Rants Of A Madam

The only accurate way to describe this year, is 366 days of non-stop change. Expected or unexpected, something new was formed, created, or or occurred each day.

Very little breaks or space to breathe, one event after the other, again, and again, and again. This was not a year of rest, 2024.

You were always in the back of my mind. Like a child in December, with Christmas constantly creeping into their thoughts. Holding to hope so tightly in their tiny fists, and letting it all come and go as the holiday passes.

There’s always joy with Christmas, of course. But waking up the next morning comes with a sort of empty disappointment. All that could have been the magic of Christmas, was. The hope has diminished, and next year is now forever away.

All what could have been 2024, was. The hope has diminished- but I don’t feel as empty this year as I have other December 31st’s. Yes next year is forever away but I am not anxious to reach it from where I am.

I needed this year. I needed forceful change, a reason to become the person I’ve wanted to be, and come to the conclusion I am strong and able to persevere on my own.

I have never been without the routine of school, friendships and constant people. Support, reassurance, taking on my self-casted therapist friend role and blending into the background to avoid bothering the rest of this busy world.

What an exercise it was, letting all of that become stripped from me this past year with the nature of time and growth- as well as my own choice.

My hair reached my shoulders as my confidence and willingness expanded as well. 2024 was going to change me no matter what I did- so I might as well control what I can to change with it.

In this current moment where my thoughts are jumbled and self-hate is high, I forget how far I’ve come. I don’t dread the new year anymore, I enjoy grieving what will never be again and reflecting on every new step I made to become who I am now. I have a beating heart, for a start. I did so much more than I ever thought I could.

I stage managed a show, I read an original poem in front of my entire senior class, I turned eighteen, I graduated high school, I won awards in my school art show and literary fest, I broke up with a long-term partner, I discovered my dad had cancer, I published a poetry book, I received two spinal surgeries, I met my current boyfriend and best friend, I grew into my own confidence, style, and creativity- I took action, I tried things, I broke sometimes and got back up again on my own-

I did so many “impossible” tasks this year and more. This is only the beginning.

2024 is not a year of endings, it is a year of beginnings. A year of change, transitions, milestones to begin a new era of life.

There is a bitter sweetness to it. As I reflect on my kindergarten school ID with the words “class of 2024” before I could read or had any concept of how years worked. “2024 is forever away,” almost as if it wasn’t tangible or real for my childhood self, nowhere I could see myself being. 2024 felt like a fantasy, a dystopian dream, something to worry about in the future, light years down the line from kindergarten.

Here I am. A legal adult, alive and breathing, years away from kindergarten with the ability to read and draw better than 5 year old me could ever comprehend. She would like me, she would think I am so cool, and proud of me for drawing, writing and loving what I love just like she always wanted for me.

2024 never felt real for her, it barely feels real for me now, yet here it is, coming to an end. A lost kindergarten ID, a graduation cap behind me, fulfilling my childhood dream of growing in confidence which happens to be mine now as well.

I have a tendency to self depreciate, but I think I will choose this moment to thank myself, for all I’ve tried and accomplished. There are times when credit is due, and I’m claiming this to be one of those times.

I’ve grown so much, I’ve changed, I’ve succeeded, yet this is far from the end.

If you are reading this, you’ve grown so much, you’ve changed, you’ve succeeded and this is far, far from your ending. Thank you so much for being here. For staying. For surviving this eventful year of change and letting your heart remain beating long enough to see the beginning of what this next year could be.

I had hopes, expectations, ideals for 2024. Some came true, some did not, some I forgot about. 2025 is a blank slate. All I know for certain is I am going to stay here through it, embrace every event and step out of my comfort zone just a little more. So maybe I can look back one year from now and thank myself again. If not for growing, then simply surviving. Being. Staying.

Thank you 2024, for all I hoped you would be, all you were and all you weren’t.

And thank you, each one of you, for surviving, being, staying through it all. <3 I’m so proud of you, and I hope we remain in touch through whatever 2025 may bring for each of us.

Girlhood is going to kill me.

Girlhood sounds so fucking innocent.

So sparkly and fun.

What a girl. Just a girl.

Pretty, sparkling bows.

Pink glitter and smiles.

Feminine energy.

Being beautiful.

A passenger princess,

Taken care of so nicely.

Men swooning, skirts and dresses,

“Girls have it so easy. Just stand there and be pretty.”

Oh fuck you.

The word girl seems so-

Demoralizing.

I’m not a girl.

I’m not a woman.

I’m not a female.

I’m a goddamn person, cursed to forever be attached to the label of

‘Girl.’

Girl means blood.

It means a painful, bloody mess.

Every month. For a week.

No appetite. No sleep. No peace.

A stabbing, cramping, murderous sensation.

How many girls have wanted to stab themselves because of their stabbing pain.

How many girls have wanted to die because of their brain pumping out hormones.

How many girls have tried to die.

Curled up on the floors of their room.

And told “oh. It’s normal. It’s just your period.”

It’s my goddamn period I never asked for.

And here I am bleeding, furious and ready to die.

Tell me I’m irrational.

The scars on my arms will stay.

An endless reminder of how painful this existence is.

How the only thing I’m good for is making children. My bodies only purpose for being like this.

This chest I hate, this bleeding, soaking death organs only purpose is to create life.

I don’t. Want. A baby.

The very fact my body is capable of growing a human child terrifies the hell out of me.

If I got pregnant, I would kill myself.

That’s not even something I have to debate over anymore.

Yet every month I get constant, painful reminders of

‘Hey. This is what your body is made for. Remember? This is why you’re here. This is your purpose.’

Girl means sex.

To please whoever finds them pleasing,

A girl can never just be at peace with her body and find objective beauty in it, no-

Everything about a girl is sexualized.

Her body taken advantage of and fantasized. By herself. By others.

Grown to realize and come to know herself.

I hate my body,

But others love its shape.

So I guess…

This is what I’m made for.

We don’t wear makeup just for men.

We don’t wear fancy clothes just for attractiveness.

Some of us like girls.

And a rare few of us like ourselves.

Girl means impossible.

It’s impossible to be taken seriously.

To feel serious.

My entire existence is irrational, my anger right now will fade and not matter,

my entire life there will be those who will not take me seriously.

I don’t take myself seriously nearly as often as I should.

I’m an idiot. Because I’m a girl.

I’m a victim. Because I’m a girl.

Why do I still think like this-

Why do I still wish I was boy-

Because I’m not pretty, I’m disgusting.

And frankly I don’t care anymore.

My hair is a mess, my body is bruised, scarred and fragile.

My chest is ugly, my stomach is large, my stretch marks climb my body, my thighs squeeze the sides of chairs

And all I want to do is be someone else in a new body in a new life.

Because how can I find joy in my bloody, sexualized, baby-making purposeful body.

I’m too sensitive. I’m too emotional.

I’m too fucking girly.

I don’t want to compare myself to Victoria’s Secret or the other girls in the locker room.

I want to compare myself to the Roman statues in a museum. To the nude paintings from ancient times.

They found beauty in the human body. In an artistic way.

It’s not sexual. It’s not bloody. It’s not a baby machine.

It’s just beautiful.

My body can be like that.

I wish I wasn’t called a girl.

I wish I could be anything else.

In this moment, the bleeding is too much. The pain is too much.

A body part that has never felt like mine, will not let me forget it’s inside me.

Please stop.

Please leave me alone.

Please let me cry in peace.

And let it be for a purpose.

Trauma is for people who have been to war or abused or mistreated.

It’s not for someone who forced themself to stay when they could have left.

It’s not for someone you’ve never even met in person.

It’s not for the one feeling ghosted and abandoned by someone that shouldn’t have mattered to them.

For background context before I get into the main topics I want to talk about-

I recently had Spinal Fusion surgery for scoliosis in October. (Where they insert metal rods, screws and graft bones into my spine)

Up until yesterday everything was going smoothly. X-rays looked great, I have been recovering phenomenally, everything was smooth and looking perfect. Until yesterday, my second post-op appointment after surgery.

It’s been weeks since my surgery, and I got updated X-rays. Only to find out- the fusion failed in two places. Two of the screws came loose from the rod. Which is such an anomaly, and the first time my surgeon has ever had this happen to one of his patients.

And it will require another surgery. Another fucking surgery.

Where they will have to open my entire- now healed- wound/scar again, take out the entire bar, take out and replace the two screws that came loose, re-insert it, and stitch me up again. I will spend at least a day in the hospital and it will be a 3 hour surgery.

I just got out of, finished and was healing so well from this one. I was finally letting my wound heal and not ripping it apart. I was just getting used to moving on from surgery, getting used to my new life and body-

And now I have to start over.

And it’s- very disheartening. I feel like I am being overdramatic in my reaction about this, but it is hard, if I’m being honest. Really hard.

I had months to prep for this original surgery, I was doing physical therapy and mentally preparing myself. I know this surgery won’t be nearly as invasive or painful- but- the entire ordeal of anesthesia, pain, medication, nurses and doctors seeing and touching my body, more hospital and doctor visits,

My heart sunk, I felt like I couldn’t breathe when he told me I would have to go through this again. It’s just surgery, I got through it incredibly well- and I have to muster all of that again. With much less preparation time.

At face value it is traumatic. Physically, mentally and emotionally. It is. Right? I don’t know.

I keep brushing it off like it’s not a big deal, but it is. It is a big deal and I feel sick to my stomach with nerves this time.

I braced for death so hard the first time, going through every possible scenario in my head, and the fact my situation is already an anomaly? I- what if this time I become paralyzed? Or don’t wake up?

I could disassociate through the majority of it, not think about it, and now I barely even remember anything at the hospital or the few days at home (also because of the meds but I genuinely intentionally tried to zone out and not think about it- its easier to not be present in moments like that)

Now I just- have to do it again.

I was so excited I survived spinal surgery, I got it, I was healing so well, I was so determined at the time, so glad I got it over with. And here we go again. A second spinal surgery. A second. God damn. Spinal surgery.

I don’t feel as if I have any right to complain. Some people have it so much worse, incredibly worse, spending all the time in the hospital. I don’t have a right to say ‘I’m sick of hospitals’ (although- my dad does have cancer currently and that’s a whole other story with hospitals and the medical system) when so many others have it worse. But then again that’s- how all of life is. Elon Musk is probably complaining he didn’t get the right million dollar statue by the pool that he wanted like-

I think- it’s ok to say, especially in my situation right now- yknow- this sucks. This fucking sucks.

I did such a good job of stifling all my emotions the first time around and would talk logistically about it more than I ever said how I was feeling.

But this?

I teared up when my surgeon said I’d need a correction. And I cried in the car on the way home. Maybe that’s stupid.

It’s just surgery, I’m being overdramatic, this won’t even be as drastic of a change as it was the first time. Just god I thought we were done.

This entire year has been a FUCK ton. I was PRAYING 2024 would go out on a boring note for once and let me actually start my life again. But no. 2024 has been the year of change for me.

A sum up for me of what 2024 has been- My surgery was spontaneously moved from June to October because the hospital got hacked, I became stage manager at my high school and developed a passion, (as in this is what I want to make my major and career) I decided to take a gap year with the moved date of my surgery (so no college for me yet), I turned 18, I graduated high school, I entered poetry and art competitions and placed in both, I broke up with my partner of over a year, every social dynamic changed and flipped on its head completely with the people I knew over the summer, said goodbye to my closest and longest friends as they went to college and goodbye to the group and people I have come accustomed and so close to, went through SEVERAL pre-ops and physical therapy appointments, met, fell in love with, and started dating my current boyfriend, SO much family drama and dynamics, saw a lot of family we don’t usually, found out my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and I had fucking spinal fusion surgery. (one of the most painful and invasive surgeries, period.)

So, yknow. Not a big deal. At all. (This year has been one of the biggest and most eventful years of my life so far, and I haven’t processed nearly any of it to the extent I need to in order to feel present, here and healthy)

I thought with it being December, I was in the clear. Cause cmon, very end of the year what else could possibly happen?

Bam. Another surgery. Sudden/emergency surgery because I’m an anomaly and so fucking lucky to have had this happen to me- after everything, after moving on, letting myself actually heal, walking, beginning on getting my license, an official job, college- nope. All on hold again. Again. Again. Fucking again.

The worst part is- I feel like it’s my fault. I was SO determined to stand and walk as much and as fast as I could after surgery, I was doing all I could on my own, walking, standing, rolling over, trying when I could to pick things off the ground- pushing myself to sit through events or go places even if it hurt. My therapist told me to take better care of myself for myself’s sake. But all I cared about was proving I was strong and could do this- and getting back to ‘normal’ as fast as possible. Not having to think about the surgery, essentially ignoring it, and moving on so fast. Everyone was extremely impressed. My therapist wanted me to slow down, listen to my body and actually take resting time to heal. I didn’t really listen.

And now there are two screws loose, my surgeon has no idea how this could have happened, I’m the first patient of his who’s ever had this happen to me. But typically these surgeries are on kids younger than 18, and/or athletes and restless kids who are much more active than I am. I blame myself for ruining it, definitely. My friends tell me it wasn’t my fault, the first thing my surgeon said when he broke this news to me was- it isn’t my fault. But it’s so hard to believe that when it’s my body, this surgeons a professional, clearly I fucked up.

And now my fucking up doesn’t just affect me- it affects my story, the surgeons and doctors work, my parents, costs- ugh. My recklessness and carelessness for myself and my recovery led to this- fuck.

My therapist said ‘this is your SPINE. If you rush this, it could be really harmful in the long term. YOUR spine.’ I have an appointment with her tomorrow. I am dreading telling her this news. I feel like I failed her.

But the entire point is- I failed myself. yes other people are and will be affected but IM the one who has to go through it again. I fucked up- and it’s hurting myself. And I would say ‘I can handle it, it’s really not a big deal, I just feel worse for everyone around me.’ And yes I can handle it- I hate it. I really hate it.

I also have a skin picking condition where I compulsively pick at my surgery scar. It’s gotten better in the last few weeks, it’s generally healed, but

I don’t know I feel like I’m being overdramatic but God- I rarely talk about or show emotions like this, genuinely letting myself cry or be fucking angry about something pertaining to me like this. But man I’m just tired and can’t- handle this right now.

I know I will. I know I’ll be able to and I’ll handle this as well as I ever possibly could.

I already did this, how hard could a second surgery be, right? Yeah. Fuck. I called my boyfriend crying when I got home, he’s- the biggest cheerleader.

He’s going to try to be there again but his work is pretty serious and might not let him take the time off. Augh. Fuck.

I’ll be ok. Just the main thing on my mind recently. I have an official date for this second surgery now- December 27th. After Christmas. And I have a Pre-Op tomorrow already.

Ok. My boyfriend and I are very very different. We come from different backgrounds, households, ways of viewing things and growing up.

I grew up religious, he did not. I am very emotional, he rarely ever cries. I talk a LOT, he doesn’t as much. He is much more independent and I am much more social.

Yet we are here, together, attempting to try our best to make it work.

Which absolutely has its pros and cons. Having a conversation with him about it today, here are some of what we talked about:

We are both young, with so many opportunities left in life, things to try and discover and we will change, absolutely. With time, opportunity, life changes and adventures, everything.

If we don’t last, at least we had this time which has been really, really nice. We both think each other are really cool people as we are and would love to stay friends or connected regardless.

We’re going to try our best to make it work. Because here we are now. Early teenagers with our whole lives ahead.I want to live life genuinely for myself, be happy with where I choose to go and where I end up. There is so much I want to do and try and I would love to have my boyfriend with me. But we really don’t want to hold each other back in any regard through our lives.

Man. I really do love him and the thought of ending it is making me tear up ha. We recognize we’re still young, we will change, our relationship will change, life will change. But we’re here now, learning, growing, and trying. That’s all we can do where we are currently at. And that is enough.

WhatsApp Status to my friends:

“Yknow what’s crazy. Actually having my problems addressed and talked about in a safe space instead of judged or ridiculed?? Like damn bro is giving me the responsibility of working on my issues myself because that’s all I can do- AND he’s giving me the support and love I need to do so???”

We both have unhealthy past relationships and histories which definitely affect the way we view ourselves and this relationship now. We each individually have come a LONG ways from our past selves even just a few months ago. (It’s amazing how fast everything changes.) Yet as people, starting over from a new slate essentially we have a lot to work on, learn and figure out. Together and apart.

There is also a mix of societal expectations, relational expectations and family backgrounds that lead to certain assumptions or expectations that are made without genuine communication. Focusing more on the way I ‘should feel’ or ‘how my mom would feel’ about a situation, as opposed to how I genuinely feel.

I panic when I can’t control my situation or my emotions- which brought on a lot of tears, consistently, especially through this conversation.

We both come from hard and toxic relationships, and are trying to figure out what a relationship like this means for us. We each have changed SO much compared to our past selves just a few months ago. It’s crazy how time works like that. And I know we’ll change even more from now.

We’ve made so much individual progress, but together is where what we’re used to is stretched a bit. So much change has happened, and this is just more change we’re figuring out.

I think we can stretch each other in healthy ways with emotions, communication, etc. In opposite directions we kinda need to. Especially being the ages we are, growing and malleable in our dreams, goals and who we are a bit. I need to learn to be more independent and he can work on communication. It’s a win-win for the time.

When we met, we were both recently broken up, and getting used to being single. But found each other, and really really liked each other. Now we both want some level of independence, yet still being together. Which I like. General independence and we’re each there for each other. ‘I have a boyfriend’ I can say as I live my life and progress. Were there but we aren’t suffocating each other- which is nice and I haven’t had before. Ha.

I want to have a partner but them not be my entire identity or personality. They are there, I am here, and we are together.

I doubt constantly if he loves me. When he’s shown me nothing but love and admiration. Hugs and ‘I love you’s constantly. I am the one who wishes to control what I can’t- and panics over thoughts and behaviors that aren’t there, letting my mind spiral into nothing useful. When all I need is right there. And what isn’t communicated- isn’t communicated, I can’t read anyone’s mind.

I can only control myself. I’m used to consistent conversations, people to catch up with constantly, and he is used to months or years of space or not talking, but catching up again down the line. We’re different. Really different.

I’m learning slowly to process on my own instead of throwing words at every problem. It’s a process. He’s learning to communicate his thoughts instead of constantly drowning them out. It’s a process.

I want to go into theatre, he wants to become an EMT. We appreciate each others stuff, and listen consistently. I can’t tell right now if we would be better as partners or friends. It’s hard to tell sometimes this early on. But we’re here now, and content with it all, it’s just a learning process as time goes.

I’m trying to talk a little less. And he makes me feel heard by responding to all I say. We’re figuring it out.

Some message quotes:

Bf: “don’t be sorry whatsoever, we’re gonna absolutely be ok. I love you baby. Please take care of yourself.”

Me: “Idk I rly wanna make this work but I am genuinely nervous with how different we are. Which I think in some ways can stretch us both a bit and encourage independence without massive sacrifice- but it’ll still be hard. And why I’m so anxious to communicate like everything ever which I know is also a flaw of mine I’m learning to get better with”

Bf: “I'm honestly nervous about it too. Cause we also want different futures yk? But we will talk okay? But yeah please if you have something on your mind then feel free to tell me. You'll never be judged”

Me: “Yeah, mhm. Obviously it’s nothing to do with you as a person, I genuinely really love you and it would be amazing to work out. Just we are very different, and it’ll take work and stuff. I think we can, but we gotta talk about it and figure it out. And I don’t want either of us to feel either held back or abandoned because of each other now or in the long term. Yk? Thank you hun, you too, genuinely, always/anytime, I want this to be a genuine safe space. For conversation, criticism, space, everything.”

Bf: “Yeah of course, and it's the same for you. Just different. And of course I still love you. Just gotta work it out. Yeah for sure. Were in a weird point in our lives right now. Especially on what we want. Of course. I really want to be a safe space for you”

There’s more but that’s all I’ll share.

Hey so this is a phenomenon I’ve seen happen personally and repeatedly with multiple breaks ups I’ve been around, seen, heard, etc.

First hand experiences usually come from my own friends around high school age, but family and shows portray this as well.

This is very gender divided stereotypes. Absolutely does not mean gender is a binary or that this goes for every situation, this is just the majority of what I’ve seen or heard, and I am wondering why.

(I’m going to use person A and person B as labels to keep things neural)

So after person A and person B who were dating break up- the person A is usually distraught, trying to move on, having a hard time, and person B is- completely fine, doesn’t think about it, and moves on like it’s nothing.

Which makes person A feel like they fucked up, weren’t important enough to be mourned over or cared for, and that their entire relationship was for nothing if person B can just let them go that easily without a second thought.

And person B is just moving on with their life on the outside, seeming fine and barely mentioning the breakup or relationship, not treating it as anything significant.

TYPICALLY, Person A is a girl/more feminine presenting and person B is a guy/more masculine presenting.

There could be and are SEVERAL reasons for this.

The idea that men aren’t supposed to show their feelings or get too attached in relationships. So after the breakup they may feel hurt internally but won’t show it externally to move on easier.

Some people genuinely due process differently, it could be the same amount of hurt with different ways and levels of processing- externally, internally, talking about it or not.

Some people are just more dependent and others are more independent. If a dependent person breaks up, they may feel it is a real struggle to move on independent of the other person. But an independent person won’t have as difficult of a time because they were already generally independent to begin with.

And sometimes relationships as a whole just mean more to some people than others. Some people are in relationships for different reasons than their partner. Which sucks and can really hurt both people, but it is true.

Someone who is in a relationship for fun, for the meantime- with someone who is in the relationship for the long term, one might have an easier time moving on after it ends than the other.

Regardless of the reasons, the reaction still really hurts. I’d say if you, your partner, your friend, or your ex is in this situation- say something, on either side.

If you know you won’t show much emotion moving on, if you still genuinely care about the person you are breaking up with/have- tell them. They need to hear that, that you’ll miss them and you care for them, even if you’re breaking up.

And if you’re in a relationship currently- remind your partner that anyways. And maybe talk about where you are in terms of- what you’re looking to get out of this relationship, something long term or short, etc.

I just came from seeing The Nutcracker Ballet at a local theatre. It wasn’t the most high quality or professional theatre, but it was beautiful and the dancing was incredible.

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t dance for my life and don’t know many logistics when it comes to dance, but I ADORE watching it. Specifically ballet, rap and contemporary. (I adore all live performance art really, so much so I want to make the artistic and technical aspects of it my profession)

Ballet, from a viewers perspective, seems to be all about:

Symmetry, repetition, and a focal point.

And it flows so well.

I think ballet and dance is incredibly beautiful. The fact we have bodies and made art out of simply moving them.

Learning the limits of our bodies, that moving them gracefully or to music can be perceived as beautiful and something active to do. It’s- incredible. It’s beautiful. The fact we humans created the concept of dance for pure joy and entertainment is beautiful.

I also LOVE non-verbal storytelling.

Telling a story with pure movement, facial expressions, just music and sounds so it can be told in any language is incredible. And really puts the art of storytelling to the test with nothing verbal.

Ugh. Gorgeous.

Another thing I love about ballet is the juxtaposition of extremely graceful and beautiful dancers on pointe with blistering, bleeding feet in pain. Because from what I’ve heard and what it looks like- being on pointe is painfulll. But they look so graceful and beautiful. And I love that- beauty, fragility on the outside but tough as hell and painful otherwise.

I could not just draw shapes, I had to draw with conventional purpose.

I’m a particular fan of floating eyeballs, pointless colors, melting skin. My mother wanted flowers and thought my art was too graphic or odd. I would show her something I was proud of, and she would be taken aback in disgust and awkward laughter.

So I’ll never forget for my senior high school art project, I was planning to make several paper flowers. But God. I hated it. I procrastinated the project constantly, and my teacher noticed.

So. One day for critique, I gave up, said ‘fuck it’ and used several different and random materials to create melting effects, bright colors, broken things-

When I brought in my work my teacher said ‘Yes. This. This screams ‘C.J.’ It feels like you took a deep breath with this artwork. Amazing work.’

I have never forgotten that.

If I died tomorrow.

What would I have left behind?

Thousands of conversations no one has seen.

Stained lips and the ghost of my touch.

Scars on my arms, hands and feet only revealed in death.

A stain of blood on my bedsheets.

Thousands of pictures. Screenshots. Mirror selfies.

Notes. Deep notes. Things I’d never use my former breath to make known.

Crumpled notebooks. Ripped out pages. School assignments. Math worksheets. Essays on windmills. Marked with a name some knew me by.

Doodles. Writings. Spilled ink. Dying markers.

Art no one may ever interpret.

And with all of that-

My handwriting.

My possessions.

My thoughts spelled out in symbolic shapes.

Thousands of thoughts- memories- stories- Will be-

Gone.

Forgotten.

Dead.

Never spoken to the world.

I think one of my biggest fears-

Is to die and, and still remain unknown.

There’s not enough pictures, worksheets or notebooks to look at and ever truly know me.

Even in death, the earth will see me as unfamiliar.

I want to love you so bad it’s the want that tears at me from the inside.

The want that makes me excuse every selfish thought I have about you. Every horrible realization I pray will fade with time.

The want for a secure future. For my first love to be my last.

It overtakes me.

It brings me to tears.

I want to love you.

Gosh I want to.

But do I?

Do I love you?

That’s a question I don’t know how to answer.

Some days, yes. Some days there’s no one I think I could love more.

And some days…

Yet you love me everyday. More than words. Consistent.

How selfish of me to string you along.

Assuming I’m the same.

I wish I was. I want to be.

God, how I want to be.

I’m worse than you see. Than you think.

I wish I wish I wish- unconditional love was true.

But how can I believe that.

You bring out the worst in me.

And you see and love it all.

How—

How.

How do you do that.

How do you bring out the worst parts of me I didn’t know existed.

And hold them so tenderly.

You make me realize how much of a horrible monster I am.

Because I’m no match for your beautiful selflessness.

‘I always thought I might be bad now- I’m sure that it’s true. Cause I think you’re so good and I’m nothing like you.’

I’m sorry you’re met with the worst of me.

The only one that sees it all.

You shouldn’t be-

You should get the best of me-

You deserve it.

Not the most broken version of me.

I wish I was better

And I called her the Sun.

She called me a sunflower.

And I called her a bee.

She called me a sunflower.

And I called her one back.

You’re noticed. You exist.

You’re hated.

What you predicted every single day.

That this wouldn’t last.

They wouldn’t be able to stand you for long.

Came true.

Now they fucking hate you.

And it’s all your fault.

Because you knew they would.

So why prolong it.

Just piss them off now.

A sweet ‘I told you so’ self satisfaction.

Until it all comes crumbling.

And you realize it was all a mistake.

But you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore.

And now you want to kill yourself.

Because you’ve ruined everything that made your life worthwhile.

It was going to happen eventually anyway.

Same with your ultimate death.

My body doesn’t feel like it fits.

My brain feels underdeveloped.

I don’t even feel like I fit on this earth in this society.

I eat weird and dress weird and have weird preferences and ideas and thoughts.

Everything about what I should be and like- isn’t true.

Everything about me feels wrong.

I’m always wrong.

Im always not enough.

Or too much.

Or too shy or too energetic or too stupid or too smart or too talented or not good enough.

Idk what or who I am.

Idk what I’m doing.

I want to leave.

I’m constantly zoning out and disassociating.

My friends don’t feel right,

My family doesn’t feel right,

You don’t feel right.

And I don’t- know why.

Nothing quite- fits.

Or feels real. At all.

It’s all just a foggy haze.

Feel like I’m living in a flashback, waiting to return to the present.

Like I should be living someone else’s life. This doesn’t feel real- none of this does and I don’t know how to make it feel real. I don’t even know if I want it to.

Like I jumped into someone’s life in the middle trying to figure it out and failing so horribly.

I feel so sorry for myself. Im so utterly pathetic.

And it’s my own self lol.