eu·pho·ri·a

Journal

Travis – 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 Travis and I to work, I have to learn to overcome my own insecurity.

I think we make each other happy.

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har·mo·ni·ous

Journal

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 Travis 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.

be·lov·ed

Journal

I fell in love with a boy in this small town. I didn’t believe in love at first sight before him- but I can still tell you the first time I looked in his eyes. It felt like some monumental moment had happened, something that would change the course of history.

Today I said goodbye to him, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.

I got to meet his dog and play on his piano and listen to him play. I got to look out on the hills and valleys with him and the wind tossed my hair. We ate ice cream and listened to our music. We hugged. We said goodbye.

I don’t know if he was sober enough to remember holding me while we watched Eighth Grade, but he held my hand the entire time. And kept his arm around my shoulder.

I remember showing up after his shift with his favorite coffee. Stargazing underneath the posters outside the theatre, by his bike. It was chilly. We went to the grocery store together. He blew vape into my face in the dark parking lot; I could spend every day with him and not get bored.

And the time I wrote him that letter I wasn’t sure I’d give him- I stuffed it behind the cover of “All The Light We Cannot See”, the book I was reading at the time. He pulled it from my hands and I took it as a sign from Fate herself, and told him to open the cover. The letter I had written him, his name on the outside and all, fell into his hands.

The time he came to my apartment and we nearly had sex, but he stopped it from happening. That was good, things would have been too complicated between us.

If all this means nothing, then I’ve been played.

It’s time to let go of the pipe dream that was Leonardo – accept that I will be living far from him. I love him. I might always love him.

But I have to grow now.

Leonardo

Journal

The things I feel around you, I can’t describe. I could have been stressing about the world ending, but suddenly when I’m with you none of that matters. The moment we are sharing is the only thing that exists and it is beyond beautiful. It is beauty. It is the embodiment of perfection.

I hope I always remember the way you smelled when my head was on your shoulder tonight. I hope I always remember how right it felt for you to be holding my hand. I hope I always remember melting into your shoulder as you run your fingers through my hair. Your laughter made me laugh. Your happiness is my happiness.

And yet the time we have left has already been bought and sold like an animal headed to the slaughter house. It’s death is eminent. The rendezvous we had today is only a taste of the happiness I could have felt everyday.

What is most torturous is knowing how unlikely it is that I will feel this way again with someone else. And you only desired it when you knew how the days were numbered and stacked against your favor.

It will be a loss for you, to not have a girl at work who is insane for you. Not the way that I was.

The way I feel for you doesn’t happen often. What most people call love, that’s just a cheap imitation of my feelings for you.

Every second I spend in this town without you, I remember the agony you placed on me by standing me up.

Which is proof enough that whatever you feel for me, however fond you feel toward me, it won’t ever compare to the reality of you in my mind.

After the movie was over and done with, and you were in the restroom, I heard people talking about how annoying “the guy laughing in the back” was – and all it did was make my heart glow because I knew that guy. I knew him, and I had been the one laughing with him. There was pride in it, and I smiled to myself as they walked by.

That annoying laugh, I got to hear for a year at work. I got to roll my eyes at it. I got to smile to myself when I heard it reverberate through the halls of Galaxy.

I got to roll my eyes at the voice singing and take let it take my breath away. Not because it was abnormally beautiful, but because I was absolutely head over heels with that guy. That loud, selfish, unobservant guy.

Our time is up, and the argument could be made that nothing ever became of us, but to me- this was the greatest love story of all time, with a heart wrenching and gut twisting ending.

Maybe I’ll write a book about you one day, Leo. You better be prepared.

ex·ten·sive

Journal

Cavernous aching. Sickening emptiness. Lost something of great importance – again. I don’t want to have any more crushes when I move, I don’t want to sleep with anybody.

A lot of me believes no one has or will ever care about me. Reaching out to people leaves my emotional energy depleted, I become depressed, nothing seems worth trying for. Tristan mentioned that he doesn’t think he’s exceptionally kind, which makes me think that he treats everyone the way he treats me. Which is great, but I wanted to mean something to him. I want to mean something to everyone, and I don’t.

Don’t we all want to be a little special? It’s this rough realization when you finally come to the conclusion that you might even be worse than normal or regular or whatever- you might be undesirable.

I might have cared about Tristan more than he cared about me. That cavernous aching is back.

I am still as alone as I was on that first night after we left my dad as I laid on that chilly, creaking leather lounge in my grandparents game room. I couldn’t sleep. Street lamps were shining directly into my eyes, and it was the first night of the rest of my life. I was alone. I knew I would not feel safe again. I felt that sickening emptiness.

I would twist and turn, loud stretching leather kept me up, dusty blanket made my nose run.

I was miserable. I am miserable.

Nothing has really changed inside me.

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.

re·li·a·bil·i·ty

Journal

How did it come to this? I always knew things would end, but I figured it would feel like a lifetime before they actually did. But here I stand. Graduation has come and gone, I only have three weeks before I move, and you’re leaving soon. A little too soon. Cut off before I could honestly explain how I feel. You’ve been so much more to me than just someone I slept with occasionally – I care about you. The way you smell triggers happy neurotransmitters to be fired in my brain – the way you laugh and touch me makes my heart glow. But it’s over. It’s all over and a little too soon. I care about you more than I thought I would. I care about you more than I care about most people. I trust you. You can make me relax and smile, and like, no one can do that. You held my hand all night, and you’ll never understand how much that made me feel. You’ve reminded me that I’m not a callous and angry person, you’ve reminded me that I can care about people. You have seriously impacted my life, and I would be different today if you weren’t in it. I could be my honest self around you, and so few people have genuinely seen her. I want you to know that you meant more to me than someone I slept with, and I’m going to miss the simplicity of turning a movie on and cuddling with you. I’m going to miss being ridiculous with you and allowing myself to relax. I’m going to really miss you when you move.

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-

Pare back

Journal

I don’t want to impress or distract. I don’t want frills or parties or many friends. I want satisfaction with myself. I’ve always considered that to be my ultimate goal in life – to be happy being alone. To be able to find complete happiness and satisfaction if I were locked in a room by myself and no contact with others – if I could just exist alone and be content. My minimalist style really plays to that – it brings in light and uses only natural and modest colors to enhance the beauty of a space. Some might call that boring, but I think it just pares back all frivolity that many use to cover up insecurities and faults. In using minimalism, whether in decorating a room or in my closet, the style allows for the room to speak for itself, and for my body to speak for itself. I don’t need gaudy decor or makeup to display my personality. I am neither gaudy or frivolous. I am practical and natural. Something that can be depended on for elegance and quality.