a lot of those things on that picture was sosososo adorable and gave me happy butterflies so i’m going to write one myself!! (and procrastinating, obv)
so i saw this boy at a party last night and he was really cute and i wondered if he was into the quirky and dorky kinda girl who laughs too much and likes to throw weak punches, and liked reading books on a friday night as much as he liked being drunk here with a bunch of friends and strangers, and if he would tell me random facts about himself and what he likes to do, and if he likes to run around holding hands, and if he will look me in the eye and just smile and if he’ll be able to tell when i’m getting upset before i even make eye contact with him, and if he’ll squeeze my hand if he feels the slightest motion that i’m fading away, and if he will always run after me and run with me, and if we could go to playgrounds and push each other on swings and have late night conversations until we see the sunrise and then we’ll kiss and smile and laugh between all those kisses and fall asleep anywhere because it wouldn’t matter where we were as long as we had each other, and we would get breakfast while we looked like a mess and we’ll watch television but talk about what really matters to us, and he won’t mind that i’m indecisive and contradicting and confusing, and he’ll understand that i’m just an average girl with a mended heart who’s just trying to find some love and that i’m frightened but he’d never let me go otherwise, and we’ll make food for each other and go on unusual adventures, and at the end of the night we will look at the stars and listen to each other’s heartbeats and think about the first time we fell in love.
when i was a little kid, everything used to made me cry.
and i’d hate myself for it and ask myself why i couldn’t be like everybody else. why i couldn’t be like other kids who were happy and able to be so carefree. and when i was a teenager and certain things made me cry, i wondered why i couldn’t be strong enough. i wondered why instead of fixing things, i decided to cry, cry, and cry. and then i stopped crying for the longest time. and i forgot what it felt like to shed a tear, for that tear to stain on my face, and for tears to keep dropping as they made their imprints on my clothes. and i had realized that i was weaker than ever.
and then i remembered again. i remembered what it felt like. i remember i cried so much because it made me who i am. i had realized today that i like to cry..because it makes me feel alive. it reminds me that i can still feel. it brings me back to a time when i loved while i was scared and anxious and overprotective.
it’s ironic, when i came to college, i thought all of these feelings would be amplified. but instead, i had lost them all. i had lost all feelings.
"when i wake up and i don’t want to live, i think of you. you give me a reason to live. more so than my family. you are more important to me. i love you." "no. i don’t. i don’t give you a reason to live." "why are you always like that?" "like what?" "denying my love. you always tell me you love me but when it comes to the important things, you never believe me. you won’t accept that i care about you" "i don’t know what you’re talking about." "whatever."
"you know. one day i’m going to prove to you that i love you more than you love me. and maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but i will. i love you so much, you don’t even know. i know i’m shitty and i have a hard time being this person you think i can be, but you make me who i am and you make me want to be a better person. i wake up and think of you. you give me a reason to live."
we were in wal mart, and i turned away because i started getting upset and you grabbed me and turned me around. you held me by the shoulders so i was unable to move. and you told me those words. you told me those words while three of your friends were around us.
blahblahblahblah i miss you. things were always easier with you despite how difficult our relationship was. you were an asshole but i knew you loved me. and i know you still do. i just can’t deal with it anymore. and you haven’t chased me this time, because you know i’d find a way to leave you again. don’t worry, i understand. i hate dealing with myself too. well maybe, maybe this time, i’ll go back to you.
but you never let go of me. you always insisted on prying through my brain to know exactly who i was and why. i need people like you in my life again.
"i’m sorry. i wish i could explain to you why i can’t do any of this" "then explain to me. i’m here." "i can’t. it’s too difficult. i’m sorry. i’m too fucked up for this. and i don’t mean drunk. i mean i’m too fucked up. and you shouldn’t deal with me. it’ll be easier for you."
one day i will learn to be close to people. one day i will stop pushing away people that i want to let myself care about. one day i will learn to love without question. one day i will stop all these excuses. one day this will all be different and one day i will look back and think, “how silly. all you had to do was just love, trust, and let go of all the anxiety. that’s all you needed all along”
"i wish i could be you! you are such a partier and you get such good grades"
there’s more to life than the party image and good grades. there is so much more to me. and there is also so much emptiness. there are holes inside of me and i will never be able to escape all this void. you don’t want to be me. you can have my gpa and you can have my drunkenness. i will trade you for the happiness of the world.
"i remember that one time nick drove up to see shepleigh but shepleigh and i were going to visit you two so he left and i was trying to catch up to him and i was driving at 100 and there were those windy bump roads and he texts me and he’s like "you know a tire could pop off if you drive that fast over those bumps" and i was like "shut up" and then i never caught up to him because i took the wrong route..HOW THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN" "lmao i was there?!" "or maybe you weren’t? let me think, anyway the teen center, trying to two step…worst mistake of my life" "OMG WHAT YOU DID THAT? "no..i did in the bathroom with shepleigh and we failed LMAO" "hold on, i’m channeling my deepest memories that i blocked out" "okay, contact me in a few years" "UM WERE YOU THERE WHEN ______ VAGINA WAS EXPOSED"
"i feel like no one will ever truly understand me. and i can never unconditionally love a friend. i wish i could but i just find myself disagreeing with parts of everyone." "me neither. i feel so selfish, because i remember a time when i wasn’t this way. it’s like you’re constantly finding flaws in people so you have an excuse to remain closed. so you can find the errors in others before they find the errors in yourself."
"i think people like us are different, because we sincerely value friendship. i don’t like when people fuck up in the slightest bit especially if i considered them to be a true friend. and then i beat myself up for it for thinking i could remotely trust someone and that i’m stupid for believing that humanity is different, because i generalize so much."
“There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter—the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last—the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company… .”—E.B White “Here is New York” from Essays of E.B White, which I am presently devouring. (via minusmanhattan)
being so logical and intelligent is fascinating. you cannot tell me that you’ve never been intrigued by a person who is able to spit out odd facts and support their opinions with strong facts. but i want creativity and different types of intelligence. i want my child to be artistic and musical. i want them to understand more than what is laid out in a book. i want them to understand what is never taught in school, because you can’t learn the most important things in life through lectures, only through lessons.
i want my child to be able to love and to grow from mistakes instead of being boggled down by academics. i want my child to worry about keeping a friendship alive than getting into the top college. i want my child to have the right intentions. and i want my child to be bright, but naive. because that is the only way to see through the world with clear eyes but blurred vision. i want my child to read books, interesting books, not textbooks. i want my child to write, freewrite, not essays. i want my child to learn - from people, from the world, from observation - not from what school offers. i want my child to be happy.
i was depressed and you hadn’t helped my situation. there were four of us. it was lunchtime and we were sitting on the bench in the middle of the school outside the music department. you had thrown insults at me expecting me to be invincible. and i had starting crying and all you did was laugh. and i started hypervenilating and i told you to shut up. i told you to fucking stop talking and you kept laughing without a care. i had walked away from the situation and from you. but you still took every opportunity to your advantage. the moment you saw me you would insult me and then told me not to take it seriously.
but you were depressed, too. one day, we were in the computer lab and you couldn’t get microsoft word to work. and you slammed the keyboard and everyone had turned. you started crying. and i told you to calm down, i reassured you and helped you. i hugged you.
it’s so ironic. i had cared for you despite all my depression and the rude attitude you had treated me with. you never had a reason to be this way to me, but i took it with every ounce of ignorance you had in you. but the minute you’re falling apart, i’m there. all you could ever do was hide your problems by being completely and unnecessarily arrogant toward me. i don’t care about how terrible your life is, you have no right to make people feel like shit because of your own insecurities. you can never justify your actions this way. i helped you despite anything. you were an asshole.
it was always so much easier with friends who were dropouts.
they didn’t ever look twice or question anything. they just were. that’s the difference between dropouts and college students.
you’re not reckless. you’re not spontaneous. you’re a college student with a knack to be drunk and to do horrible and beautiful things because it’s your time to live without the restrictions of parents and society. you’re perpetually searching for something more.
but you are reckless. you are spontaneous. you’re a dropout who hasn’t the need to have an education because you’re working full-time at a gas station or the local grocery store, and the night ends with some drinks and then it starts all over again tomorrow. and there is no one you live for, because you aren’t stuck in the image society gives us. you live for yourself. you ruin yourself and you create yourself with every waking moment. and you aren’t broken and you aren’t poor. you are living a perfectly stable life, but you’ve found the key to a crazy life. you’re crazy all on your own. you’ve found some happiness.
and you’re just a college student pretending to be happy.
me: “it was fun though!” smurphy: “like jaywalking across the main street while drunk?” me: “i do that while sober!”
ive been thinking about this whole concept of freedom all day. it had all started when i talked to both kendra and shepleigh today, and i was flooded with old memories. i was smiling with every phrase i read, and i had found myself happy and elated. i had realized how comfortable i had felt just speaking to them. and i’ve talked to them quite a lot, but today was different. today was different and i was happy.
i want to reunite again and wonder what it would feel like. i had felt so free. we were so spontaneous. we were happy and depressed and angry and curious and numb. we had been everything and we didn’t even know it. we had had the times of our lives. i want to go into a gas station while i’m talking to the worker and distracting him while you’re stealing a pack of premium crackers, and then we’d run off to the pond and feed crackers to the ducks. i want to run around downtown, running away from reality and ourselves, and never feeling better about who we are.
that’s the thing. i loved it with all of you because we all knew we were capable of handling ourselves. we didn’t need to be taken care of because we knew we would all make it through the fire. we all trusted each other to take care of ourselves. it was a game of survival. i often find myself running around flailing my arms when i’m drunk. running from street to street screaming and smiling. and it reminds me of us. but back then, i didn’t need an excuse to do it. whether we were sober, high, or drunk, that’s how we always were.
that’s how we always were. we were exciting people. we used to have so much personality.
i feel that i’m misunderstood frequently, but the biggest problem is that i’ve been holding this person that i haven’t been for years. i’m misunderstood by myself. and the only person who is having trouble with this is me. i lost so much at once and i have no way of knowing how to gain it back. and most days i’m satisfied with this bubble, but some days like this, i wonder if i’ll escape to the real world.
it has been years since i have been free. don’t get me wrong, i’ve had moments of freedom, but i haven’t felt purely free since i was fifteen. when i was sixteen and seventeen, i used to be so happy. but i had realized it was because i hadn’t had any friends, and the only expectations i had of people were of me. and the only expectations i had of life were of my own actions. i couldn’t blame anyone for how i felt and i couldn’t ruminate if i didn’t have the chance to be close to people, if i didn’t even have memories with others. being happy is simple and carefree when you are the only person you can depend on and the only person who can let you down. i had learned to shut off everyone in the world from me, keeping contact at a minimum. having artificial relationships with no real commitment. and it was easy, but harmful in retrospect.
and then when i came to college and my one real best friend had turned out to be someone completely different, i had learned to keep everything to myself, completely. and everyone i had met already had a best friend or a lover. in fact, most of them had a multitude of friends. i didn’t even have one. i had always talked about friends in the past tense, but most people hadn’t noticed. i had forgotten how to have serious conversations. instead, i had devised ways to turn everything into a joke. i had brushed off old relationships and friendships as meaningless events in my life, because nothing had truly mattered.
and nothing ever bothered me. i can count on one hand the times i had cried my whole freshman year. okay, that was a lie. i can count all the times on both hands, but that isn’t anything compared to the all the tears that i have shed all over the years. i had become completely emotionless to everything around me. i couldn’t care for anything because i had lost myself. and i want to find myself again. i want to care about people more than i care about myself. because i don’t, because i’d spend so much time and effort fighting for love only to have it thrown it in my face. and it almost seems easier to be hidden than try to put myself in the spotlight where i am vulnerable and more prone to damage than unconditional love.
and that’s the problem with me. i only want all or nothing. i don’t want this in-between sort of thing. i don’t want those mediocre friends. i don’t want the typical love. people used to say, you can’t pick the ones you love. and it’s true, but i still manage to somehow pick and choose the feelings i decide to have.
i’m admitting this for the first time in a while. i want to feel loved. i’m alone with all this loneliness i surround myself with. i want a best friend. but more importantly, i want to accept someone’s love. i want to be able to trust and to feel and to give and to know what forever feels like again.