Something to Think About
In other words.
All day my head has just been a barfing crying screaming mess and you don't know it. No one knows it. All of this in its entirety is just bricks on my back, water in my lungs.
I am tired. So tired. This is me fighting. Fighting so hard to be happy. Happy for you, because I don't want to be that depressing bitch who just ruins everyone's day. But even more so happy for me because I need some kind of mask to keep functioning. Without it, I don't know where I'd be.
I woke up early to take that test today. It was whatever. But I see you and I want you to hold me and tell me that it will be all right, everything will turn out fine. But I'm not going to tell you that, I don't think I ever will. I don't want to burden you with the problem that is me. I wouldn't forgive myself if I did. I see you and I crack; I feel vulnerable. And that's probably what I hate the most about these stupid crushes. I hate the feeling of being dependent, like I need someone to be there for me. But my whole life I've been the one who's carefree, doesn't give a shit about what people think, takes care of everyone and doesn't think twice about it. And here I sit, aching with the longing to be loved. I want someone to love me unconditionally, and the thought scares me of someone ever pining over me the way I pine over others. And at the same time I feel like I'm a concrete wall, unresponsive and apathetic to everything that comes by, like I need someone to fill me with the proper emotion, and push me to express it how normal people do. But I hate emotion. I hate it.
I don't know how to express proper emotion. Other than being bubbly and laughing and smiling and dancing, I don't know how to be around people. So when I talk to you I feel like I'm already pushing it, like I'm putting myself out there a bit too much, laughing a bit too soon, leaning a bit too close, touching a bit too much. And I don't know if you notice, but I notice and it bothers me. It bothers me that I make the effort to be around you. And another thing - am I too open about sexuality and/or sexual references? I feel like I need to tone it down a bit, I don't know. But that's just me, it's a part of my humor, a part of my (whatever the opposite of charm is). And those are my feelings, poured out for you, in a way that you can't decipher or you choose to ignore. It pains me to see you with her, to know what you had with her and to know that you're not over it, and at the same time I know it's not going to work out, like a spoiled story after someone tells you who dies at the end.
But I'm not going to force myself upon you, I'm not going to do that to you, or me. I'm just going to let this slide like I do to everything, and let everything play out for itself.
So done with deep thinking for tonight. Today we talked and such at first, and I smiled at the thought that you remembered when I told you I liked tits, and then proceeded to panic at the thought that maybe you believed I was a lesbian. Oh dear lord. And then you left with her and my heart sank but I shrugged it off and attempted (with the help of a few acquaintances) to write her a love note (particularly from Glenn) but she returned without you before we could finish. So we switched game plans and decided to write you one instead, full of bullshit about bacon and ice cream. And you came back before we could finish but we shooed you away and we finalized our unholy confessions on paper and then prompted to seal it with a kiss of my best black cherry lipstick. And we shoved it in your bag and nonchalantly joined your conversation. You were only a table away the entire time. But once everyone else left and were summoned back to practice, you willingly joined our banter and our (admittingly) immature game of "slap" in which we howled with pain and amusement at the burn of our hands. Once we had enough, we talked for a while, and about inappropriate things and memories of ball tapping and other pains. And when I showed off my swollen wrists as a result of our unfortunate choice of entertainment, you knew the exact name of the skin condition I have. And when we compared my wounds to veins, you showed off your natural ones which I couldn't resist but touching, repeatedly, fascinated by the human body. Well, yours at least. I wrote my name in my arm and we both watched in awe at the result, a swollen reminder that I am of a 4-5% of the world's population. But 4:00 soon approached and we had to leave you, but we left in good nature and good company on both ends. It irritates me to think that I hesitated to leave. I should never hesitate to exit, never look back.
I am elated in today's events, and incredibly disappointed by my weakness.
Today's findings are inconclusive.
I am tired. So tired. This is me fighting. Fighting so hard to be happy. Happy for you, because I don't want to be that depressing bitch who just ruins everyone's day. But even more so happy for me because I need some kind of mask to keep functioning. Without it, I don't know where I'd be.
I woke up early to take that test today. It was whatever. But I see you and I want you to hold me and tell me that it will be all right, everything will turn out fine. But I'm not going to tell you that, I don't think I ever will. I don't want to burden you with the problem that is me. I wouldn't forgive myself if I did. I see you and I crack; I feel vulnerable. And that's probably what I hate the most about these stupid crushes. I hate the feeling of being dependent, like I need someone to be there for me. But my whole life I've been the one who's carefree, doesn't give a shit about what people think, takes care of everyone and doesn't think twice about it. And here I sit, aching with the longing to be loved. I want someone to love me unconditionally, and the thought scares me of someone ever pining over me the way I pine over others. And at the same time I feel like I'm a concrete wall, unresponsive and apathetic to everything that comes by, like I need someone to fill me with the proper emotion, and push me to express it how normal people do. But I hate emotion. I hate it.
I don't know how to express proper emotion. Other than being bubbly and laughing and smiling and dancing, I don't know how to be around people. So when I talk to you I feel like I'm already pushing it, like I'm putting myself out there a bit too much, laughing a bit too soon, leaning a bit too close, touching a bit too much. And I don't know if you notice, but I notice and it bothers me. It bothers me that I make the effort to be around you. And another thing - am I too open about sexuality and/or sexual references? I feel like I need to tone it down a bit, I don't know. But that's just me, it's a part of my humor, a part of my (whatever the opposite of charm is). And those are my feelings, poured out for you, in a way that you can't decipher or you choose to ignore. It pains me to see you with her, to know what you had with her and to know that you're not over it, and at the same time I know it's not going to work out, like a spoiled story after someone tells you who dies at the end.
But I'm not going to force myself upon you, I'm not going to do that to you, or me. I'm just going to let this slide like I do to everything, and let everything play out for itself.
So done with deep thinking for tonight. Today we talked and such at first, and I smiled at the thought that you remembered when I told you I liked tits, and then proceeded to panic at the thought that maybe you believed I was a lesbian. Oh dear lord. And then you left with her and my heart sank but I shrugged it off and attempted (with the help of a few acquaintances) to write her a love note (particularly from Glenn) but she returned without you before we could finish. So we switched game plans and decided to write you one instead, full of bullshit about bacon and ice cream. And you came back before we could finish but we shooed you away and we finalized our unholy confessions on paper and then prompted to seal it with a kiss of my best black cherry lipstick. And we shoved it in your bag and nonchalantly joined your conversation. You were only a table away the entire time. But once everyone else left and were summoned back to practice, you willingly joined our banter and our (admittingly) immature game of "slap" in which we howled with pain and amusement at the burn of our hands. Once we had enough, we talked for a while, and about inappropriate things and memories of ball tapping and other pains. And when I showed off my swollen wrists as a result of our unfortunate choice of entertainment, you knew the exact name of the skin condition I have. And when we compared my wounds to veins, you showed off your natural ones which I couldn't resist but touching, repeatedly, fascinated by the human body. Well, yours at least. I wrote my name in my arm and we both watched in awe at the result, a swollen reminder that I am of a 4-5% of the world's population. But 4:00 soon approached and we had to leave you, but we left in good nature and good company on both ends. It irritates me to think that I hesitated to leave. I should never hesitate to exit, never look back.
I am elated in today's events, and incredibly disappointed by my weakness.
Today's findings are inconclusive.
♠ ♠ ♠
He loves me,He loves me not.