Where Are You?

fuck you, Her, Journal, no trust, Partner, Personal, Relationships, sex, sexual harassment, stalker

I started going to therapy, so far I’ve been twice. I’m not doing well. I’ve been increasingly more insecure and unhappy with myself over time – noticing things I hadn’t before and losing sleep over back fat or my stretch marks. I’ve been rejected, almost raped, and ghosted so many times now that I’m giving up on finding anyone worth being with. They’ve either fucked my sister or have confederate flags hanging in their room – or something equivalent. There’s the emotionally unavailable, the too eager, the borderline sexual assaulter, the one who loves too hard too fast and then it fades, the one who stays with me cause it’s convenient, the one who loves me but I don’t feel the same, the one who is way too old for me.

Where is the one who works with me? Where is that type?

Used

fuck you, Journal, no trust, Partner, Personal, Relationships

I am an idiot. I knew he hadn’t changed, that I was being used. I’m hurt and irritated at myself for allowing this to happen.

If he had cared about me, he never would have ghosted me – let’s be honest about that for a second. He left and didn’t look back, the whole story about being intimidated by me was a rouse to win me over because he could see my skepticism. He knew I had been hurt and that the only way to get me to be his cure for loneliness he had to woo me with some fake ass compliments.

God, I am so stupid. Ashamed that I didn’t have the self respect to back out of this sooner. Frustrated that it got to the point where he wasn’t opening my snapchats or responding to my texts.

I must be one fun confidence boost for him, huh? Just message me when you’re feeling down about yourself because you know I’ll give you attention and respond in two seconds.

Fuck you, Jacob. Fuck your dumb ass stories and pleasantries. I need a punching bag and some healthy food to binge eat, I mostly need the goddamn punching bag, though.

You pop into my life when it suits you, respond when it suits you, are into me when it suits you. Well you know what I think suits you? Garbage. Go live on sunset blvd where you fucking belong, you scum.

What I hate more than feeling used is the fact that you used me, and how many other girls you have done this to. I cannot have been the only person you reconnected with or got ahold of because you were lonely.

Fuck you. Get a grip and start acting mature.

I’m Fine

Creative Writing, Failure, fuck you, Her, Journal, Memories, no trust, Partner, Peace, Personal, Relationships

Tears dropped from her eyes, “I’m fine,” no one was there to hear the statement “I’m fine” desperately repeated in a hysterical plea.

How could she be fine? Her grandfather lay in the ground, deep in a concrete hole. She felt sick – Their last goodbye would always be that; Their last. 

“I’m fine,” the words stuck to her lips like fly paper “I’m fine” a lump rose in her throat, her stomach felt like it was filled with acid.  

Her mother walked through the door, “Guess who hit goal today!” Completely oblivious to the breakdown the girl was having. “The sweetest older couple came in and bought two temperpedics!”

In that moment she realized how much she meant. That her mother’s job had more significance than her tears.

Later that night her sister asked to hangout, they would go driving and get Starbucks, and talk. Really, her sister would do the talking and tune her out if she said a word. Or complain that she never listened and used her for Starbucks because the girl didn’t have a job to pay – when she had been invited, said thank you, and apologized for not having the funds – when her sister had insisted she get something and upgraded her drink from a grande to a venti without asking – but then blamed her. 

The sister would talk about cheating on her boyfriend of the time, about going out and partying, and when the girl didn’t respond with “Ooooh, take me!” She was met with a glare, and asked why she was being judge mental.

Like she was supposed to support getting wasted and cheating – but she loved her sister. She didn’t want her to feel like she was taking advantage of her.. She went out with her sister because it was the only time they spent together anymore.. Even though she felt used and unwanted, she went because it was her big sister. She loved her more than anything else in the fucking world.

“I’m fine” she laughed when she passed her ex on the freeway, making eye contact. 

“I’m fine” when she slept with someone who she barely knew

“I’m fine” when she got an average SAT score

“I’m fine” when the dude who ghosted her popped back into her life and disappeared again.

But the world was crippling her, weighing her down when she realized just how average and mediocre she would become. When she realized she would be like her parents and barely be able to afford to pay the bills. Questioning her ability to survive when she was already thinking about how to kill herself, and had been for the last six years. 

Thinking about her dead grandpa, realizing one day she would die and there nothing she could ever do about it. 

She was anything but fine, in a world that masked and beautified anything terrifying. She felt lost, but didn’t want comfort. She wanted assurance, she wanted answers that didn’t exist, but most of all she wanted to feel loved, when no one had ever taken the time to make her feel cared for.

Men Can Be Awful

Failure, fuck you, Journal, New, no trust, Partner, Personal, Questioning Sexuality, Relationships, Sexuality

There has been so much going on in my life – from guys to my sister moving back in to my grandpa passing away, and it’s all stressing me out a bunch.

My relationships with dudes have been less than great recently, first there was Charley – the dude I met online and seriously regret seeing because I had sex with him and like tbh I shouldn’t have and none of it felt right. Like, I should have known that anyone willing to drive from three states away to see me when they’d only known me for less than 100 days was gonna be sketchy. Like, I’m sorry Charley, but I’m also not because I was very uncomfortable and you did push me into things faster than I was ready and I’m sorry that you’re insecure and can’t handle me criticizing you at all.

After Charley, there was Kylan – we were just gonna be friends with benefits, but we hung out twice and I changed my mind post VCF-insertion and when my naked body was underneath his naked body and he was aggressively holding me down and forcefully giving me TOO MUCH tongue.

Then there was this weird run-in with Talon when I messaged him and was like “missing you” and he was like “Missing you too, but I have a girlfriend that I’m only dating cause I’m not over Felicia” and I was like “Talk to me when you are single” and he was like “I will” and we left it off like that and went to bed, but the next night he sent “Lol jk that’s never gonna happen” and I was like “LOL I’m happy you said that cause I was drunk last night”, but like I wasn’t drunk and totally did miss him.

Then The nEXT DAY – Mr. San Francisco JACOB fucking messaged me after ghosting me for a goddamn year. Like, this son of a bitch just hits me up outta the blue, responding to the last question I sent him this time last year, and like I was being super cautious and saying shit like “Um yeah well I’m not gonna send you nudes because self respect and also you ditched  me for an entire year and how will I know you won’t do that again?” and he was like “I’ve Changed”

news flash.
HE HADN’T CHANGED.

tHAT son of a bitch hasn’t spoken to me, responded to my last message or snapchat in two whole days.

I’m not gonna be all desperate like last time because I have far more self-respect. But, fuck him. Also, he is now Vegas Jacob, because he moved.

I am seriously considering if I’m bisexual or just lesbian – at least girls don’t fuck you over, I’ve never been fucked over by a girl, it’s why I don’t write about them on here.

And like my grandpa passed away last week. Tomorrow is his funeral. I don’t know how to respond to this yet.

Burdens You Face

Creative Writing, Family, feminism, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, Poetry, Relationships

We burden her.
She won’t admit it, but we burden her.

We talk, but she doesn’t like being reminded of her burdens.
We cry, and her burdens are overwhelming.
She can’t stand us.

Forbid her burdens have issues that need attention.
Forbid they demand health treatments that cost money.

Isn’t it feminist to be selfish?
She wants to think so, and selfishness it is.

This burden doesn’t react well when yelled at by the Abusive Coward,
But let’s slap a “sensory overload” tag on it and call it good.

That burden doesn’t like being threatened by the Abusive Coward,
It leaves and it’s a bad, bad burden.

The smallest burden, the loudest, it needs attention and her time,
but that time is called for by the Abusive Coward.

The coward, he is the victim when he strikes a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when he threatens a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when a Burden cries.

She sees humanity in the coward,
She sees love in the coward,
She sees hope, light, and prospect in him.

Her burdens weigh her down,
Suck her dry, they kill her spirit.
Despite being their mother, these burdens are inhuman.

She carried them around, 9 months each.
9 months to learn to despise them,
9 months to learn she would never have freedom.
9 months to realize she carried the children of a man she loathed.

I am her burden, one which has been steadily growing seventeen years.
I am her problem, which she can’t ignore.
I am the outspoken burden which plagues her,

Plaguing her existence with demands.
Fair treatment.
Therapy.
Vegetables.

Extremities which cannot be fulfilled.
Demands which are impossible.
Requests that are beyond capability.
I am your burden, mom.

I Need To Hear It

Awareness, Domestic Violence, Family, fuck you, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, Poetry

I know how I feel, but their words drown out my voice.
I know what has happened, but they say I’m making it up.
I know what I have seen, I know it and I will never shut up.

It’s just sensory overload
You’re just displacing your fear
This is a simple case of, “_____”

maybe “it’s Just” what I’m telling you it is.
perhaps I know what I’m experiencing

“The social worker thinks it’d be a good idea to get you into counseling”
Have I not been saying that for three years?

Listen to me.

Just fucking listen to me.

I know how I feel, I know what I’ve seen, stop doubting me.
I’ve come to terms that you don’t listen, my words are like wind to you,
they pass quickly and you don’t notice them.
my words are like the sound of a subway passing,
quick and you’ll soon forget them.

I swear to god, some strangers notice my suffering more than you have,
and don’t tell me that this is my fault.
I didn’t bring this on. I didn’t call CPS.

Please someone, tell me this isn’t normal.
Please tell me that being yelled at, accused,
isn’t normal.
please tell me I’m not just too sensitive.
I need reassurance that I’m not just a weak kid who
doesn’t understand the world.

I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy.
I need someone to reassure me that this is not regular.

That having Child Protection Services at your house is irregular.
That being screamed at and blamed is unusual.

I need to know I’m not just exaggerating,
I need to know that I will be okay,
I need to know that this isn’t all me..

On My Mind

fuck you, no trust, Personal

Things I’m Tired of thinking about:

  1. Talon and his new girlfriend
  2. Whether or not said girlfriend is Felicia
  3. Xavier
  4. If he’s seeing the girl I saw him walking with the other day
  5. Why the fuck Brandon stopped snap chatting me out of nowhere
  6. All the guys who have ghosted me, ever
  7. Why my instagram is 20 likes shy of what it has been recently
  8. The fact that Charley went to bed and I’m lonely as fuck
  9. My nervous tick where I poke at my arms, which are currently really swollen
  10. All my damned homework that I’m ignoring
  11. Did I mention Xavier? Despite the fact that I unfollowed his profile on facebook so it wouldn’t keep posting when he liked something that’s genuinely funny and made me laugh, reminding me that I get his sense of humor — but then the crushing reminder of reality that tells me he was probably projecting his feelings for his ex onto me and that he never actually liked me and when he said he was “lucky” he meant nothing because he doesn’t like me and never did and that spark was gone for him a long time ago and he was walking by MacKayla and he doesn’t even see you half the time, and I need to get a grip because the reality of this is that you don’t matter to him.
  12. Did I mention that I don’t matter to Xavier?
  13. How guys use me until they have their fix, or until they realize they’re uninterested, but they don’t really tell me that and I have already grown attached to them.
  14. How I feel like anyone I have an attachment for will inevitably leave me
  15. That I’m scared number 14 is because of how my dad hasn’t tried staying in contact with me and that my mom is emotionally out of touch with life.
  16. Why do all of the guys who think that they’re cute end up being assholes?
  17. The fact that Charley lives so far away and that I’m low key worried I’ll fuck it up
  18. I don’t want to go to public school anymore. It makes me want to kill myself. Not even joking.
  19. I hate seeing Talon being a smug ass around campus
  20. I am annoying that I yelled at him. That I heard Felicia telling him that “it’s actually kind of funny”
  21. Remembering that Cadence said I was bigger than his taste
  22. Thinking Kavy is an annoying bitch
  23. Autumn too
  24. I just want some solitude and a weekend all alone.

Discomfort

Journal, no trust, Personal, Relationships

You led me on, told me you were interested, asked me on a date.
Now I feel awkward for having feelings for you,
Because you ignored me for a week.
Now you don’t “feel it” anymore.

What am I supposed to think? You got my hopes up.
You made me believe something was going to come out of it.
You said you were interested too.

Who could blame me for being a little upset by that?
By you.
The thing that gets me is that I was starting to really like you.

Now here I am, back where I started,
feeling like every dude who has walked the face of this planet,
Is human garbage.

Don’t pretend that you care about me in anyway,
Because you don’t.
Don’t pretend that you “understand where I’m coming from”,
Because if you did, you wouldn’t have ignored me.

I became the mistake that happened after you broke up,
Didn’t I?

God, I’m fucking mad.

Recalling Memories

Church, fuck you, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, New, no trust, Partner, Personal, Religion, school

You were the first boyfriend that I was both physically and emotionally attracted to.

This is probably my least favorite part of breaking up because my dumb fucking brain only wants to remind me of all the cute things you did that made me like you..

How you got that app with the little kitten that would roam around on your phone. How your hair would flip when it was long.. how we would hold hands during psychology. How your face would brighten up when you would see me waiting for you at lunch or before 4th period. Holding hands when you drove – that long car ride we took to Taft.. When you came over that one time and we watched that really annoying and shitty movie Nate recommended, we got taco bell, and cuddled on the sofa…. When I came over to your house and took that picture of you with a Snapchat filter of a cat.. When we went to starbucks together and you hated me for getting you to like the passion tea lemonade. Taking me to the melodrama, getting that pretentious macaroni and cheese in SLO with your mom..

But then, there were the times when I just couldn’t help wondering why we were ever together.. When we would argue about anything political. When you told me you were thinking about going into the military. When you just the other day told me that you couldn’t date someone who was fat – or when you out right said that you would specifically look for things that solidified your existing beliefs. The racist songs you played in the car that one time…

I only broke up with you because you obviously didn’t want to be with me anymore, and I’m not sure why you hesitated to do it yourself.

I love you, but now I resent that more than I ever appreciated it. It’s burdening me, I don’t want to love you.

They, Themselves, and I

Failure, forgotten, fuck you, Future, Her, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, school, Small Things

Yesterday was an insane and emotional day – it’s funny how one can mask their identity so easily while out in the public eye, it’s so convincing that they even believe it, and then the moment they get in the car, the mask melts away. They cry. They scream. The perfect mask they had acquired throughout the day, is meaningless.

The things that still hold meaning are what made them cry in physics, the things that are too deep for even their family to help with.

It’s when they’re last on the gym court during dodge ball and everyone is yelling at them to score and get everyone back in the game – yet they fail to. Losing the game.

It’s when their PE coach comments about how their tshirt is getting “looser” and that they are “getting better” at the mile — even though they still only got 9:30 on it. They know it’s not the best time in the world, and would rather not have her comment on it.

It’s when they’re in the car on their way home, and their mom asks how their day went, how school was, and they can’t even respond without a flood of tears ensuing.

It’s when they are laying in bed at 1:47pm and the next week they have finals and all they can think about is how calming death sounds. How easy it would be for them to just jump.

It’s when they’re sitting in the dressing room during rehearsal and they can’t allow themselves to think about themselves or how they’re going no where in life already, because the director instructed that everyone “check their baggage at the door” – they can’t let anyone know that their costume makes them feel ugly because every other princess in the show got a hoop skirt but them self.

It’s when they can’t allow their stories to become person, so they resort to talking about them self in the third person.