I think that there’s this point in life where you get really tired of caring. I think what I mean is that I’m tired of caring and then nothing happens. I’m at the point where I just want to say, ‘look, it’s up to you from here, but don’t you dare give me crap because your dumb butt won’t do anything.’ I feel like that is where I’m at right now. I’m down to having fun. I’m down to making friends and talking and getting closer, but I am so done with getting locked and barred from more. I am taking care of me right now, and if you want to keep me you have to come and fucking get me.
Yes, this hurts. It hurts a lot. Every time you’re around, I get happy—stupidly, obnoxiously, obviously happy—but also it’s like this little piece of me dies. A little piece of my light, the light I keep alive for love and hope, goes out. I literally feel myself drained by you, by your words and your caring and your jokes and everything about you. But guess what? No matter how hard this hurts, no matter how many times I rant and complain about your lack of initiative to my wonderfully patient roommate, no matter how many times I cry over your ass, I am going to be ok.
I am going to survive.
Why? Because I’ve been down this road before, I’ve been down this road far, far, far too often. I’ve only ever been down this road except for once—once! And that one time was a terrible mistake. Maybe I’m the problem; maybe I expect too much, fall too fast, am too picky. But if I do expect too much, if I am too picky, then guess what? You passed the test, you’ve been marked as better than the rest in my mind. In my mind, no matter what happens or how much that light of mine continues to die, you will always be better than some of the rest. I say ‘some’ because someday I will find someone who is better than you.
I will find someone who is best for me, and someone who I am the best for.
I will find someone who loves me back, who will move to get me and keep me.
I guess I’ll just keep smiling stupidly, I’ll keep talking to you about music and small tidbits about our lives. I’ll keep telling you things that my best friend thinks I shouldn’t—funny, though, how I don’t know what things she’s talking about.
For now I’ll keep trying to care for myself, because always caring for those on the outside has left me so damn broken and withered.
I am going to nurture myself.
I am going to care for myself.
I am going to love myself, because if I don’t love myself, how will anyone else?