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Just sayin'.

This guy? Needs to not be dead. And not be old. And marry me.

Taken from my badass notebook, full of badass-ness. Neither of these are words.

I'm irrationally afraid of the dark. I mean, sure, a lot of people are, but I'm not using the word irrationally lightly here.

Let me set the stage: say I go into the back yard at  two in the morning for a cigarette, okay? It's nearly pitch black save for the lights you can see from maybe stores? Because apparently my neighborhood doesn't believe that light which isn't the sun should exist. My neighbors and family are all sleeping like normal people should be.

And then there's a sound. I live near the most trafficked street in town, so I should be thinking, what? It's probably traffic. Somebody's house cat in roaming my yard. The breeze is passing through the trees and nothing's going to eat me.

However, in which direction does my mind immediately go? WILD BEAR. And that thing floating in my pool? Is an alligator, obviously. And there's a cheetah in the bushes, and I'm probably about to be eaten by a malicious, fire-breathing dragon who will roast me with one breath and skewer me and share me with his friends by some kind of dragon campfire, and oh my god, did I forget my sword?

Realistically, nobody's been eaten by a dragon since Medieval times. Probably. Just to be sure, though, you should probably check the closet. NO, NOT LIKE THAT, WEAR SOME CHAINMAIL.

Anyway, I've been attempting to adopt a better outlook on life; little progress so far, I think. Wait, what does that have to do with how this started? No idea. I'm not very good at transitions sometimes.

I guess there are a lot of things that scare me in my life - most irrational. Oh, there's the connection!

For instance, someone touching my spine? Freaks me out. And the window being open while I sleep. Why? Because spines snap, and because hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your fucking husband, because they're raping everybody out here.

For you, this is probably humorous. You're probably singing the song in your head right now, and oh god, isn't it so funny? But do you know what it means to me? IT MEANS CLOSE THE FUCKING WINDOW, ASSHOLE.

Or you can leave it open. But don't say I didn't warn you. If you decide to ignore this, maybe include a cute little sign, "Rapists Welcome."


This was supposed to have a title, but I didn't make one until it was already posted. My bad.

You know what's funny in that way that something's not very humorous but someone starts the sentence like it will be so you're all pumped for a joke that's never coming? The fact that I can't write humor. I know, you're totally laughing your ass off right now. Stop that, you're making me blush.

Anyway, in a seriously serious way, I'm terrible at writing to make people laugh, even though in person (some) people seem to get a kick out of me. I guess you need the tone of voice to add to it, or maybe it's my facial expressions? I've heard I have great expressions, but I wouldn't really know. Wait, are you saying my face is funny? I'm suddenly offended. I'll never take that as a compliment again, assholes.

I think I had a point, and I think it's that I can at least try and make you laugh every couple hundred posts, but I don't promise anything. Usually when I do, it comes across as forced and fake and nobody's laughing except for the people who laugh at other peoples' pain, because they're fucking dickbags. Whatever that entails.

That's the best I can do. Probably. Actually, I bet I can do a hell of a lot better, but that's never motivated me in any other area of my life and why should I suddenly change for you? Selfish prick.

I think I went from like, never posting to posting entirely too much in one day. Even though this post and the one before were totally not from the same day, and for some reason my dating's all wrong. Great.


And I'll always love you.

I remember that the day I turned sixteen I invited a few friends over to my house. For some reason, every girl except my cousin canceled and only the boys showed up.

I wound up sitting in my living room with Candyce, Anthony, Charlie, Rodney, Marc and Allen. I think I was seeing Marc at the time, and Allen was going to the military academy. His eye was blackened and swollen from that fight at Crestwood Park, and it looked absolutely awful. He opted for wearing a bandanna across it in some fashion or another most days that he went out.

I remember that I had a wonderful time, even though all we did was play video games on my living room couch.

The first time my dad ever laid eyes on Allen, he had walked me to my car after school. Dad asked me what I was doing with such a large boy, told me that he looked like he could absolutely crush me, that he looked scary. But after people got to know him, they realized that Allen was one of the sweetest, gentlest boys in the world.

After he broke his leg, my dad would actually go out of his way for me every morning to pick Allen up from his house to save him the hobble to school. I really appreciated that. In reality, my dad is typical - he hates the idea of me dating, he hates the idea of me growing up, but he wasn't stupid. He knew how much Allen meant to me.

I have so much to say about him that I don't know if I'll ever be finished talking. I could write a book on this boy, and maybe someday I'll try. Anyway, I'll just end this with: Thanks for the memories, my forever best friend.

And then you were gone forever.

That was the year you disappeared.

I could say it was out of nowhere, and I could say it was within the blink of an eye, but I really would have to admit that I didn't know you at all if I said that were true. In all honesty, I paid closer attention to you then than I ever had, and I knew it didn't happen in an instant, but rather over the course of days, weeks, months. I lost you little by little with every breath you took, realizing just how out of rhythm our heartbeats were, how different we were. I lost you more with every hour of sleep, something I cursed. I lost you little by little, but I just couldn't find the leak, couldn't repair it to keep at least some small part of you where you belonged.

Now you're a ghost of the person I used to know, and there's nothing left in your eyes to make you the person I once loved.

Revived from the black hole that is my writing folder.

I wrote this a long time ago, but I just got my computer working for the first time in six months, and I've found a trove of writings in my documents folder. Things that I had completely forgotten existed, and that I'm so happy to have back.

Now you can read what I've never gotten the chance to share, and goddamnit, you had better like it. :)

“Look,” she said, glancing into his hazy eyes, “I didn’t plan this.”

He felt uncomfortable under her gaze, but didn’t break eye contact. “You never plan anything,” he said.

She sighed. “All I ever wanted was to be happy.”

“And all I wanted was to love you.”

“Well somewhere along the way we both just fucked up.”

He looked away. The working parts of his mind had been slightly out of order for quite some time, and he truly never expected her to stay under these conditions, but he had hoped. Now he would give anything, everything to keep her here. “I promise to try harder.”

Her eyes watered and she shifted her gaze, her futile attempt to fight back tears. “Neither of us has the strength left for that.” As he tried to protest, she emphasized with, “And you know it.”

The look in his eyes hinted at the feelings she thought had been lost a long time ago, numbed by drugs and drinking, shadowed by a completely different personality. “I never wanted it to be this way,” she whispered.

She looked into the bottle that, moments ago, had been so much heavier. “I never expected you to be empty.”

Hear, hear.

I have to tell him these things, even though I don't know when I'll find the strength to.

I need to tell him that he's worthwhile, that he's brilliant, gorgeous, talented. I need to tell him that he's capable of  doing great things in his life, if only he would try. I need to do everything in my power to make sure he believes all of this, because I truly do. I could list a million things to back up every compliment I've ever given, and he would completely dismiss all of it - even though, to me, they're more than compliments. To me they're fact.

But then I need to tell him that he can't accomplish anything if he keeps on the way he's going. And I need to make it clear that I can't keep holding on if he's going to continue to push me away, because I frankly can't move on this way. Because how can I walk away if he asks me to remain close? And how can he ask me to stay if when I do he completely disregards me? It's not fair, and I either need to be accepted and loved or to be completely let go. None of this half-and-half bullshit. None of this playing with my emotions.

I'll tell him I love him and that I probably always will. And I swear with every fiber of my being that I'll mean it. I'm sorry it had to be this way, I'll say, and tell him goodbye. I'll miss him and I'll probably cry, but I'll know that I've loved before, that I love currently, and that I'm capable of loving again.

A lot of things will end in my lifetime, until eventually my lifetime itself comes to an end. Until then, I won't give up. Until then, there will always be room in my heart for more.

The pleasures and pains, the losses and gains.

"Hope hurts more often than it helps."  - Taken from my journal, 11/9/10

No problem handed to you is without an answer, but you will hardly ever be handed that answer. Everything is a test, and you're capable of overcoming, of understanding. Just find the strength to do so.


I just hate everything.

I hate waiting all day for a text that doesn't come. The anticipation, the hoping, and then having to go to sleep disappointed.

I hate that I do what feels good over what is right.

I hate friends who promise to always be there for you - until something better comes along.

I hate that I would give up anything for them but they wouldn't pass up on a party to help me through my depression.

I hate friends who were never really friends in the first place.

I hate living every day knowing that I'm not what I could be. That I don't know how to live up to my full potential.

I hate loving people with the realization that any relationship I'm ever involved in will be 60/40, 70/30, with me always on the losing side.

I hate that I'm incapable of keeping anyone that I love in my life.

I hate that I can't make things okay on my own.


Dear best friend,

I don't know what it is. I've never - probably never? - felt so comfortable around another person, not enough to actually (try and) discuss my internal issues, enough to try new things that I may not have even considered before.  And while I'm probably not exactly open compared to other people, where I've come to be is pretty out there for me.  The problem is that I'm more of a listener as compared to someone who may openly spill everything in their head, and you definitely made sure to point out that this bothers you - that you want to feel lost in conversation with me, and that I need to work on offering that. Fuck. How?

I know that I don't say the things that I should often enough, and I that I need to make it a point to. I want you to know how fucking brilliant you are - do you even realize that? That you're a talented, gorgeous person who can do so much better for himself? I won't tell you that it will be easy, because I don't believe anywhere inside of me that it will. And I'm not saying that you can accomplish this tomorrow. But it can happen, and it needs to happen. You deserve for it to happen.

And even though this will probably make me sound like a complete hypocrite, I'd like to see you focus on the good in your life instead of constantly settling on the bad, because it's not the only thing you're ever going to have. I just want to see you absolutely, genuinely happy. That's probably the only thing I'm not willing to pass on here.

I'm sorry that you haven't had better in your life, that you don't hear these things often, that you don't feel like you're worthwhile, but I want you to know that I know that you deserve better.

"Maybe nothing's as important as we used to believe."

Taken from my notebook, the outlet I need to keep myself from falling apart.

Hoping brings me nothing but pain.

I feel extremely gullible and utterly retarded for believing in your words, in the feelings associated with you, as if I didn't have an index of past pains to compare to. And I constantly saw signs that I pretended were things I could work on, I made excuses for you, and the whole time I was only fueling my own depression. This whole inevitable end.

They say everything is relative, so how do you change your views on life so as not to be constantly at war with your own inner self? I can come up with the arguments, repeat them as if they were some sort of personal mantra, but I can't find a way to actually believe in them.

I hate everything a little more every day, and I'm afraid I was masking that with what happiness you did provide me - using him as some sort of barrier between myself and the outside world. There are better ways to do that, ways to actually learn to love yourself, but I'm terrified of putting in the effort only to realize that I'm incapable of mastering them.

I just want to vomit, and I can't tell if it's because I'm upset with you or disgusted with myself.