I'll hate you to the moon and back

“Having to tell myself “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay.” wasn’t beautiful or poetic. Sitting on my bathroom floor, crying begging someone to help me even though no one could hear me wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t something worth going through. The pain wasn’t worth it, it was fucking painful. It was fucking painful to wake up the next morning when all I wanted to do was die and that’s the fucking truth. The truth isn’t beautiful or poetic. It’s not a John Green book or a Notebook love story, it was real. The pain and the tears and the hurting was real. The aching was real and it was more than painful but painful is the only word to use because what I felt was something that didn’t have a definition. So don’t tell me that this pain will be worth it some day or that I should turn my hurt into something beautiful because you don’t have to go through something painful to learn something. I don’t have to force my pain to be beautiful because it wasn’t.”

“And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.”

“So you say you love them, but do you? Have you seen their truth? Have you seen them weak? All the layers stripped away and sheer primitive emotion? Have you seen them angry? Have you seen them cry? Love, real love, only happens when you see someone at the very worst of themselves, and still find your heart full with softness and warmth for them. Before you confess the wholeness of your love for someone, see them without the mask we all wear for the world everyday, the mask that says, “I’m fine” when it means “I’m broken”.”