#personalme

have the full weekends off until my 'nesting' ends, which will be the week of the 17th. And then the weird owlet shall be left more to its own devices and suffer Saturday work too.

This one shall try to enjoy its weekends while it can...

Please. Don’t hurt me anymore. I can’t take it any longer. -I thought, yelling at you that our friendship is over and that I’ve come to hate you more and more Please.... don’t look at me like you can’t understand - I thought, turing my eyes from you because I can’t stand the glassy puppy eyes that want to cry because they pity themselves. Yeah... I’m the bad one because I finally said it. - I thought, because I knew it. I somehow knew, that you would not understand what you did to me. Did you ever even care about someone more than yourself? -I thought, waiting for your reply that never came because you were so shocked I yelled at you. Why so surprised? You should know how I am. That I yell, that I am emotional, that I geht hurt because I’m human. Do you think the world resolves around you? Yeah, you already told me so.  I only wanted you to stop hurting yourself. I only wanted to show you, how strong you could be. But you always saw only me, trying to save you. Your eyes had the look of despice.  Didn’t you already hate me before I told you I’d hated you?

Ah, I’m so tired of this. Someone get me out. I don’t want to be near her anymore. -I think, wanting to escape from you. 

But I can’t because we still have this responsibility. Was it a fault to rent this place with you? 

Maybe, just maybe... it’s for the best to play on good terms. No more hurting until the end. Can I do this like you do? Playing the masquerade of a person that cares for another?  -I thought smiling at you trying my hardest not to avoid you. And somehow it works. I’m crying on the inside, slapping myself over and over for being so unhonest with someone I used to be close with, because you’re so dangerous to me, because you’re so toxic. I always had this thought: People who aren’t able to see that their actions hurting other people, those who can’t understand because all they see is their own comfort, are the worst. Of course you don’t think so. But wasn’t it you who told me the worries and problems of your friends would just be tiresome weight in you’re life, that you didn’t want to deal with? -I was so shocked, unable to get angry because there I was... your so called best friend. When I’m with you there are two things I notice.

First. It’s okay to talk to you. When I think of you as just someone in my life, I can talk about myself and my worries like to everyone else. Don’t confuse it as friendship. It is not. It’s just that I tend to talk openly to anyone. That’s just how I am. Open-hearted. Open-minded. You might be different, no. You ARE different. But I know it’s just pretty flowers on a dying ground. Because when I’m not with you... I start to think and it pains me. I get furious over you not understanding my pain, the pain that you did to me. Second. When you said ‘let time grow some space over it. We need some space. And then, wehn I get back lets meet up and talk again. Let’s be friends again. I don’t want to lose you.’, I smiled wryly nodding my head. But I thought ‘Are you serious? How can you say that? Do you even know how much you hurt me? how much of me suffered, how much of me is scattered?’ And I get angry, because I want you to understand that you’re not the only one who suffered. ...And I know you never will. You made me suffer this much. And I hate you for the fact that you just don’t get it. It makes me furious and I want to cry. But I swallow it. I swallow the tears which flow into my lungs stopping me from breathing. It hurts. It hurts so much.

But the fact... That you still believe we could be friends... it shows me That you just don’t understand what you did to me.

And I know that I will have to be the bad friend who leaves, even though you want us to be together again. Even though it seems there’s hope left. But it wasn’t just some fight. It was suffering through your words and actions. - I think, sitting all alone in my room, while your next door doing your stuff and not talking a word to me. 

Like usual. Even when I still loved you.

It’ll be over soon. Hang in there -I pray to myself to be strong. I don’t need your strenght, even back then, even when I relied on you, you were never there for me. I always got up by myself, not by you.

When I close my eyes, I see the people who are really there. It is not you. 

I have to leave. Think of me as the evil friend who dropped you, even though I knew you had problems. But if all you can do to me... is hurting and hurting...

I don’t want to be with you anymore. I just can’t. I don’t want to drown together with you. I don’t want you to break me.

But I want to say thank you to the few that like my posts and those treasures that tag me or send me (or my characters) things.

Growing into this skin I wear, I think I always had a hatred for my name, which was not conventional, not an easy name to know. It was a source of bullying by bored ingrates in school, and a source of confusion for other ingrates. Even when others might have complimented my name, ie teachers, the pride I felt for it was always short-lived. To me ultimately, the name was my mother’s expectations and hopes for me, and a reminder of the disappointment I gradually felt I became. I did not become my generation’s Ava Gardner, all glamour and beauty and success and fame. I never would be. 

For a year, even, in a new school, I hated my first name so much I had convinced teachers and guardians that my middle name was the primary - a much more benign, short name, inherited from my father. That went on for a year, and I could take pride in it, because it felt like taking back some sort of power, claiming myself with no expectations.

I think now as I am older, I am kinder to myself and my given name, and though being called by it in full by my closest family still feels like a secondhand embarrassment, I have an appreciation for my unconventional, flamboyant name. It summons up ethereality and grace, abandoned castles and vampirism, and I love everything about that aesthetic, even if that is not what I myself manifest in appearance.