Damaged


I get this overwhelming anger when I think of all of it. This anger that makes my gut twist and my heart race — a kind of anger that sticks around just beneath the surface. I always thought of it as depression. Granted, maybe it is and I am misinterpreting all of this as anger, but I just know what I immediately feel.

It took me about a year ago to figure out what my problem was. Why I randomly freak out on people for little mistakes they make or over-exaggerate others. This anger  and insecurity I have mainly revolves around relationships and other forms of dating, and one of the reasons I try to stay away from romantic relationships. I have this fear of never being good enough. And by that, I mean I have to be number 1.

This wasn’t a trait of mine growing up; rather, something I developed when I reached college. After being average for so long, I got sick of being walked on by everyone. Not to mention, I had my first love break-up with me to be with another girl. I literally have always been #2 or just not good enough. I wasn’t the worst option, I just wasn’t the first for anyone and anything.

Here we are, I am 22 years old, and I have this feeling taking over my life. I feel like when relationships I have don’t work out, I fixate on what they wanted and what I needed to be to become good enough. I started this trend with my ex. I starved myself (mostly because I was too depressed to eat, but whatever), exercised twice a day, redid my wardrobe, drank a lot, partied a lot, joined a sorority, joined clubs and honors societies, got into fights, was awarded for my academic success, graduated from undergraduate in 2 years and became someone everyone wanted to be or be with.  Yet, I am still not good enough for him.

From the list above of things I did in order to find myself, I based it off of ‘her’; the new girl who had transfixed his desire. She was very thin, tall, brunette, sorority girl, honors society, and loved to dance. Aside from the dancing, this is what I strove to be, to be this girl because that was evidently what ‘he’ wanted, right? As I chased this perfect thing, I somehow lost and found myself. I drank, almost got myself raped, lost friends, got in trouble with the university, and tried to kill myself. Throughout all of that, I discovered who I was. I became an extremely motivated and ambitious person. I joined a sorority and met my best friend. I was accepted into great graduate schools and I received numerous honors from the university. I found my place in life because I tried to be someone else. How ironic.

Today, I’m experiencing whiplash. I’ve come to terms that I’m never going to get Adam back. He is always going to be someone I love, just not the person I am meant to be with. And now, every guy I date, I am overcome with the insecurity that they are thinking about someone else when they are with me. That I lack in relationship knowledge, despite my other life successes. I want to know what they see and why my newer relationships won’t last. Is it because I am still not good enough? Or am I too good and men are too intimidated by me? I don’t understand, and that anxiety is building slowly and peaks out of its shell every now and again when I feel my place is threatened.

Like I said, I don’t know how I got like this. I could blame it on my ex, my parents, friendships even, but I truly don’t know its source and I wish it would just go away.

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The Goodbye I Never Got


I never even got a chance. Its been 2 weeks since we last spoke to one another and I’m left full of regret. I never got a chance to tell you what you mean to me, what I feel, and how I would have done it all differently.

Tomorrow you leave for LA. The distance is short, but I know it is only going to add tension on our fragile relationship (if it is even existent at this point). The thought of saying goodbye to another person I love physically pains me, and I wish I had a chance to tell you a few things. I wish I could tell you that I love you, and the only reason I act the way I do is because I care about you and our relationship. I wish we could have had the chance to develop a friendship deeper than just small talk and physical contact. I wish a few things had gone differently for us, maybe then this goodbye wouldn’t be so hard.

I have my doubts on my love for you because of the way you hurt me. I realize you aren’t someone I can trust romantically, someone I can count on to be there till the end… you just want me when you’re bored. Yet, here I am, writing this goodbye, eyes full of tears, thinking about how grateful I am for what had happened. Yeah, it hurts, but for the first time in what seems like forever, I felt appreciated and cared for. I thought that someone like you could love me too. While I realize how unrealistic that is, I don’t regret it. I got myself hurt, but I know more than ever what I want now. I know what I can be physically compatible with someone, I know that casual sex isn’t for me, and I know that nothing is guaranteed to last.

As selfish as it is for wanting you to stay, I still yearn for it. I hope I get that text saying you’ve changed your mind and are about to do a complete 180 from what you’ve done before. Nonetheless, the realistic side of me couldn’t be more proud. You moving out of your parent’s home and going to a new school in an unknown city is exciting. You’re about to grow-up and truly find yourself, and while that scares me to watch you chance, I hope you do and it’s for the better. It is kind of hypocritical of me to not want you to leave. After all, this is exactly what I did, and how we met in the first place.

Here’s the goodbye I never got. I’ll forever remember the late night drunk talk at Chase’s, the random phone calls where we rant about how our lives are crazy, and the little sweet gestures we did for each other. I know a lot of bad has happened, but so has a lot of good, and that’s something to be thankful for.

I love you, Troy. And I wish you all the best in LA.

You’d Think I’d Learn


My newfound plan to live spontaneously is slowly killing me. I decided to start living by the day and not be so much of a planner. This way, I don’t get my hopes up and I live each day how I want. Well, this plan is going pretty great, but I am beginning to realize that I can’t keep this charade for forever, and reality is slowly creeping up on me.

I’m enjoying where I am and the opportunities I have. Don’t get me wrong I am where I want to be right now. Nonetheless, everything and everyone around me is changing and there is no constant in my life which is beginning to scare me. I’m kind of dating this guy who I am really into and he’s moving in a month to pursue his dreams. My family is far away and that dynamic is changing in itself too. People are coming and going from my friend circles and some of those I hold dear to me are so far away.

First things first, I have to come to terms with Troy leaving, because once he leaves we’re done. He makes me happy (for the most part) and I have this chemistry with him that I have had with very few people. As he moves to LA, I will still be here figuring out my life and getting my life together. I feel myself start to pull away, and he does the same to me. It’s the last thing I want, but I can’t bear to keep hearing about his new school and life without me. So, instead of dealing with it, I’m ignoring it and enjoying the time he and I have together, which is slowly biting me in the ass.

 

When will I ever find a happy medium?

Crazy. Stupid. Feelings.


That amazing moment when you tell the person you’ve been crazy about since the day you met them your true feelings and they’re right there with you. I’m so into this guy, its unbelievable. Under different circumstances this would all work out, but here I am still single and selfishly hoping he doesn’t leave like the rest.

We got insanely drunk at a friends kickback last night, and that always bring out an interesting side of the both of us. I was already pissed because he keeps blowing me off and refuses to hang out with me unless there’s a group… I was pissed. Needless to say we got to sleep on the couches right next to each other, and he asked me to have sex with him. I told him I would if he promised not to be an asshole this time, he agreed, and that was that. Next thing I know, I’m back in my couch when he walks over, sits on the ground next to me, and tells me we need to stop having sex because we aren’t acting like friends to each other. Rather, we are just two people who hang out and like fuck each other. He explained he wants a break from the sex so we can work on actually being friends with one another. He admitted that he has feelings for me, but he thinks it’s because of sex. I guess he enjoys our relationship and the sex is “amazing”, but he wants something deeper than a FWB? I was rather shocked and kind of hurt, but the conversation got so much better. He opened up the darkest corners of his mind and shared with me things he has never told anyone, and vise versa. We sat and talked for two hours about us, our lives, and developing a deeper understanding of one another.

I haven’t felt this comfortable with any guy in forever. Being able to sit and play with his hair and stroke his arm was just amazing. I miss being a girlfriend more than anything. I want to be his girlfriend, but with him moving to Los Angeles in a few months, it’s already over. Long distance is something neither of us is interested in, and life is so busy right now it would be hard to navigate. So, we agreed to work on an actual friendship and to stop the sex for a while.Then he went back to his side of the room.

“Do you want to have sex again?” was the last thing I heard. And suddenly we’re back to square one.

 

Little Blade


When I was a kid, I always complained about getting shots at the doctors’ office. Most notably, a tetanus shot. I was always told that a tetanus vaccine was necessary because I could somehow be scratched by metal and could die from it. Being the smart-ass 9 year old I was, I thought that only an idiot would get scraped by a metal object. Here we are, 12 years later, and I am the idiot that I always questioned.

There’s something special about dragging that blade across your skin. A feeling of closure almost. The skin looks so pure and innocent. Then, by one small “mistake” it becomes damaged by a red line and little pellets of blood, almost like me. The metaphor of self harm just occurred to me, and I can’t help but better understand my thought process on why I chose this state of being. I used to cut because I felt numb and wanted to feel something. The pain I felt from the blade reminded me I was still alive, there was something there. Now, I cut because I feel too much, and long to soften that pain into that numbness. Self-harm is a undeniable drug that keeps you addicted by satisfying multiple facets of your life all at once.

The first time I cut, I was 14 years old. One of my friends in middle school was just as depressed about her life as I was about mine, so she told me that this made her feel better. I tried with a knife once at 14 and didn’t feel the attachment. I tried again with scissors a few months later. Still no draw. I had decided then that cutting wasn’t for me, and that I was just going to feel this depression for the rest of my life with no cure. I tied again at 17, this time, with better luck. I sharpened an old bobby pin from my hair into a sharp end that could easily graze across my porcelain skin.I hardly ever pressed hard enough to draw blood, just enough to irritate the skin and be covered the next morning so I could go to school.

That all changed when I went to college. My heart was broken, I lost my friends, and I genuinely gave up on my life. I needed something harder than a simple bobby pin to stop the feeling, to shut it all out for the night so I could finally sleep. Through Tumblr, I found that some people chose blades from pencil sharpeners to get the job done. So, from an old make-up pencil sharpener, I unscrewed the blade and played around with my new toy. That first night, I drew more blood than I ever thought I would. It became more of an addiction once I started, and it became an almost everyday occurrence in order to feel some control over my life. Suddenly, my feelings changed. I wasn’t feeling too much, I wasn’t feeling at all. I felt as though I couldn’t feel anything for anyone, including myself, and I need self-harm to remind myself that I was still here, that I had a purpose. A twisted way to look at life, I know, but it made sense to me. I can’t fully express why.

I gave up self harm for good in July of 2014. I’m sad to say that as of today, I have relapsed back into my own patterns. I felt upset and broken, and must have sat and stared at that blade for close to 20 minutes before getting the courage to pick it up and do the inevitable. I’m back to feeling helpless, sad, and unwanted. I thought I knew where my place was in this world, but the truth is I have no clue. And I honestly don’t know if I am ever going to figure it out.

All thanks to one little blade.

What it’s like to be in love with a “fuckboy”


“fuckboy” — A manipulating dick who does whatever it takes to benefit him, regardless of who he screws over. They will screw over anyone and everyone as long they get what they want. (Urban Dictionary)

Like many, I thought the girls who fell for that fuckboy bullshit were dumb and deserved what was coming to them. They willingly entered into a situation that made them vulnerable to a douchebag who is only interested in sex and anything that benefits him. Well, it turns out that things are more complex than they originally appear. Fuckboys aren’t always the guys who drive up in a sports car their daddy bought them and flip that old-school Justin Bieber hair. Rather, they could be disguised as a nerdy kid in class, the quiet guy at the gym, or even worse, your friend.

I have been pretty spot on when meeting fuckboys and giving them zero time with me, yet I somehow ended up with one in my bed nearly 8 months ago, and I still can’t quite seem to get him out of my head. We went from a one night stand, to dating, to friends, to friends with benefits, and now back to friends. 8 months with him has been a roller coaster and I am not exactly sure where it’s leading… but I think I have come to one conclusion… I’m in love with him.

I thought it was the sex. It had to be. I haven’t been with many guys and having someone spend so much intimate time with me was bound to make an impression. I would give myself little test to test my love: Sparks when we kiss? No. Butterflies when you see him? Sometimes. Sexual Compatibility? For the most part. Trust him? Depends. My answer to the love thing had always been a no. Everything that I had known about being in love from the past was not true here, so therefore I am not in love. Wrong, very wrong. I didn’t realize the feelings I had for him until he called me a few days ago to end our sexual relationship to pursue something other than being a fuckboy and being a halfway decent person. He started seeing a psychologist, working on his trust issues, and cooling it with his fuckboy persona. To be honest, I wasn’t upset with this ending; rather, I was happy that he made such a decision because I want what’s best for him. Would I rather still have a sexual relationship? Sure. But, at the end of the day all I want is for him to be happy. And if that isn’t love than I guess I don’t know what it is.

So, this is the story about how a fuckboy taught me to love again. A feeling I never thought I would ever wish to resurface, and here we are. Let’s hope I have the courage to one day tell him how I truly feel.

I love you, Troy.