Can you feel it? Seeping in through your pores? Crawling up your spine as an ache? Disguised as the creaking of your joints, it settles in.

You cannot escape it.

Sitting up, your back ceases. You cannot move. The bags under your eyes have gained weight. Your temples begin to pulse.

Dehydration. Chronic exhaustion. Your body needs rest, water, food.

Life does not permit. There are bills to be paid, groceries to be bought, work to be done, chores that go neglected, school work that sits on the desk though the week.

Once you get home, though the intention was there to do these things, you fall into bed and cannot rise.

There is no time. It has been stolen from you, your life, these precious hours have been plucked like daisies of last year. You had no choice.




I never have a day off- bags under my eyes grow into an old expression on my face. Something more permanent, harder to dispose of with a cup of coffee or one good nights rest.

I’m happier in my free time, however.

Laying in bed to take a nap, it has become the most luxurious commodity I can imagine.

Always smelling like espresso grounds and dish sanitizer. Can’t get the smell out of my pants.

And when the thought lurks into my mind to slow down and take a day off, I remember why I’m working so hard right now. One day I want to be able to sleep in until 10 everyday. One day I want to be driving a car with heated leather seats and unnecessary lights everywhere. One day I want to go shopping at Sephora and Whole Foods without having to check the prices on everything I pick up.

So that means San Francisco. That means University. That means putting myself through school. Long months. Long hours. Minutes of insanity. Long walks late at night after twelve hour days, five hours of lectures and an entire workday all in one- can’t sleep anymore. not even when i’m exhausted.

not even with a glass of wine.

or a hot shower.

or sex.

Exhaustion weeps from my pores.



Now that I’m about a month into living in San Francisco, I’ve begun to realize the things I’ve been doing that aren’t sustainable. My job, for instance. Waking up at 4am every other day and on the weekends, it’s not working. I’m exhausted, sick, and never have time to study.

My education, I’m realizing, is my ticket out of having to live like this. Granted I don’t accumulate student debt, I will be able to do so much more with my life. Sacrificing my education over a minimum wage, high stress job isn’t worth it in the end.

I’ve also noticed some fundamental differences between T and I – they aren’t necessarily bad, but these differences are posing questions for myself. Of course, all these questions are hypothetical and I can’t actually answer any of them..

He was raised in a community where houses average 1.5 million dollars in cost, where they might not seem incredibly ‘nice’, but their location makes them desirable. He goes to a private school that costs more than what I make in a year for tuition. We come from very different social classes- I’ve always have to work for what I wanted. Always had to sweat and grind for the things that I needed. My life isn’t cushiony or soft, it’s not positive unless I put the effort in for it to be. And he’s got an espresso machine in his kitchen. His own room, with a sofa and TV in it.

Yesterday I got to talking about some issues I have with my mom, and he mentioned knowing it was selfish, but said he got overwhelmed when I talked to him about my issues. He was doing homework and helping some friends out, but I’m wondering if he doesn’t have the emotional maturity for the kind of relationship I’d like.

Of course, he is a young guy, so maybe he’ll mature into that kid of person.. but I can’t expect that. If this is who he is, can I make it work? Is it a relationship that is right for me to cultivate? He’s very loving, and remembers just about everything I say. But he’s also a little bit power hungry.

But he gives me emotional satisfaction when we’re together. He’s easy going for the most part. But something feels off sometimes. The sex isn’t mind blowing, but it’s decent. Best sex I’ve had in awhile. He’s not afraid of taking things slowly every once in awhile.. but still something seems off, I can’t get away from it.



T – he’s a normal guy. Listens to mildly angsty music, doesn’t seem too troubled, he’s got friends and a social life. However, unlike other normal guys I’ve talked to, he seems to have another dimension to himself. Ya know, a personality.

He’s kind of insecure, but it’s not distracting and it doesn’t seem self-destructive. He’s observant. He remembers things. He is self aware. He’s mildly afraid of intimacy, but I think he wants it.

Me? Perhaps there was some projection there. I like him, but I’m pushing him away. I don’t know what to do with intimacy – it terrifies me. I’ve learned that it’s not the other person, it really is me. It always has been. I’m the one who pushes people away and won’t let anyone in.

I want to learn how to let him in. I want to let him connect with me and put my facade away for a moment. This girl I’ve created on the outside, she isn’t friendly. I want to show him I can be friendly, supportive, interested in more than physical pleasures, but I’m so used to playing hard to get and using mildly degrading actions to seem disinterested.

It’s just a habit now. A habit I want to break- if I don’t push him away first. But I can already feel a dissonance – that there is a disconnect I created. It wasn’t there at first. It started when I became insecure about whether or not he was seeing other people. I told him I wasn’t, and he smiled but didn’t say it back. It’s an irrational fear because I have spent eight of nine days with him. But he talks about girls he saw in the past, almost like he’s trying to prove something to me.

It just makes me less likely to trust him. It makes me insecure. Jealous. I know he sees it, he always asks if he said something wrong. I don’t want things to be like that. I don’t want him to feel like he has to monitor his words, I wish I didn’t get jealous and could just trust him.

The first time we hung out everything was so effortless. The wind on our faces and the waves crashing into the rocks, and we just talked. And the time after that when we took a walk on the beach at night- effortless. Honestly it feels like that still, until I feel insecure about something. I need to wave that insecurity away because it’s not productive. It hasn’t helped anything. If I want this thing between T and I to work, I have to learn to overcome my own insecurity.

I think we make each other happy.



I write about the cavernous pain I feel inside as if it is the only truth the world holds- but I realized there is a lighter truth that is equally as true.

They exist in the world, contradicting and yet somehow both right in their own way.

Pain exists, the truth of ugly and paralyzing agony. But so does happiness. Happiness exists too. It comes in the form of lighthearted laughter and falling in love- happiness comes in the form of sunshine and chocolate and family, and it is just as true as the pain.

I always knew happiness was real, but to hold it to the same standard as pain was a new thought. What if they were equals? Happiness as powerful as pain?

Since moving, I’ve been forced to evaluate who I am and the values I put out into the world everyday. Meeting new people who exhibit their own values and showing the world how they exist.

I’ve met happy people, bitter people, generous people, anxious people, and I’m learning what kind of person I am. Learning what kind of person I am not, the kind of person I do not want to be.

I met this guy, he brings out my better parts and I still feel like my rebellious self. I don’t feel like I have to hide any aspects of who I am. It makes communicating so easy, spending time together effortless. We spent so much time together this last week and I haven’t gotten tired of him. I don’t know that I could.

Last night when we were studying together, I finished my homework before him. So I did what I naturally just do and I started tidying his room; made his bed, picked up the miscellaneous bags he had on the floor, the papers that had gathered under the coffee table, and afterward he looked me in my eyes and asked if I was ready to define things.

Of course I don’t know him entirely, it has only been a week. But today I looked at this guy at my university who looks kinda like T and it reminded me of him, and the words that went through my head were “that looks like my boyfriend”-

But last night I told him I wasn’t sure yet, because we hadn’t known each other that long.

I’m very cautious now. I’m not trusting. I don’t want to get hurt and this.. this could end up hurting me. This happiness has the ability to turn into unimaginable pain, and for as resilient as I am, I am also very fragile.



The city makes my life solitary. I may wake up in an apartment with five other people, but my busy schedule never lets me stay here long. I go to a university with hundreds of thousands of people, and yet I don’t know a single person by name. I go to work, and I stumble. Words come out of my mouth too soft or too abrasively, my hands seem to glitch as I do normal tasks. I don’t have time to socialize when I am struggling to remember to brew coffee.

Outside of the apartment, work, and school, I knew one person. I use the word “know” very loosely here because we had never met in person before. Two years ago we started talking online, and he ghosted me. For an entire year, that is. Out of the blue one day, he texts me and says he was intimidated by me. That was his excuse. We didn’t talk much after that, but when I moved to San Francisco he and I matched on Tinder. So I figured why the fuck not reach out. We met, got dinner, and went back to his place to watch tv.

The conversation was dull, except when we really got to talking at dinner. I felt a connection- perhaps a false one. He was a little obsessed with his Juul, and that seemed childish. He didn’t touch me at all before we got to the bedroom. If he weren’t incredibly intelligent, I would have written him off a lot sooner. Something about a guy who can really think turns me on. However, he doesn’t have a lot of emotional intelligence.

I am not going to analyze the who, what, when, where, or why of this. I don’t have the time or energy to waste on someone who has treated me poorly. I did that for Leo, and I regret it. I have higher standards for people than I did three years ago, but I am still human and I still get hurt.

Jacob hasn’t spoken to me since we had sex over a week ago. Again, I don’t want to analyze that- it makes me feel used.

I don’t love him or anything, I didn’t even feel comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. I was insecure and intimidated during dinner. But I so desperately want to be held by someone. I wanted it to just finally click- I wanted him to be the soulmate I didn’t anticipate finding this early on.

At work, sometimes I hear faint ghosts of sounds I once heard at Galaxy. Leo’s silly “hello” that he would say as he walked around corners, a popper beeping, the sound of people sweeping, breaking cardboard boxes down in the hall.

Every time the thought of Leo pops in my head, I have to set it aside. I cannot think about it now. The pain I feel is a new one.

I want to move on, but there is this feeling inside me that there is no moving on from Leo- simply packing away those feelings and seeing other people until one of them makes me feel the way he did. Moving on generally entails the desire to, and I don’t think I could ever want to not love him.

I should have just listened to myself when I moved. No relationships, no sex, nothing. It makes life complicated and unnecessarily stressful. Before I would pursue someone new, the same thing always popped into my head, why not? I always viewed the potential pain as a price I was willing to pay for a chance at finding that thing everyone is always searching for. I don’t have any more of myself to give, I don’t have the energy to let myself get hurt. Yet I did just that, I let myself reach out to the guy who I knew had ghosted me before. I let myself sleep with him even after I knew that he was emotionally immature and had never worked a minimum wage job before. He has no real life experience, even if he is twenty and has a legitimate career.

He can never speak to me again, it will only affect my philosophy of the world. I don’t even care to have answers anymore. The world is constantly hurting and disappointing me.