Nick

TW: mentions of mental health issues, ED, and $H.

This is purely a vent account. Typing is much easier on my joints than writing sometimes, so hopefully anyone who stumbles across this is able to find something in common. I’m no sort of poet of any sorts, hell, I’m terrible at writing I just have experiences that I need to share. I don’t really expect people to find this in all honesty, so let’s just pray to god no future employers find it. If you have any advice, please let me know. 

I suffer with chronic illnesses and mental health issues, I’m in the process of getting help but healing takes time. I guess writing does too, but it definitely takes less time and gets the weight of your chest momentarily. It’s either this or purging, possibly cutting, or some other unhealthy coping method. My last experience with tumblr wasn’t great, so I’m hoping this one will be better. 

I’m not exactly the best person, that I know to be a fact. While I do try, I don’t think I try enough. My mind does things without me knowing if that makes sense. The line between me and this disgusting man in my head starts to blur, my body moves without really thinking, things that happen feel like a dream or something similar. I can’t seem to get it in my head that behind every face I meet is a person, just like I am. Someone with struggles and thoughts, feelings, a beating heart, past traumas maybe. 

I wonder if she thinks about me even half as much as I think about her, I wonder what horrible things she said about me after I left. After getting in a relationship and experiencing another case of s#xual assault, my brain keeps on trying to make up excuses as to why she did nothing wrong and my more recent partner was much worse.

I told myself that I wouldn't be the one to reach out, but is it different if it's just because I'm curious and not because I miss her?

I know the people in my life wouldn't be happy that I reach out to her, but I'm dying to know how she's really been.

Despite all that she did to me, the ways she tore at my innocence to replace it with her own fantasies, I can't bear the idea that she hates me.

I remember when we would facetime.

It would be late at night; she would look at me with a sort of admiration you really only see in those cheesy romance movies. I'd feel flustered and hide my face in my arms.

"P####, you really do just look so beautiful right now. You always do. Just something about seeing you all sleepy and calm like this, your hair and makeup all messy."

I think vulnerable is what she really meant.

She'd say it in this voice that made it sound like she was in love with me or something. The type of tone that gives you a little flutter in your stomach.

"Oh, shut up! You don't mean that?" I'd reply, trying to hide the fact that I was flattered.

"How could I not? Have you seen yourself?" She would exclaim.

I felt my heart jump. My face went red and my breath became shallow. I rolled over on my queen size bed, my bare waist arching as to avoid the overly chilled Cotten.

"Whatever! I'm going to bed. I love you, sleep well!" I'd mumble with a smile.

"Hmph, whatever! Goodnight, I guess...." She would pause and smile, staring like a cat about to pounce. "I love you too."

(A journal entry from a while back regarding my ex-girlfriend)

I wonder how she felt when she typed that out.

"At least you have a thigh gap when u cut"

I wonder what went through her mind when she typed that out to her girlfriend at the time. Now, I can hardly imagine even thinking that about someone you have feelings for, let alone typing it. I wonder if she ever felt sorry for saying that to me. I wonder if she knows those words play in my head when I look down at the scars on my thigh and hear her voice play in my head like some broken record. I wonder if she still feels my cold, slim, unhealthy hands touch her waist like I feel her sweaty and hot hands on my thighs, the thighs she loved so much. She may have loved my body, but she seemed to envy it. Much more than one should.

"u don't seem to know what it's like to see urself in tight clothes to not have space between ur thighs to fucking starve urself and cut so deep because of something that you "can't" control."

I wonder if she every realized just how wrong she was. I wonder if she spends hours of her day staring at the mirror like I do, wondering if I'm enough.

I wonder if she still thinks about me, I wonder if she gets mad when she hears my name. I wonder if she's actually happy.