with, I’m a jerk I know. Snaps and claps to you, Mr. F. I do wish him well, though. Like his personality was pretty cool. He was fucking weird and looked like a serial killer. Maybe that’s why I was into it… either way, moral of the story is…I’m not sure.

Just, be careful out there. The Fuckboy is a species that is developing all too quickly. I see them every day – strutting down the hallways at school, browsing by the polos or khaki shorts at work, even by the 1MX’s. THEY HAVE STARTED TO DRESS DIFFERENTLY. It used to be Ed Hardy shirts or gelled hair or sunglasses indoors. Unfortunately, the species has evolved. Just please, for the love of God, do not fall for their deception. It does take fucking//blowing a couple Fuckboys in order to find a sweet, nice guy. But wait… this is 2016 and I’m in my early 20’s. Fuck.

What I Don’t Expect You to Understand

Clearly everyone handles situations differently: that is blatantly obvious. I don’t ever, ever expect my family or best friends to fully understand how and why I feel about certain situations. One came up particularly that has been a hot topic within friend groups, I’m sure. I don’t expect people to understand my logic, reasoning, and rationality – if I even have any of that. I want to be completely real right now…not that I’m not ever, but not gonna lie, I’ve held back because I know what people think when they read what I write. Trust me, I know! I handle things differently, just like everyone else. I write. I fixate. I write. I dwell. I cry. I write. I write. I move forward but still write about it. That is what I fucking do. Sorry not sorry…? Like, I don’t know what else you expect me to say? Whenever I reference my ex, people, my friends, wonder why I do. And I get that… Because it almost seems like I am re-living the past every time I do. But you all wonder and ponder over the root of my insecurities and whatnot, which don’t have much to do with him, yet everything at the same time. Why do I suck random peoples’ dicks while my peers are in loving, happy relationships? Why do I waste my time on guys that, care, but don’t care as much as I do? And why…why was I not good enough to be loved in my last relationship? I don’t fully believe it was because I couldn’t love myself. That’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry, but when your ex boyfriend that you dated for 3 years, that you had a history with, that was your first everything, that wanted you back after they broke your heart, dates a girl with the same first and middle name as you…with the same features… I will never be able to get over that. I won’t say never. But…. How am I supposed to feel? The person I loved so fucking much couldn’t, didn’t love me, after all that time. Didn’t want to live with me, didn’t want a family with me, cringed at the thought of any future movement… But here he is… In love with a girl who has my name. Who is everything that I couldn’t be for him: successful, happy, positive, etc. actually I have no idea if that’s how she is. But whatever. And he will probably marry her. And that’s fine. But here I am, being pathetic, when I can’t even get a guy to want me for something more than whatever the fuck. Oh, but, it’s cool if his ‘best friend’ hits on me, right? And it’s cool that his other friend snap chats me about my boobs. And then says he’s ‘kidding’. Okay. Awesome. Listen. I just want what everyone wants. I know I have a lot of flaws but I shouldn’t have to apologize for them if I’m a good person deep down, and I am because I would do anything for someone that I cared about. I want someone to think that my irrationality is neurotic – that it’s cute. I want someone to be unapologetically in love with me… For me. I want someone to be weird with. I want someone who doesn’t think I’m a psycho just because I have the encyclopedia of serial killers and the satanic bible in my book case. I’m still Catholic, people. I just find a lot of things fascinating. I want someone to think I’m amazing. Like, truly. Not just because they’re fucking me. I want someone to give blowjobs to regularly and make breakfast for. I want that person to be genuinely intrigued by not only me, but my thoughts, ideas, and writing. I don’t want them to freak out when I say that my idea of a perfect wedding would be like… Vintage gothic inspired. I don’t want to be ‘too weird’ for them. I want them to be just as weird in their own way. I want them to genuinely think my blowjobs are amazing and everything else. I want them to know that depression is no joke… And that it’s not easily fixable or maintained. I’m depressed and I can’t always help or prevent it. Whatever. It’s late. This is random. Good night. I’m not even editing it. Sorry not sorry. 

The Vagina Chronicals: Does X Mark the Spot?

Mia’s Vagina:

Firstly, no. I’m not talking about fucking a pirate; I’ve never fucked a pirate…unless you want to count Brad Stevenson at Stephanie Mason’s Halloween party back in 2013. Which, by the way, I still have nightmares. We were so drunk…

Anyway, so like, my confidence is super high, right? But sadly, Mia’s isn’t. I mean I don’t know what she’s so insecure about… She’s average height and slim. Her skin complexion is fairly decent except for the occasional breakout. What more could you ask for in life? As long as I’m pretty then that’s all that matters. I will say this though, if it looks good enough to eat, it probably isn’t. But luckily I was blessed *insert praying hands and hair flip emojis*. Storytelling isn’t really my thing because I have better things to do like maintain my figure, so I’ll cut to the chase. 

Unfortunately, Mia has a new boyfriend. I use the term boyfriend very loosely; he’s more of a short-term designated fuckboy. But why do I say unfortunately, you ask? Well, for one, I fucking love dick. But Mia is all like nooo I want to be in love blah blah blah. Fucking gag me. Actually, no, someone should literally fucking gag her – God knows the bitch needs it. But her boyfriend is a loser and he annoys me. You guys, his name is Bob. Fucking Bob! I shit you not! That’s almost as bad as Paul. His 16 year old trailer trash mom named him Bob (actually I think his parents live in Connecticut and his dad’s an investment banker and his mom’s a teacher. She didn’t really have him at 16 – I’m just being overdramatic). But anyway, it’s not even short for anything like the way Jesus intended. You think he died for our sins just so dumbass upper middle class white people could name their sons Bob?! Um. No. Wanna know another reason why I hate his penis and the douche attached to it? He. Fucking. Insulted. Me. Like, what? Excuse me, but, the last time I checked I was perfect and you weren’t circumcised (not that I have anything against that because, you know…Jesus and shit). But come on. Aesteically, it’s just not that pleasing. But whatever, I’ve been given the challenge before so it doesn’t bother me that much. 

We had sex with Bob for the first time last night. Despite my negative feelings towards him, I was excited because I was very sexually frustrated and Mia doesn’t masturbate *yawn; eye roll* so I was like cool. So like, I’m getting excited because he’s not too bad at foreplay like I expected him to be, and his hand movements are decent. The whole time I hear him complimenting Mia’s amazing body and I’m just bitter as fuck. Not literally…because I taste good. But like why can’t you compliment me? I’m amazing…

So he gets inside… And he does not make the sound that I’m used to hearing. Or the facial expressions I’m used to seeing. Every guy is different, I’m not an idiot, but like the slight moan or the heavy breath or either the stillness of the eyes looking at the person or their eyes closing briefly because it feels so good, he did none of that. NOTHING. And I take it very personally when a guy is fucking us and he doesn’t cum. Like, cum in me, cum on her face, cum on her tits, I really don’t care what you do to the bitch, as long as you cum. I know it’s silly to get upset about but shut up. So it lasted an excruciatingly painful 2 minutes. I think Mia may have thought that she liked it, but I didn’t. After 2 minutes, he gets off of her (she’s boring and doesn’t like to be on top), he shoves his dick in her face and says, suck me off, baby. I cringed. Gross. Not that I’m against blowjobs, but the way he said it was way too sleezy child-pornographer-like. Don’t ask how I know that. But that’s not even the sickest part…. 

This motherfucker had the fucking audacity 10 minutes after he tried to cum on her tits but fucking missed because he has bad aim so it was more like… on her stomach; on her chest; on her jawline, to text his friend and tell him that he missed Cindy and her ‘tight pussy’. Cindy is his motherfucking ex girlfriend. Literally. She probably fucked his mom. 

There are so many things wrong with that text. First off, Cindy is a stripper name. But not like the classy stripper that gets tipped in 10’s and 20’s. She’s like the truck stop stripper that old creepy men go to see when they’ve been on the road too long and they’re miserable with their fat, old, ugly wives. She wears a shiny green bikini that very poorly covers her c-section scar. Secondly, I’m fucking tight as fuck. His dick is too small and I’m not even saying that as like a petty thing: it kind of was really small. And like, I’m not defending her boring-ness, but Mia can get a bit prude. But she’s sweet. Not that that makes up for anything she lacks sex-wise but it’s worth a try. I am an amazing, independent vagina and I demand justice. Third of all, why are we talking about your ex? Do guys do that? Do they fuck their new prospect//girlfriend and then think that her pussy isn’t as bomb as the last one…? That’s not really fair. Poor Mia. Actually, poor me… I’m the one who gets screwed in this situation and ironically it’s not even in a literal sense. I’m a huge believer that it is very important to be sexually compatible in a relationship. If the guy’s an asshole, then, well, sometimes it’s those kinds of guys that are the best. Okay no. I have to focus. What I’m trying to say is….if you want something longer-term, they have to be right for you and your vagina in more ways than one. 

In the words of our gay best friend quoting someone from Mob Wives (I think): BobPaul could lick my motha fuckin’ pussy in fuckin’ Macy’s. 

Hope everyone has a wonderful day; stay wet! 

Xx,

Mia’s Vagina. 

She Has the Ocean in Her Eyes

She has the ocean in her eyes:

he saw that as she spoke to him. 

But with his words she found his lies,

and thus the trouble starts again. 

She has the ocean in her eyes:

you saw her sadness everyday. 

Even the waves could not disguise –

the pain she felt when he’d gone astray. 

She has the ocean in her eyes:

he looked away in fear of her. 

Nothing that beautiful should ever cry –

but he doesn’t know what caused her tears. 

And then the moon comes out to play –

and her pupils sink like a broken ship. 

The oceans’ currents, the tidal waves –

Collide together because of him. 

She had the ocean in her eyes:

the saltiness and freezing cold. 

And though he loved her, though he tried,

he could not fix her broken soul. 

For A Boy Who Doesn’t Care

She looks in the mirror – she sighs. It’s as good as it’s gonna get, she thinks. She fixes her eyeliner and applies her lipstick. Just as she’s about to leave, he texts her and tells her he’s too tired and asks if they can reschedule. She is severely disappointed; she hasn’t seen him in over a week. But she doesn’t let him know that because he’s been going through a lot. He’s good at keeping his word, but she can’t shake the feeling – the feeling that he doesn’t care that much. She’s not that worth it to him, and he’s proven it on more than one occasion. She keeps quiet, though, because there’s something about him; she likes him so much. She doesn’t know what it is. But alas, there lies the problem. She liked him more than he liked her. Unless he is just awful at showing it. But she examines the evidence: she’s tried so hard and has put so much effort into making him happy. And it’s not even in a way to make him like her – that’s just the kind of person she is. She could tell him everything that she liked about him, and his replies were those of gratitude, but they lacked depth, they lacked true appreciation of her soul. And they did not comply. She gets another text, hoping its him. It’s not. It’s a different guy. This guy has liked her in the past, but she’s only seen him as a friend. He asks if she wants to hang out. She thinks about it, considering she’s already dressed. But she’s already started tearing up from the prior cancellation; she’s already upset that she’s not good enough for him to think of her as something, someone important. So she ignores the other guy, and lays in her bed. She sobs. Her phone lights up, and she perks up – she thinks it’s him but it’s not. It’s snap chat. She looks at who snapped her. She rolls her eyes. It’s a guy she used to talk to, but she stopped because she felt like he wasn’t that into her anymore and he wasn’t making an effort. Ironic, right? She angrily opens the snap while yelling at what the hell he could possibly be sending her. It’s something pointless. She throws her phone. She’s annoyed. Why is he trying to talk to her again. She doesn’t care. She’s only interested in one guy. She doesn’t care about any other one. She wishes she did, sometimes. Because then maybe she wouldn’t feel as pathetic. Then he texts her. She looks at her phone through watered eyes and squints. He apologizes and wishes that she could sleep with him. She texts him back. She knows that he likes her somewhat, that he enjoys her company. But she feels upset. She has tried so hard. She really does care about him. And the funny thing is is that she is oblivious to the other guys who find her intriguing, and who think that she is worth more than anything. She is oblivious; he is also oblivious to the guys who think that about her. Rationally she knows she has the ability to attract other people, but she’s always so down on herself. She is understanding and she is naive. It’s been a couple months and this person has seeped in and become important to her. She wasn’t expecting him to at all. But it happened. And though her heart isn’t always pumping, it is made of gold. And if she finds someone that is worth putting in effort for, then they should feel happy. Because she’s considerate. And she pays attention. She listens. She actually cares. She wonders how many girls do that, but then she realizes that a lot of them do. She’s not the first girl to him to care. And it is disheartening that she won’t be the last. She prides herself on being different and thinks she can be significant. And to some, she is. To her ex boyfriend’s best friend, she is. To her friend, she is. To this person she went to high school with, she is. To the boys who don’t matter, she is. But to the one that matters to her, it remains a mystery. She thinks highly of him and lowly of herself. She assumes he is able to attract every beautiful girl, and those girls will be so much better than her in every aspect. And she will be forgotten. But maybe in order to be forgotten, you had to be memorable in the first place. And she clearly wasn’t to him. And no one has the heart to tell her that she is a complete, naive idiot. She’s smart, and she knows what she deserves. She knows that there are people who see her as someone that could be special. But she’s waiting and hoping, as girls so often do. She re-examines every encounter and gesture. Every time she showed genuine concern. Every time she tried to make him feel better. And where has it gotten her? Now she feels more alone than ever. 

This is for all the boys who will never care. And what makes it difficult for girls is that they know you’ll care about someone eventually. You’ll see them as this amazing person who is worth everything. But you couldn’t see her as that. And that is the saddest part, by far. 

This is Important 

Listening to Jhene Aiko’s ‘The Worst’ on repeat again doesn’t say much about myself. I want to say something:
Everything you’ve ever lived. Everything you’ve ever been upset about. Every heartbreak that you’ve ever experienced. Has all lead up to this exact moment in your life. Everything. Every downfall; every altercation; every fight; every suicide attempt. But you’re here. And you’re breathing. You have survived it all. Good job. Everything you thought you would NEVER be able to get through. You did it. Good for you, you badass motherfucker. I forgot what it was like to truly live through the worst pain that I had ever felt. And I remember thinking that since I got through that, nothing else meant shit. Everything else would be easy because, hello, I could get through anything. But how often it is that we forget things and become too cocky. No guy would ever have the chance to hurt me because I wouldn’t give them the opportunity to. And even if I did, so what? I didn’t know them for more than a month. Go ahead. Try and tell me you don’t like me. Bye. Life experiences and moments help us grow and realize how strong we are. We know what to expect, almost. But…just because you once went through something that you got through, doesn’t mean that it won’t be able to affect you again. It doesn’t really always take the hurt away. But it lets you know that you’ll be iight. I have spent a lot of time writing about my feelings and my insecurities and my downfalls and why guys don’t like me and blah blah blah. That’s kind of annoying. However there’s a reason why I have this public and not private. But I don’t think I’ll write about specific guys anymore. Unless they’re my friends. It is a waste of words. There will be no more, ‘so, I’m talking to this guy, and…’ Unless it’s a ridiculous experience physically, emotionally or in general. No. I’m not talking to this guy. That guy will text me when he’s drunk asking when we can hang out again. Disclaimer: I met him in October. We stopped ‘talking’ in October. And this was the person that said I was too insecure for them to date. No. It will be about me. Because I need to focus on myself. And I’ve realized something. There is absolutely no point in telling anyone that you are or could potentially be interested in your insecurities. If you just met them, do they deserve to know that you don’t like yourself? It gives them the upper-hand. Very few will actually listen, and not use it against you or whatever. But for the most part, if you show any sign of weakness, you’re done. Come to think of it, senior year I was such a bitch to my ex boyfriend when him and I were talking. But like that’s how I flirt and it’s part of my charm. I baked him brownies for his birthday and brought them to 1st period because we had that class together. When he walked in he came straight for my desk and I pushed the brownies toward him and said, ‘Here. Happy birthday.’ in my super monotone voice, seeming disinterested. No hug, no nothing. But it’s not like I was playing some kind of game – that’s just really how I was. I miss that about myself. I was like that until we became official. But even after, I still did. Maybe it was after I fell in love when it stopped. I can’t recall a time during that when I talked about my insecurities. This is going to sound horrible, but at the time, he just liked me so much, that even if I would ‘let my guard down’ or ‘show vulnerability’, he wouldn’t care because to him at the moment, I was this amazing person. Until I thought I wasn’t. There were times here and there when I was insecure and he could tell, but it didn’t matter. Until I made it matter. Hm. What an epiphany-like thought. I know a lot of things logically and rationally. But my mind is not that. Of course I know you shouldn’t hate yourself; you shouldn’t talk about your insecurities with guys you just met. I guess I am a mixture of honest and naive. Qualities that will never completely go away – I will just be smarter as to who I share them with. 

 I will never not be a sarcastic bitch. I will never not be cynical. I will never be upbeat and happy all the time. That doesn’t mean I will deliberately try to not be, but that is just who I am. And that’s okay. But I think it’s finally time to live, and not despise myself. I’ve said that so many times before. But… There are things that are so deeply embedded into your soul, that there is absolutely no way anyone would be able to help you but yourself. And believe me, it will follow you until you confront it. It will eat at you, it will get inside of your head, it will affect your relationships, it will affect yourself. And it won’t stop – it doesn’t matter who you have in your life: it is something that you need to fight on your own. It is so dark and hateful. But you are the only person with the light. It won’t be dark forever. The sun will rise and we will try again. 

Thank you to the person that I’ve known for the past 6 months. You are a rare breed. You’re a great person to be with, and you’re a great friend. I will always appreciate you and how you helped. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with my friendship. *flips hair*

And to everyone in my life, thank you for constantly being the light that I needed. But now it’s time to be my own. Although I know you guys, and you’ll never stop. For that, I am grateful. I love you more than I will ever be able to write into beautiful words. 

By the way, this isn’t a suicide letter. It kinda sounds like one but I totes promise that it’s not. 

To the Storm

The storm clouds rolled in not too long after I had realized what had been going on. Unfortunately this was not a dream, but a nightmare of harsh reality. The sky was a deep, deep velvety purple. The storm clouds were charcoal. The veins of lightening that came every now and then lit up the charcoal-colored clouds, and made them feel something, if only for a moment. The rain was not yet present, but the impatient cries of the thunder could not wait. I am in my room – awake, coherent. The clouds and their cries are conjuring something, what is it? Sheepishly, I am at my window. The storm had been brewing for a few days, not only in the sky, but inside of me. It begged me to speak up. After a while, it grew tired yet volatile. And from my insides out, it destroyed whatever it could – whatever was in its path. It did not let me speak. It did not let me eat. It did not let me sleep. It tortured me. Because it knew I tortured myself. The storm that was inside of me has wrecked all of the homes that I had built. And has killed all of the people who lived there. I fell to my knees at my window. I asked the velvet purple sky, the charcoal-colored clouds, and the sporadic veins of light, why couldn’t the storm stay outside of me. I put my head down. The thunder cried. The storm spoke to me. It said:

Why is it so different with this one? Why are you so quiet, so destructive? You have become a black abyss, and anyone that tries to even set foot near you becomes lost. They are swallowed by the darkness with no hope of veins of light. You are so sensitive, so vulnerable, so naive. I wish you knew that this is not how life is supposed to be; I wish you knew of the radical movement that is also known as living. Why have you been so quiet, dear? Why have you been so complacent? You have not been yourself for a while…you have retracted. You have been sad. You have been anxious. You have been worried. You have been so cautious with this one – so cautious and so obeying. You have restricted yourself in fear of restricting your heart. Does he know you? Does he care about you? Does he wonder at all about what will become? About what you are? You have not spoken your true thoughts to anyone but us: why is that? Are you afraid? Are you lying to yourself, to the world, to him? Or have you just not yet found the balance of yourself? Have you not yet found how many doses he can take of you before his world goes numb? Or has he had enough, and he’s smart to walk away? Because, honey, you are the highest dosage risk that no one is willing to swallow. You have been building me inside of yourself for 23 years, but you have never rained. And when it rains, only then will the storm be set free.

I watched the storm calm, but not entirely. I cried, and the thunder weeped until it fell into a somber slumber. The veins of light were gone, but I knew they would be back. After its wise words, I bellowed in my bed like a tick to fur, a leech to fatty flesh. I knew it would be back for me. And I knew it was still inside. I knew I couldn’t rain yet, because whenever I do, it will pour, and everyone around me will drown.

In Case You Didn’t Know

I know in my personal life with friends I have been terrible. Texting back is a simple thing to do and I’ve become so bad at it lately. And that is with everyone. There’s not really an excuse, but things aren’t exactly okay. Any of my friends who read this, I’d like to apologize. This post might sound like oh, woe is me. Actually that might be how most of mine sound like. Whatever. And I’m warning that it will be all over the place. I’m just writing it to get it out. Because I haven’t been myself. 

Within the past few months, not only within my family, but with people I knows’ family or friends, there have been so many deaths. What was it, March or April was just plagued with sadness. Or maybe it was February. Whichever. In April, my grandpa died. He was the only one that was still alive besides my grandma, and we weren’t really, really close. But when I was at work, at that time, I had been the closing manager and I couldn’t have just left the store. Plus I’m awful at situations like that. But the co told me to go and that we’d get it covered. When I got into the hospital room and actually looked at him it was ridiculous. He was completely yellow everywhere from his liver failing and the cancer progressing. His eyes were towards the door, glazed over. He didn’t blink or move even though he was still alive. He was so skinny, even though I had just seen him 3-4 months prior when he looked completely fine. Laying in the hospital bed, he looked like a test dummy. Not to sound rude or crass, but he was so still and so sick. It was sad. That was the first time I ever saw someone die in front of me, and have someone die that was regularly involved in my life. I know he loved me very much. And I don’t talk about it for obscure reasons. I love him and I will always miss him. 

My depression has checked in again – it has been prevalent for the last month or two. I can tell when I’m sad and I can tell when I’m depressed. When I’m depressed, I am numb to everything and everyone. It is to the point where I don’t want to leave my room or deal with the outside world, which is nothing to most people but it is how it is. I haven’t seen my therapist in a while because I don’t want to see her anymore: I want a different one. I miss my old one. 

Tony is moving to Florida in less than a week. And that’s sad. Because once he goes, sure we’ll stay in contact, but it can’t be like how it was. And even though we were never officially together, I care about him a lot. And I really like him. I think he’s an amazing person. And whomever he ends up with is going to be extremely lucky, but unfortunately that’s not me. It never is. 

The day before my birthday, Friday, I found out that my 4 month old niece had died. Since she had been born she’s never left the hospital. She had to have all these surgeries and tests to try and avoid her needing a heart transplant. But the day before, the doctor discussed with my brother the idea of putting her on the list. And on Friday morning at like 3 am, she went into cardiac arrest and there was nothing they could do. And I never even met her. And I have my own reservations about that with myself that I’m dealing with internally. I wish I could have met her at least once. But it was also hard because at one point, only 4 people could see her and you had to be on this list, just because she was always getting tests done or surgeries and was vulnerable to everything. I cannot even imagine what it would feel like to lose a child. My heart goes out to my brother and his wife, and he knows I love him very much and would do whatever I could for him. I just felt so bad for her; to live your life in a hospital not knowing what’s going on or why these weird people are doing what they’re doing…I love her so much, even though I’ve never met her, and she will always be in my heart. 

I found out that one of my uncles has cancer. And I actually see this uncle pretty regularly. They’re not exactly sure, he’s getting a biopsy done, but they think that there’s no doubt that that’s what it is. My grandpa had a biopsy done, and a week later he was dead. It’s just sad. 

My house is so chaotic. I love having my other brother here with my niece and his girlfriend, but now there are 5 dogs. 5 dogs, 1 toddler, and 5 adults. I’ll use adult loosely, though, because I don’t feel like one. My mom is the only person who keeps me sane, and I love her very much. But I worry about her. 

I’m an empathetic person. Don’t you think I feel awful for even talking about my problems when there are so many people who have it worse? Don’t you think I feel so bad about being a bad friend? 

I’ve been really battling my own insecurities lately more so than usual. I’m sure I’ll write all kinds of posts about that. But yeah. I feel so strongly about a certain thing, and I’m hoping for someone to prove me wrong. I wish I could prove myself wrong, but I can’t. Not anytime soon. 

And I don’t expect any sympathy or reassurance. That’s not why I’m writing this. 

It’s gonna take a while to repair things. I’m sorry.