• The Man I Left

    by  • April 16, 2014 • 2 Comments

    Dear J,

    You were right when you said there was more than religion separating us, tearing us apart. You haven’t escaped your ugly past, and your– whatever illness it is, you turn into a different person.

    Every relationship, platonic or romantic or familial, is premised on trust. Romantic relationships are premised on vulnerability which makes mutual support possible. When your illness returned, I could not be vulnerable around you. Your moods became unpredictable, and I found myself spending most of my time with you trying to support you emotionally and trying to predict which way you would swing next.

    I felt like a therapist, not a girlfriend. And it might have been all right if I thought it would end– if I thought I could support you, focus the relationship on healing you, for a few months, and then you would be better and we would be closer. But it never ended. I kept trying to support you, and it never got better.

    And you stopped asking about me. I think, in retrospect, that’s what ended the relationship. You stopped listening to me because you had so much pain inside of you. You just couldn’t focus on anything else. I understand that. I don’t think you were being selfish. But it warped the relationship, changed it into something else.

    I supported you until you said you could manage on your own, and then I left you. I’m sorry. The first three weeks were terrible. I worried about you and missed you constantly.

    But on the fourth week, I woke up and felt freer than I’d felt for months. It was like color had come back into the world. I felt faintly guilty, but the relief, just the relief of not being tied to you overpowered everything else. I knew that, for the last four months of our relationship, a deep, voiceless unhappiness had crept inside of me, and I tried to ignore it. But I hadn’t realized just how much of my happiness and energy had been lost to that relationship.

    When I left you, it came flooding back, and I walked on a mild high for six weeks. Then I began to miss you again– and then you sent me that email, you know the one, where you took every vulnerability I’d entrusted to you and used it to hurt me.

    It hurt, J, it really did. But it freed me completely, because I lost the tenuous attraction to you I’d held. Because (I admit it is foolish) I held a sort of dream-hope that you would get better and sort things out. I thought maybe me leaving would be the impetus that made you get help. But after that letter– I realized that, even if you did, I wouldn’t want you any more. I hadn’t realized until then that you could be cruel.

    I wish you well, J, but I have no regrets.


    by  • April 16, 2014 • 3 Comments

    Hey :)
    If you don’t withold your number when you ring my phone I will answer it. I do want to speak to you but just dont know how and what to say to you. It’s been so long. I never answer calls from numbers which are withheld so if you want to speak to me please don’t withold your number..
    I promise I will answer if if you don’t withold your number.
    Because I do want to speak to you..


    by  • April 16, 2014 • 1 Comment

    I have never told anybody the true meaning behind my tattoo. And mostly it’s because I have never really wanted to open up and talk about it before. but now I am ready to share my story.
    I have a tattoo on my right upper thigh that says “fighter” with a simple line drawing of a turtle. I got this tattoo the Monday after my high school graduation. For me, high school was not easy. I struggled trying to fit in and never felt accepted. I was constantly dealing with friend drama, was struggling with school work, and to be completely honest; i was just depressed. During my freshmen year, I started cutting myself. I’ll never forget the first time I did it, I just stood there in shock that I could ever do this to myself and instantly vowed I’d never do it again. My promise to myself did not last very long as I continued to do it for most of my freshmen year. I eventually told my mom and she got me the help I needed. Unfortunately, the therapist I saw was not helpful and I did not enjoy seeing her because it didn’t help me or make me feel better. So by the time my sophomore year rolled around I told myself my year would be a good one without hurting myself. For the most part, I stuck to that. When March of 2011 rolled around, I began a downward spiral because of a boy, because of friends, because of my family, because of my grades, and because I was too young to know how to make it all stop. The only way I knew how to focus my pain somewhere else was by picking up a razor blade again. I wore long sleeved shirts on the warmest days and somedays blood stains would leak through the shirts and people would question me and I’d make up a silly excuse. I was at the point where I wanted to be dead more than I wanted to be alive and I didn’t know how to tell anybody that. I planned the day that I was going to kill myself. I chose July 12th of the coming summer to be the last day I live I gave away some of my favorite belongings to people I cared about because I was literally going insane. A teacher noticed, a teacher that I never really liked, but she noticed and found me the resources to get help. Because of her, my mom was notified and the questions began. She asked if I was cutting again and I answered yes, reluctantly. This time, she found me a new counselor to talk to and I found myself really connecting with her. She made me think about my life in new ways and I fully got to express all the feelings that I didn’t even know I had. I saw her for the rest of my high school career. By the time the summer came, I knew that my July 12th promise to myself was not going to happen, I gave myself another chance to make things better. I had one a great summer with my best friend in the whole world and started working at a job that I truly loved. Summer proved a new hope for me and my life. Entering my junior year of high school I was excited to have a constant group of friends and was doing well in school. Unfortunately, a series of unfortunate events occurred and I cried myself to sleep for weeks and was unhappy with every aspect of my life. I had felt sad and depressed before, but this time was different. This time I wasn’t just sad about everything, I was empty. I didn’t care about things and I had lost interest in all the things that gave me hope. After 8 months of being cut free, I broke my streak. Instead of slicing my arms apart, I chose to slice my thighs. My thought process was “nobody will see it because it’s winter and my legs are hidden.” I have a hot tub at my house, and my junior year I didn’t use it much because you could barely tell that my legs had skin. My right upper thigh was the worst. Walking around during school with jeans tight against my skin was the most painful experience I’ve ever had, my legs were so raw that I’d go to the bathroom just to sit in the bathroom stalls to let the cuts breathe. I didn’t think I could recover from this experience. I continued this the remainder of my junior year into my senior year until I finally went to the doctors for a physical and she was examining me and asking me about my depression. She finally saw the scars and fresh cuts on my legs and I started taking antidepressants. I began taking the medication december of 2012. Doubtful and reluctant to take on the medicinal route to depression, I tried them. They surprised me and made me realize that I am able to be happy and I just needed a little boost. That December I made my final promise to myself about this journey. I told myself that I have six months until I graduate and I know I can do it. If i make it to graduation I will get a tattoo of the word ‘fighter’ to remind myself that I can face any challenges that come my way. Whether my high school days are my worst in life, or whether my worst day is still yet to come. Around March of 2013 I discovered the greatest poem I have ever heard. “The Nutritionist” by Andrea Gibson, if you have not heard this, i highly recommend it. This was another turning point for me because I connected to every word that came out of her mouth. Soon enough it was graduation day and I can’t even begin to explain the immediate release of what felt like the weight of the world off of my shoulders when I was handed my diploma. I had scheduled my tattoo appointment the week before and was looking forward to my own personal celebration of getting past my milestone in life. People who see this tattoo always ask about it and I nonchalantly just pass it off by saying ‘yeah i had a shitty time in high school’ but nobody really knew what I experienced or what I felt. Even reading this and writing this will never convey the way it is perceived in my head. The images I have glued to my brain will forever be a part of my life, but so will this tattoo. And when I entered college I was anticipating no challenges or trials, but I was wrong. I have faced many things I wish I didn’t have to deal with, but any time i thought negatively or wanted to hurt myself I looked at my tattoo and knew I could make it through. So I write this now, 15 months cut-free, graduated, and most of all happy. and I don’t think i could have done it alone, so I thank every person who helped me along my journey so far. I am a fighter, and I forever will be.

    To My Best Friend:

    by  • April 16, 2014 • 1 Comment

    It shouldn’t surprise me, yet here I am, stuck. I am here deciding if I should tell you. You have been there for me constantly. While other girls get easily bored by my interests or get frustrated with my stubbornness, you don’t. We have spent so many nights staying up late just talking about any topic that came to our minds and you would even stay up and give me advice on how to get our friend to date me and then were there when all of our efforts were in vain. Yet, they weren’t because in those late night talks about what I can do and the fun arguments we would have or how we could just sit and do work next to each other and feel perfectly content I fell in love with you. Now I know I love you, it may have taken a while, but I can say I do.

    I know by the fact that I felt nervous for the first time when I held you hand, or how your emotions now directly affect mine, or the fact that I can’t imagine a life without you. You make me feel safe and secure, you put up with my foolishness, we are mutually weird,and your happiness comes before my own. It pains me to fight with you, especially since most of the time I realize I’m just being stubborn. I say I love you because I do. I honest love you PandaBear. I don’t know what type of love it is, it may be true love that I am feeling for you, but I do know this: I love you more than as a friend. This is a special love I feel for you, and while I don’t know if it’s true love, I know it is very powerful and fills my heart at the sound of your name.

    Since, I now know this. . . What am I to do? Should I send the text I have poised to be sent, or tell you in person, or keep it secret as long as possible so that I can at least help you when you need it and be your friend, the best friend you could ever want or need. I want to hit send. . . but what if I lose you forever?


    Your “such a goob”

    Twin Soul

    by  • April 15, 2014 • 11 Comments

    Youre my twin soul. My twin flame. I feel your thoughts and I feel your pain. My soulmate. I wish it weren’t true. Why does “The One” have to be you?

    you’re sick, but I love you

    by  • April 15, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Dear Narcissistic Mother, I love you no matter what, unfortunately, you never instilled that feeling within me. It’s taken me most of my life to figure out that not everything is my fault, though admittedly I still feel the guilt of everything. No one would ever be able to imagine all the fucked up things you have done over a lifetime, don’t worry…your secrets will stay with me…or anonymous. I come to realize that you intervened with all my interpersonal relationships. Granted my choice of a man was not always perfect, it is my right to fail, besides…I refused to let my children grow up in a violent, abusive home. You didn’t do the same for us. I’m sorry grandma didn’t protect you, God rest her soul, but what in the fuck was wrong with her, she allowed the ripples to roll through the decades. I’m proud of my sister, even though I don’t have much of a relationship with her…I believe she maybe much better off without you. You had no right to ever yell at her husband. Your sick and twisted ways never cease to amaze me. Of course you would want me to get back with my ex, you could manipulate and control him, and you know I would never be happy with him. You don’t want me to be happy anyways. I never realized that was really your true intention. It kills me inside, but I have to learn to not take it personal, after all. You can’t help that you are sick. I hate feeling defeated, helpless, and hopeless. I pray God won’t condemn me to hell, and often times I feel everything would be better if I just wasn’t here. You’re right, I should have never been born.


    by  • April 15, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Four years… Four years of an immature relationship. You used to treat me like I was the love of you’r life, and I should have realized long ago that that man was gone. I don’t know where he went but this new one is one of the worst people I have ever met. I don’t know how I said I loved you, because I don’t. I love the idea of you. What did I do to deserve this treatment. I have always been there, respected you and nothing in return. I will never go back to you. You’ve ruined me, it’s like a bad story where people can’t watch the screen.
    Four years out the window and all you say is oh ok bye. WHAT DID I DO? Why do you think you have the power to treat someone like that who has only ever tried to fix us.
    You have no power over me anymore. It is all over. I will grieve for some time, I see you are not, but I will only become stronger after this. and guess what