Toxic

Journal

I care. Probably too much. He’s not even in my life anymore and I question how genuinely he cared about me. It’s always in the back of my head that he might have just kept me around for someone to fill his time with and sleep with cause technically that’s all we were. Maybe I’m incapable of having something casual and no strings attached. That’s what it was supposed to be.

I’m too emotionally involved. He doesn’t care.

I just need to move on..

but I don’t want to let go of how I feel.

Nothing is worse than caring about someone more than they care about you- but I feel like that sums up how my feelings for people generally play out.

That cavernous ache in my chest is back. I’m alone. I’ll probably always end up alone. The only thing worse than being alone is feeling like you finally found someone and then they just stop being around. Or they never cared about you in the first place.

Reminding myself why I’m not alright, why I haven’t succeeded, why I’m fucked up. Wondering how much of it is a choice. Could I have changed any of this? Is it just my destiny to be a loner?

I guess it’s just who I am. Awkward, dysfunctional, toxic, and in the end, alone.

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a·lone

Journal

When I had Tristan around, I was just as single as I am now. But he made it okay, he made it somehow acceptable to be alone. I wasn’t really alone, anytime I had the place to myself, he came over. Which is shockingly obvious now, riley is at her boy-toy’s house, my land lord has a girl over, and I’m the only one living here who isn’t with someone tonight. And it hurts. Not even just because I’m lonely, but also because I let myself get attached to him, to the way he made me feel. I got comfortable, he was always around when I wanted him to be. Now I’m in this dark room, giggling from the other side of the wall is creeping in. I’m alone. I’m just as alone as I was before, which makes it worse. He gave me this nice facade that I could get comfortable and relax, that he would be there. It’s over and I don’t know why I’m still talking to him because I know we won’t see each other again and it fucking hurts. I didn’t want to lose that comfort. I didn’t want to lose him. I was going to anyway when I moved, but this came out of nowhere. It was hard enough when he was in the accident and I thought he was hurt, but now I’ve actually lost him. But what did I really lose? Is it that comfort that I miss? The fact that someone would hold me if I asked them to? Because I have lost all of that and it’s very real, but I also miss having him around because he could actually manage to make me laugh. He could make me relax. I hadn’t relaxed in fucking years. I let my guard down and I got hurt.

After the way I had been treated by Leo, being stood up anytime I bothered to try and make plans, to have someone go above and beyond when it came to treating me right was more than enough. He fucking held my hand all night when I was drunk and high off my ass and having some bad reactions to some shit, he was there trying to take care of me. You know, I have had pneumonia and my fucking family didn’t treat me that well. He was laying on the floor, holding my hand while I was on the sofa. It couldn’t have been comfortable. It was an act of kindness that inflicted mild discomfort on him for a long period of time. He could have just let go after ten minutes and I would have been sad but I wouldn’t have held it against him. Instead this guy held my hand for hours while I was sick from all the shit I had, while on the floor. He wasn’t even fucked up. He was just being nice. Not to mention the one date we actually went on, I feel bad for giving him shit about not knowing how to tip on a card now – and I should have been more grateful, but at the time I figured he was just gonna try to get in my pants and dip like every other goddamn guy out there. He paid for dinner, kissed me, and held my hand. Am I just really easy to impress after the shit I’ve been exposed to? I think he is amazing. He’s kind, forgiving, funny, giving, and not to mention how cute he is?? I just wish I would have known what a good guy he was before. I figured he just wanted to use me.

aim·less

Journal

Everyone I talk to tells me exactly why they don’t like me. I am constantly being told why I am not a good person and then I look at girls like her and I can understand why no one would ever want me. I’m just not a good person. It’s moments like these that I have to really fight not finally killing myself, that I remind myself how many times I didn’t give in to the temptation. But is life worth living if you hate yourself and people around you hate you too?

The sad truth is that no one was around when I would throw away my belongings because I was planning on killing myself and didn’t want other people to have to go through the emotional distress of getting rid of the dead girl’s things. No one was around when I wrote the drafts of my suicide notes. No one was talking to me when I had a knife to my throat, or pills in my hand, or when I tried to drown myself. Nobody ever bothers to genuinely ask how I am. I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay. But I consistently hear from people saying that I’m a waste of their time, that they know why they broke up with me, that I am the worst person they know. It seems like everyone has the time to tell me what’s wrong with me, but no one has the time to care about me.

I feel like that’s a problem of mine. I get constant badgering of why I’m not good, yet no one has ever bothered to love me. Not my parents or my siblings or even my friends. I’m fucking alone. It’s a miracle I’m alive today and nobody realizes how close I have come to dying. Not even just dying. How close I’ve come to killing myself. I feel like I don’t have a place in the world. I feel unwanted.

I don’t need anyone to love me, I’ve proven that just by living, but it would be nice if they did me the decency of not actively trying to upset me.

Let me binge drink in the shower alone. Let me do my fucking job. Let me be the vindictive and self destructive person I am in peace. Let me be alone. I might never be happy, I’ll never be carefree and good, and you’ll never love me.

I know you’ll never love me. I can hardly find it in me to love myself.

quantify this

Journal

Dim lit streets. Popcorn infested, making pretzels. A cafe, cup of espresso. A university, hundreds miles away. One thing remains. A continuity that exists beyond our control. I’m thinking of you. Given away only by a faint blush of my cheek and a sly smile. Passion radiating off my skin like a warm Moroccan sunset or a crackling fireplace tucked away in a cabin. A Parisian lamp on a street at midnight, a rustic and aged kind of beauty. Unfulfilled excitement of Night, providing the dark mask, promiscuity and lust. Give me only time and I might bloom in front of you like a prize rose, but we have no more time. Cut short. Severed and no other option. Drama and chaos, but I just want a simple love. One. The perfect and beautiful family – fell in love young, met through coincidence, married on a whim but everything felt right – waited five years to have kids, had a healthy and established relationship as a couple. Humble, happy. But there is no time, no future, nothing substantial here except that Moroccan glow emanating. Nothing a scientist could quantify, except in heartbeats per second. I love-

ac·tu·al

Journal

How the fuck did I make it through high school? It was a goddamn trip and I’m so happy it’s over.

It was depressing, felt like it was never going to end. The teachers sucked. The students sucked. The atmosphere sucked. I didn’t learn anything useful besides the science courses, and most everything was a huge waste of time.

It’s not what people make it out to be, not even in the movies that paint it in a bad light – for me it was a depressive haze. People talked about me behind my back, as I walked by, they had nothing better to do – and it killed my self esteem.

Before I was in high school, nothing could stop me. My motivation was maxed out, and I wanted to change the goddamn world.

Nothing but high school could have killed that incredible spirit.

And when I say high school, I’m talking about the back stabbing bitches and the teachers who did the least, I’m talking about the people who poked my back fat when I was a freshman, the insecurity I felt when running during PE, I’m talking about having to breakup with ex boyfriends and dealing with seeing them around with new girls, the drama – the anxiety – the depression – all accumulating to create the shit expirience I had.

I’m hoping that I can just move on from that trauma and create a new life for myself. My actual life. The actual me.

/āk/

Journal

I used to think I was the meaningless rough sex kinda person, but I’m learning that’s not true. I want to be taken care of, loved, given attention and cuddled. I want someone to show me that they love me.

I’ve lived for so long hiding from the fact that I want to be given affection, I’m assuming because my parents are distant and semi-neglectful. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need it. But deep down I just want to belong.

The other night Tristan stayed over, I’d never had a guy stay over all night. It was a new expirience for me, and I didn’t know what to expect. Around three in the morning he got out of bed, I didn’t really know why and my first thoughts were that he had to go to the bathroom or put his clothes on, but then it crossed my mind that he might be leaving.

And it hit me. I didn’t want him to leave.

The idea of him leaving in the middle of the night made me ache.

When he crawled back in bed next to me it was reassuring. And then he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him, I was comfortable and satisfied.

min·i·mal·ism

Journal

It’s important to recognize who you are, in no definition but your own.

For instance, I am an old soul. I love science. I love Oxford shoes and doc martens. I love listening to instrumental piano but also Ghostemane, I have a chip on my shoulder but at the end of the day I just want to be loved. I want to move to Bora Bora in the French Polynesia one day – and also somewhere quiet in the South of France. I love minimalistic art because it can say so much by using very little influence on the observer. A line, perhaps it represents the lifespan of a person, perhaps it represents the beginning and the end of all things. Maybe the line is there to exemplify that simple things are beautiful. Because somehow a line ended up in a national museum. Or say there are a bunch of lines, all of a sudden there are a million different lives being portrayed. A million different universes and you are in this one.

The world with salted dark chocolate. Where rain falls as water droplets and wine exists. A world where a kiss can mean a million things: hello, goodbye, I missed you, I love you, you’re attractive, I can never see you again.

We could have lived in a world with none of that. Water could just have moved by vapor. Chocolate might not have been compatible with our tastebuds. Kissing might have seemed silly.

And all of that came just from looking at lines.

Simple lines. Basic lines. Perhaps even boring lines.

But I would much rather live a boring life and live through all of it than run fast, burn quick, and die young.

Let’s make the good decisions.

I made an unorthodox “good decision” recently – letting someone I don’t love into my life. We have a lot of fun together, and like a puppy sometimes he doesn’t know when to calm down, but it’s cute. And I’m beginning to think he cares about me (which is dangerous).

Can someone take me back to Thai Pepper in Ashland? I don’t want to be the person who lives off of their past memories, leeching everything good out of the current life- but I miss my old friends. They were all so genuine. In the sort of way that Leo is genuine. They all remind me of who I know I am inside.

They are all curious.

ce·ment

Journal

Yet another night, staring into my own eyes, unrecognizable against the dark backdrop. They are filled with some substance? Something terrifying, absent.

A black matter, invisible yet completely present. Intangible.

Glazed over, they go on and on forever sinking deeper and deeper within me, and nothing.

There is nothing.

Emptiness. Dank, cold, something that would send chills of terror down the spine of any.

It’s the fear we all have, complete and utter loneliness. To be truly alone.

To have lost yourself.

To have realized the lies you have told yourself about one day waking up and suddenly feeling belonging. To suddenly feel satisfied.

It will never happen.

Everyday will be like this: the monotony. The plain. The early mornings. The bills. The endless work and school. I will never be free.

I can never live.

sat·is·fy

Journal

I have been met with criticism for my decisions. Done things that were not perfect, however no one is always.

Yes, I am aware, I use men for my own personal pleasure. Men who I don’t have feelings for.

But telling me I need to have self respect when you have your own problems you blatantly ignore is not only hypocritical, it’s laughable.

I am, at the least, aware of my shortcomings. I know that I find comfort in the arms of men I have no intentions of staying with. I know I’ve done it for a long time – it’s not a new flaw, it’s hardly even unique.

But I do it.

Some people pop Xanax, others steal, some harm themselves physically.

I just fuck men who say they love me. Even when I know they don’t. Especially when I know I don’t. They tell me it’s the best they’ve ever had, and I know they’re just saying that to get me to do it again. They say that it was incredible, but let’s be honest – neither of us really thought so. I’ve only had sex with someone more than once with one guy, and I think it was because he was the most desperate.

Everyone who inserts their opinions into my life without me asking seems to think I do it because I have no self esteem or standards or whatever – but the truth is, I find it empowering to know that at the drop of a hat all of these guys would do just about anything for me.

They have never been given the chance to by a girl before, and I gave them something, I saw something in them that made them believe in them self.

Many just think I have no standards, but the truth is, things are a lot deeper than that. I love the power.

But I diverted from my original topic, feeling like people are hypocritical for judging me for my issues when they know they have their own kryptonite and yet choose to judge me. Tell me that I’m insecure, when they are. Say that I need to pull myself together when they can’t afford their own bills. My mom tells me that I need to work harder, do more, when she is totally failing to do her job as my parent.

When will people realize I’m doing everything alone? That I wasn’t handed life on a silver platter and have had to work about twice as hard for everything I’ve got, including my fucking health.

I have issues some people will never even know exist, and yet they tell me how to live my life.

They can fuck off.

I’m doing the best that I fucking can, and since they have never had to live a day in my life, it’s best for me to just ignore it.

I’m exhausted, broke, can’t even relax because I have this problem where it feels like I constantly have to be doing something so I don’t fail.

I have assignments I have to do, but no more motivation. I know I have to work most of this weekend, but I don’t want to wash my work clothes. I want to lay in bed and cry, but even that pleasure cannot be enjoyed.

Nothing is satisfying.

res·o·nate

Journal

Things I learned today: there is no sense in (verbally) complaining. It just shares your negative energy with those around you.

Sometimes it’s best to let bad vibes roll past. Sometimes it’s best to let them resonate with your soul to better understand what’s going on inside yourself.

It’s okay to be attached to people, even if you know they won’t be in your life for the long haul. It’s okay to love people who won’t be around forever. It’s not only okay, it is good.

I have to wake up at 6am tomorrow morning, I clocked off at 12:40. Got home at 1ish. And now I’m finally in bed.

Heartbroken, but I’m moving on. I’m sensitive, but I’m growing. I’m in love, but it is not my prison.

Life is constant chaos; It is the ebb and flow of peace and turmoil. As a human, it’s my job to adapt and grow with my surroundings. But amidst the ebbing and flowing I’m misconfigured into something nearly inhuman. As Bilbo Baggins once put it, like butter spread thin over too much toast. I can’t quite be happy like that.

I’m feeling spread very thin. Emotionally because I have feelings for one guy, I’m sleeping with another, constantly trying to discover who I am and I have just about no one to talk about it with. Physically because I’m working full time and these last four days alone I worked 32 hours (maybe even a little more because I stayed late). Not having a car means walking a lot, so my body is sore and exhausted.

I never have a moment alone anymore. I’m sharing a room with Riley, and our schedules are the same right now. When I’m home, she is. When I’m working, she is. I just want to sleep in a room by myself. Quiet, things where I left them, sense of privacy. That thought becomes more distant everyday.

I should really just post this and get some rest, but there is so much on my mind. Self care is more important.