Diary entry day 1.
"Block him bitch."
I know it's wrong, in every way.
We shouldn't keep talking. In fact block list should look inviting but it doesn't.
We're not friends though that's what we call ourselves.
We're not dating though we flirt.
We're not anything. We don't know anything.
He doesn't even respect me enough to text me before eleven at night.
Why do I have to be the first to text and why do I?
Being the first to respond, being the one to carry conversations, being the one to reply in seconds but he gets mad when I go over two?
When within five minutes of talking he asks for "Pics?" But compliments me so I should feel good but I don't. Not really.
Has always being fat made me that hungry for physical attention? That I no longer respect my own self? That I send pictures so he can give me superficial compliments?
Being fat makes you a different kind of invisible. And I've just realized what it feels like for someone to actually think you're "hot" even if they don't mean it, not wholeheartedly, never that.
But I imagine this to be my only chance to experience "this" As a teenager. As an adult. As a nineteen year old who's only constant thought for the past ten years has been to lose weight.
Seeing everyone around have someone. More than friends, talking, situations or more. The envy eats at me.
And I know it's a sin. But it's a tempting and unavoidable one. Envy is cruel.
Because everyday I wake up to nothing. Evening's I check my phone for maybe a reel even? Nothing. But at night? After the clock strikes twelve, he's free.
Though he doesn't care to talk. He cares for pictures and dirty talk. He cares for what I'm wearing not how I'm doing. Even when I ask about his day or try to talk about something normal, why does it come back down to the same?
And sadly, knowing everything. It's so damned hard to pull away. For I know, if I never text first, he won't either. Because I'm only important for an hour or two while he stays on my mind all day.
Rereading texts, thinking about the pictures, thinking about what more, thinking about boundaries and how I hate myself for them.
And you know what's worse, my parents.
My parents, my parents who love me, my parents who support me, my parents who work hard, my parents who are my everything, my parents, my parents.
And I'm out wasting away for him? Him?
"Block him please" written in my own head, every time I look at my parents, at my books, at my best friend for they all would advise the same.
I hate the butterflies in my stomach who think it's more. Why is my gut thinking of what my brain should have an aversion to? Why am I listening to my gut more than my mind?
I want the girl back who didn't know about love nor did she crave for it in such a way. I want myself back when I was content with family, friends, pets, and empathy.
Never did she imagine a boy taking up so much of her comfort, determine so much of her mood and all that from miles away.
We both know it isn't worth and it's not his fault. Not really.
I'm stuck in the honey I spilled myself.
"I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM"
Stop talking to him. Please.
Please stop.
Please.
.
