black&white extremes

Because this is what depression looks like. This is what it looks like when you've given up on everything you thought you were and wanted to be. Because who cares if you're pretty? Who cares if you're good? These things just don't end up mattering because there are people out there to who will take and take and take - regardless who they're taking from, they sit there and they take. Because they can - because we let them. Because we don't have the guts to tell them NO. We don't have the guts to tell them to fucking STOP already. So we let them take from us - let them take from those we love. They can't fill the void in their life so they take what little others have. And meanwhile we can't fill the void either, but hey - at least we aren't taking from everyone else. But then we notice that they're taking from us, and suddenly it hits us...who fucking cares? You don't care, and I guess I shouldn't care. So here I go - not caring. Not caring about what I do or say, not caring about what I look like or what I act like. There's this void and she only makes it bigger and bigger and bigger...and does anybody even care? No. Not really.

It's the being alone that kills me. It's the waking up in your bed alone, hours after you've left with the early morning stars and I'm curled up under the blankets with only my own body heat to keep me warm. It's then that my mind begins wandering and making me watch you do the things that have always made me insecure...only this time, I have to watch them knowing it's happened. I can't stop the films from rolling. And closing my eyes only makes it worse. I see another girl in your room, I see her taking off her clothes. I see you touching her, talking to her, kissing her and whispering in her ear. I see her falling asleep beside you and God it makes me want to disappear. It's so hard to remember that you love me when my mind won't let me look away from these vivid, gut-wrenching images. It's so hard to think about all the things you've said before and since then that made me fall in love with you time and time again - the things that make me believe it's you and me. Those memories are interrupted by the sound of another girl's voice filling the room and no matter how high I pull the covers I can still feel her - like she's lying next to me. Haunting me. And then I start to wonder how long it'll take me to get rid of her ghost. Because I still love you and you still love me and when it comes to us there's nothing standing in our way. It's those lonely moments when you feel far away that her presence creeps into my head and makes itself at home. I've always been tormented in everything I do and think by an over-active and wildly vivd imagination, and this is clearly no exception. Ever since I was young I've had nights I couldn't sleep because my fears and heartaches have played over and over on repeat in my head and there's no place more vulnerable and lonely than an empty queen size bed.

Sitting across from you last night - alcohol and antibiotics coursing through my body - my hazy mind ran in circles, eyes throwing darts as sharp as razor blades and you could tell I was boiling inside. I thought of all the ways I could make you feel as insecure and stupid as I feel sometimes. Every night you don't see me I'll pick a bar, somewhere new, somewhere far, and every night I'll get a number. Write them on a piece of paper a mile long and bring it to you - here, look at what I can do. See? I can do it, too. I can fuck whoever I want, when I want. I'm attractive to people. I'm alluring. I'm seductive. I can do it, too. And then burn it. Burn that list of numbers right before your eyes because I don't want to. I don't give a fuck about those people who want to fuck me, who want to take me for a face at any time and place just to fill some void in their life that only gets deeper with every added fuck. Just like you. You say you do this to feel more alive but I see it suck the life right out of you. You're in a spiral headed down and I can feel myself following - down and down and down. You're attractive. And alluring. And friendly. How many women - how many girls do you need to fuck before you can believe this about yourself and stop trying to prove it to the world. Jesus Christ, we get it - we know already. Girls want you. And I get the need to feel wanted by a stranger, I crave that all the time but - unlike you - that crave is never satisfied because I'm awkward and clumsy, I'm not smooth and on a good day I might be cute. So I go on with my insecurity and I live it and breathe it and deal with it. Why can't you just learn to deal with it? How many bars are there within the city limits. How many men are there who would give their number to a girl like me. And how many of them have a girl at home waiting on them, loving them, never suspecting them of their infidelity the way I slept sleeplessly on the couch in my sister's room the night you fucked that other girl. How many times can you fuck me up before you're too fucked up to carry on. If you leave me because of guilt - if you leave me because you can't forgive yourself for what I've already forgiven you for - you'll break my heart. You don't get to make that decision. You have to live with what you've done, and you don't get to punish me for it as well. Learn how to forgive yourself, to love yourself, accept yourself - learn how to do these things so you can stop seeking solace in meaningless sex with girls who couldn't care less about where you'll be in ten years. Maybe I'm just secretly hoping that if I love you hard enough for long enough you'll figure out how to love yourself. Maybe I'm just praying that compassion will win and good will prevail and in ten years we'll be married with a home and three kids. Because I care about where you'll be in ten years. I care about your heart and your mind and I don't just see you as some attractive person who I'd like to fuck late at night when love is sleeping. Look at yourself the way you look at me, the way I look at you. Handle yourself gently and compassionately. Forgive the part of you that makes mistakes, resist the part of you that wants to make them again. All the men in all the bars in Philadelphia couldn't make me feel even a fraction of what you do.

What am I? And what am I doing? And will I regret this? I'm not sure what I regret right now. Do I regret finding out and confronting you? Do I regret not slapping you across the face? Do I regret making this decision to stay? My dignity is on the floor. That much I know. I don't care if you say I shouldn't feel stupid - I don't care if you say you do love me, and I am the most important to you, and that all the things you've said about me are true. I don't care that you think I shouldn't feel stupid, because I do. It's REALLY hard not to feel stupid when I think of all the times I was suspicious of you and yet every time tried to convince myself to trust you - that you wouldn't do this to me. And I feel stupid because so many people would wonder why the fuck I'm still with you. They wouldn't understand how I could let you in so quickly right after you destroyed my sense of singularity and the feeling that we had something that was special and our own. I feel stupid because I don't know if I'm being pathetic and naive for giving you another chance, or if I'm strong and compassionate for understanding that you need another chance because you never meant to hurt me and wanted to choose me, and only me. Then there's the confusion. And the apathy. God, the apathy is killing me. Especially when we're apart and there's this part of me that doesn't care if you fuck every woman that you meet because maybe I'm just another one. And maybe this was all for nothing and you aren't going to choose me and if that happens I don't care enough to look for someone else. So most of the time I'm feeling nothing; not anger or hurt, and I don't know if I have any tears left for you. I wanted to cut holes in all your shirts the next morning. Right where your heart is, or should be anyway. You left me in your room and I know where your scissors are and for as compassionate and forgiving and loving as I am...the protector in me is a vindictive little bitch and she wanted to ruin all your shirts and cut out your heart the way you may have cut out mine. But...my heart still feels intact. It's my stomach that feels sick when I think of some other girl touching you, looking at you, feeling you. It's my mind that reels when I wonder how on earth you could do this and still love me. It's my face that crumbles when I think that we might slowly unwravel - that I might lose you. My heart has gone on beating, gone on loving you and needing you. It's my heart that has forgiven you and still wants to take care of you and be with you. So I hope to God that I'm compassionate and strong, and that in the end these things will make you mine.

How did you fuck her in the bed you sleep in with me? How did you text me when you knew you'd be seeing her, telling me you're just going to bed? How did you invite me over the next morning only hours after the second time you fucked her? How did you look me in the eye when you were still feeling the after-math of sex with someone else? How the FUCK did you do it. I don't even care about the why. Fuck the why. I want to know HOW.

Living in the moment is terrible. I've been living in the moment and dreading every minute of it. Every moment is an eternity of nothingness, followed by another and another and another until I feel as though my mind might implode. Living in the moment is living in every single worry, insecurity, and anxiety I have. My moments tend to have no substance when they're lacking in love and company - which is at least half the time - and so they fill themselves with tiny, pointless torments. I'm not sure when my moments became so burdensome, but somewhere along the line I lost sight of how to let go. And when I forgot how to let go, I also forgot how to trust myself and so everything I did, said, and thought began to come under scrutiny. The process was gradual, but by the time I realized what was happening, it was far too late. It's become impossible to stop my mind from spinning in the circles it creates. To me, living in the moment isn't an uplifting phrase - it's a prison sentence.

I have so many feelings and thoughts and intense emotions and things to say. But nothing is put down in writing and it all stays bottled up inside me somewhere and I don't know where or when or if I'll get it back. I need to write it all down - I need to get it all out. So why don't I anymore? The thoughts and feelings are too fleeting. They come and go quickly and almost silently, as if they were never there at all. I can never catch those moments and when I do I have no way of releasing them. I'm never in a position to write and so they come and they go and it's like they never were. Even this thought - this thought about writing - even this one was fleeting and I had to cling so very hard to it until I was able to get it out, get it down. And now that I'm here I find that I'm not sure where to go and so I guess I'll just write you something. Write you some things I think you should know about me and my mind and heart and all the things you can't see when I smile because I hide them behind my eyes. So here are eight things I don't know how to say. I'm suspicious and untrusting and it's easier for me to believe you don't love me than believe you do, so if you give me any tiny reason to think maybe you don't that's what I'll remember. I'll remember that harsh word or turned shoulder even if you never meant it to be something that was noticed or thought of. Most of the time I'm not sure even you notice it because what's there to notice when it's all in my head anyway? I never want to hurt you in word or action and anything I do that you don't like or that seems uncaring is never done from spite. Sometimes I feel the need to protect myself from you and the world and everything that could hurt me and that protection isn't always warm. And even if I call you out on your bullshit I don't do it to be mean, I don't do it to be hurtful, I do it because I need you to see that your bullshit sometimes hurts me. That the bullshit catches me and I need you to release me. When you leave me for a while, even a day or an afternoon, sometimes I want to run away. It's usually when I'm driving - when I'm behind the wheel and in control of my life and destiny and thus my emotions. I want to leave you behind because I don't know what to do with you or the way I feel about you or the way you feel about me and it sometimes seems easier just to run. But I never do and I never will because I know that in my heart you're the place I'm running to. The safest I ever feel is waking up to you pulling me in and wrapping your arms around me. In those moments of sleepy good mornings and smiles it's as though nothing in the world can hurt me and I can forget that these moments will pass. Your face in my hair and your breath on my neck calm me more than any medication could. When I cry it's not for you, it's for me. And it's not about you, it's about me. I hate it when you tell me not to be so nice to you, or that I'm too nice, or that I'm too good to you. It's like you don't think you deserve kindness or generosity or thoughtfulness and I can't stand the thought of you believing that. Everyone deserves those things and even if you're not perfect you give those things to me. I'm not perfect either so let me give those things to you when I can, because God knows sometimes I can't. There's nothing more important to me than finding ways for us to be happy even when we have to argue, and even when we might disagree. There are always going to be opportunities for fights but I never want those to outweigh the opportunities for love. Even when I'm mad I love you, and the only reason I will ever take the time to fight you is because I love you. I only fight if I care, so don't stop me from fighting with you. And finally, sometimes I will seem melodramatic or exaggerated and that might scare you. Maybe these words scare you. These feelings and thoughts seem big, and maybe they are; but there are a lot of things I don't know how to express and when I finally do they just come pouring out. And I don't believe in stopping things like this, and I don't believe in filtering and editing. Raw feelings are the only feelings and they're nothing to be afraid of. I'm not afraid of them. My feelings come and go and now I spend so much time feeling nothing and drowning in apathy that - when these moments come - I want to inhale them and hold them in my lungs. Because these things are fleeting and their expression even more so. But, somewhere, they're always there.

This isn't me at all. I feel trapped inside insecurities that were never mine, as though my mind were taken over by someone else - someone intent on destroying me from the inside out and I can't escape this carnage. I can't run away from it and I can't dispel it or dissuade myself from listening to it and even when I feel okay it's not okay and there's nothing I can do to stop these thoughts or look at myself and see anything other than a train wreck waiting to happen. I see it coming, see the light approaching, and all I want to do is close my eyes and fall into it.

If I can just get out of this unscathed, maybe I won't regret the day I left.

Just one big pile of emotional shit.

Living is so hard when it feels this alone.

I just don't want to hurt anymore.

Next to Me [Emeli Sande] 

Him: Aw, I wish I was there, I'd definitely hang out...hope you feel better! :)

I get upset because I don't want to live without you in my life. I don't want you to forget me.

But I really wish you'd just say something. More than anything, I miss you.

I preferred him more.