i hope the night sky is pretty wherever you are

I don't know what's worse: knowing you'll never be sorry for all the damage you caused, or knowing that you blame me for all of the pain you put me through. You will never have to hurt the way that I did. Good for you, you know? I lost my mind for a year and a half while in the midst of your grip. I spent so much time aching, shedding tears over someone who absolutely was not worth it. I tried so hard to be everything you wanted. I wore the clothes. I did the makeup. I did my hair. I recreated myself to fit your narrative because I wanted so badly to keep you. But, I was yours and you were never mine. All I ever wanted was to be enough. Stupid, little me. Full of emotions I wish I never had to feel. I never would have been enough for you and to be quite honest, no one ever would be. You were never satisfied. Everything I did, everything I said. Nothing was ever right. You couldn't have cared less for someone who whole heartedly loved you, even though you never committed. Even though you never actually wanted me. I was just a toy that you picked up when you wanted, and tossed when you didn't. It's been well over a year now and I think back to that year and a half I spent being available to you and I feel sorry for the person I used to be. The person I tried to be. All for someone who couldn't have cared less if I was dead or alive. I wonder now how I could have hated myself so much that I allowed myself to love someone so cruel, selfish, and self absorbed. I look at my loving partner now, who kisses wounds he didn't create. Who soothes my soul instead of making it rowdy and restless. Who lifts me up instead of cutting me down. Who has made me soft, who takes that softness and cradles it in his hands so gently. Who handles me with care. Who holds me tightly as though if he were to let go I would whither away. I look at him and think back to all the awful things you made me feel and I wonder how I could've ever hated myself so much that I settled for whatever the hell that was. He is picking up pieces he didn't break, and while I am thankful, I want to spite you for breaking me in the first place. I know you'll never be sorry, but I don't want your sympathy or your pity. I want you to suffer for the rest of your life. I wish for you to, one day, self reflect and live with all of the awful things you have done and live with the guilt of that until you are buried six feet under. I wish for you to be miserable. You don't deserve empathy.

They told me I would grow out of all this angst. So why do I still scream those Front Bottoms lyrics at the top of my lungs? Going 95 down 95 trying to release all of this hurt. Things were supposed to be better by now. I'm 25 and still as lost as ever. I make plans for them to only fall apart. I just really, really want to heal my heart. I thought once my frontal lobe was fully developed I would make better decisions but I still feel like I'm 5 years old with $5 I got on my birthday and I'm trying to choose between a candy bar and a toy. It feels like everyone around me has got it all figured out and I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I can't stop falling apart. It seems like I am in a race and I am in last place. It seems like no matter what I do I still wind up feeling like a shell of a person with no real purpose and despite my fighting I will still die before I'm 30. Lord knows I've been asking for a sign to keep pushing forward but I don't know if I have anymore fight left in me. All I have left is this unbridled rage as to why I can't seem to figure anything out and no matter what turn I take it is always a dead end. It's like my pen is coming to the last page. I probably won't finish this coming of age. I'm 25 years old still feeling like I am 15 and full of angst. Is it ever going to end? Or will it end me first?

"Pretty." I say to myself in the mirror. Over, and over, and over again. The word bounces around my skull but won't sit in one space. "Pretty." I say again in hopes to settle the bouncing, in hopes to hold it in my hands. I never do. "Pretty." My co workers say to me as I walk up the steps of the coffeehouse. I smile and say, "Thank you." Even though it does not make home in my heart. The words go in one ear and out the other. A fleeting moment I try to hold onto but like most things, I cannot. "Pretty." My boyfriend says to me, so lovingly, with so much love in his eyes that for a moment I can almost believe it. I can almost grasp it and hold it in my hand but it has decided it does not want to stay. It never wants to stay. I don't blame it. "Pretty." My friends say to me. A pained smile, a small thank you. The word is almost there. It is almost within reach. I can almost feel it but just as I am about to grab it, it runs away from me yet again. "Pretty." I say to myself in the mirror. But the word refuses to stay. It clings to the air around me but will not make its way to me. It is always just an arms reach away. "Pretty." I say to myself again. "Pretty."