a story for another time

it’s time i write about R. really, truly, emotionally, soul-barringly (is that even a word?) write about R. the ups, the downs, the in-betweens. when we were up, it was magic. it lasted less than a year, the real ups. when he told me he loved me every day, when he told me i was beautiful even at 5 in the morning. when he went out of his way to do nice things.

then we broke up the first time. and he saw someone else behind my back. didn’t think much to tell me. instead i found out because she texted him again while i was using his computer. he didn’t even try to deny it. “i didn’t tell you because i didn’t think it was a big deal.” i should have broken up with him right then, but i crave attention. i crave being loved. i crave being wanted. i crave stability and comfort and connection. so i stayed.

we broke up again the january before our last semester. it lasted 3 days because i begged him to come back to me. i hate myself for lowering myself to that level. he clearly didn’t care. he clearly had no problem tossing me aside whenever he felt he could.

our relationship was unhealthy as soon as we got back together the first time. there wasn’t the same love, there wasn’t the same passion, there wasn’t the same anything from him. “people change” and yes, they do, but not to the extreme that he did. i thought that not much could be worse than the emotional abuse and distress that jack put me through. he was above and beyond the worst boyfriend ever, until R. it was like he found joy in making me cry. like he thought it was funny or entertaining to ignore me for days on end because he was “just being petty.” it wasn’t funny, or entertaining. it was draining. no matter what i did for him, i wasn’t good enough. and he let me know that on a regular basis. too many tears were shed over him, but i also know that many more are yet to come.

there are too many nights that i can think of too vividly where i needed his help, i needed his support, i needed him, and he blew me off. or told me to calm down. or told me “later.” or told me that it wasn’t a big deal. or told me to get over myself and stop making rash decisions. or told me that this was childish and he thought that i had moved on from destructive coping mechanisms to healthy ones and that i only did things for attention. do you know how low you have to feel to cut yourself open? it’s not something you do for attention. i can tell you exactly how i was feeling, exactly how i didn’t want to but i had to, exactly how i regretted every step i took but couldn’t turn back because the only way i knew to feel better was to feel worse. but yes. tell me again how i am doing this for attention. i might be crazy, but that’s fucking sick.

there were good things though. he encouraged me to break out of my shell, make new friends, try new and exciting things. some things have stuck, others have not. i learned the most about myself with him. i learned what i don’t deserve. i learned what i don’t want in a relationship. i learned that i have to put myself first because there are people in the world who will tell you that they love you and then tear you down every chance that they get.

our final breakup was brutal. he didn’t talk to me for 6 weeks, and then he expected everything to go back to normal. he stopped telling me he loved me. instead i was told “you know how i feel” but i don’t. you don’t talk to me for 6 weeks, how am i supposed to know what that means? to me, that shows me you don’t love me. he told me what was wrong with me. he told me to leave him alone. he told me that i had always made his life harder. he told me that he didn’t think that i loved him because he was just a rebound from jack. if he was “just a rebound,” then why did we spend 3 years supposedly loving each other? U was a rebound. there have been others, and there will continue to be others. but he was not a rebound. he was someone i loved so deeply that losing him i still feel empty and i still feel sick whenever i think about how quickly he really moved on.

i think that i can move on. i know that i am capable of it, i spent the summer on dating apps and dating and exploring. but i also know i need to find the right person. the hard part is that i want to find them sooner rather than later. i want someone to love me and i want someone to love. in life, all i really want is to be loved, to be worth the world to someone. to be good enough for someone. i have never been good enough. i have always been so easy to walk away from. why is that? why am i so easy to leave behind? why am i so easy to forget?

i love him. i loved him. i love the old R, the one who cared and who was sweet and made me feel good about myself. i miss him. i miss him more than i let people know. i tell people that i don’t miss him, and that’s a lie. my heart still aches for him, and i still get a rush on the off chance that he sends me a snapchat (even though i know it’s meaningless).

i’m not sure i will ever fully stop hurting. i am healing, i know that. i am good at healing. i do it often. i will love. i will be loved. i will actually be loved, not the fake love that he tried to pass off as real. i am worthy. i will be good enough.

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i will be okay

a few years ago if you put me in this situation i would have spiraled out of control the rabbit hole would be back & getting out would be rly hard but i’m not that person anymore i have healthier coping mechanisms i have a better support system i know myself & my limits & i know how i feel. doesn’t mean i don’t feel like shit doesn’t mean i know what to do but does mean that if nothing else i actually literally will survive this.

my breakup with ryan ended up in an overdose. my breakup with connor ended up being too close to stitches for comfort. my breakup with jack ended up with food being the one thing i had control over. but i refuse to be that person again i’ll 100% cry nonstop, i’ve already left class twice to hide in the bathroom & cry but i haven’t externalized (or internalized to an extent lol) anything and i don’t plan on it which i am proud of. haven’t acted on anything even though i’ve 127% wanted to.

if i can get through half the shit i’ve gotten through then i can get through this. i am a survivor i am a thriver i am going to be okay.

past years, past life

it’s days like these when i think back the most to the me i was 4 years ago. addicted to the rush of seeing myself bleed, addicted to the sting that came, addicted to seeing my flesh split open so easily. like cutting through butter once i figured out the right angle. it’s day like these where i stare at my body with morbid fascination, wondering where i could decorate myself but have no one see. i haven’t been this sick (because let’s face it that’s what it is. it’s an illness, an addiction, an obsession) in a long time. yeah i’ve slipped up here and there and made some shallow attempts of what i used to know but what i feel now? this is big this is too much this is not a feeling i ever wanted to feel again yet here i am.

that’s a different version of me, not one i want to be today. i want to be happy. i want to be healthy. i want to be better. i don’t want to be fixed because i’ll never be fixed because i’m not broken i’m just fucked up. also like, you can’t fix bipolar disorder even though i wish you could. i don’t want to go back to the old me. i’m trying really hard not to but asking for help is my least favorite thing ever. i dream in red. i scare myself. i know what i want to do but i won’t do it. i know who i want to talk to but i can’t do it.

all of these posts are stupid. i’m stupid. i don’t know why i bother with things because i don’t want to write it out on a website and still hide how i really feel. i want to be able to share it and talk about it and figure out what the fuck is going on. what a concept.

i’ll perseverate as much as i want to

i miss R. i actually can’t put into words the world of hurt that i am living in right now. i can’t eat or keep anything down. i feel like i’m on the verge of passing out way too often. he told me they are just friends but i don’t know. how can i know when he won’t talk to me? yesterday he told me i was too much. so i’ve tried to leave him alone but i can’t seem to do it. yeah, i’m crazy. yeah, people probably think i’m psychotic. but mother fucker i can’t get him out of my mind for more that 5 minutes at a time. after a conversation last night when he basically told me to fuck off i deleted everything off of my phone except for the longer messages i have saved in my notes because i don’t have the heart to delete them and i also just really don’t want to see them because i already cry all the time as it is, i don’t need to make it worse.

i want to apologize to him. all i wanted to do was help him and make him feel better and in reality i just made things worse and i made things harder and if he and this girl do become a thing part of me thinks it’s my fault or it will be my fault. i’m sorry for the pain he’s going through. i’m sorry that he has to go through what he’s going through because no one should have to go through that, especially at such a young age. i’m sorry that i don’t know what to do to help. i’m sorry i made everything worse. i’m sorry i can’t seem to stop myself from continuing to make things worse. i’m sorry for everything that is going on, i’m sorry i am part of it, i’m sorry he is feeling the way that he is. i’m sorry that i can’t take that pain away from him. i’m sorry that it won’t go away for a long time or really honestly it probably won’t go away ever.

i miss him. i want to throw up. i want to hurt honestly i want to make something feel different and that scares me. i want/need help but he won’t help me. he has his own shit to deal with and i don’t blame him. i only make things worse for him. i probably need to get over myself because i’m not going to make things better and i’m just going to continue to push him away and push him to her and i fucking hate her she infuriates me and she makes my blood boil because my god if she takes him from me i don’t know what i’ll do because i don’t know what feeling comes after the way i am feeling now and i don’t want to know.

i used to have a tumblr, on a different but eventually related tangent. i wrote on it, i cried over it, i cried because of it, i was able to freely write how i was feeling and when i was feeling shitty and couldn’t verbalize it because talking about it makes it real, i showed it to him. part of me wants to show R my blog. i won’t because it’ll most likely overwhelm him and then he’s really going to be gone forever but like.. maybe then we could talk.

i don’t know if he knows how badly everything that is going on with his mom fucked me up. i tried really hard to hide it, but every time after he got off the phone (when he used to talk to me) i sobbed and i cried and i still do whenever i think about it. i wanted so fucking badly to be close with her. i wanted so fucking badly to love her and be loved by her. i did, do, love her. i miss her so fucking much and i know it’s not as much as R misses her but it’s more than he realizes. and i worry about him because of it. i need to know he’s okay. i don’t even care if he doesn’t love me anymore i just need to know he’s okay or he will be okay because there’s no way someone can be okay after something like this.

god i’m so fucking pathetic. i probably look so fucking stupid sitting over here waiting for someone who doesn’t even care anymore it seems like to love me back and to give me the time of day. i would really do pretty much anything to hug him one last time. to hear his laugh. to see his smile. to smell him (that sounds creepy but like he smells so good). i would do even more for one last kiss. one last touch. anything. i am so fucking miserable. i have never been this miserable. i don’t know if there’s much lower i can go but every time i think that, i fall deeper into the rabbit hole. if i talk to him though that’s probably the end. so instead i’ll sit and i’ll cry and i’ll wait desperately for the day he maybe will love me again because i’m always going to love him. if this is the end, he’s the one that got away. that’s something that literally gives me nightmares. i can’t take it anymore. i need him i need to know i need to be fucking loved. god i’m so fucking pathetic. i hate myself too. ironic because this was going to be the summer where i learned to love myself but all i’ve done is learned to hate myself more and more each day so that’s good

i regret ever starting 13 reasons why (tw)

the first time i tried to kill myself was in 6th grade. i was in the bathroom at my moms friends house. we had just moved and i was the new kid again, just like i was every 2 years. feeling lost in the world is the worst. feeling lost in the world while going through puberty fucking sucks. i knew that there were 7 layers of skin, so i figured it would be pretty easy to scratch myself until i broke through them all. in actuality i gave up pretty quickly on the scratching and i went to find my mom in tears because if this wasn’t working then maybe i needed something more. she was so embarrassed by me. all her friends watched me come running out of the bathroom sobbing, my arms stretched out reaching for my mom and my mom was looking at me in shock.

the next memorable time (and unfortunately there were some other random attempts in between) wasn’t until freshman year of high school. i can even tell you the exact date: december 28, 2010. my first boyfriend broke up with me. my three best friends had abandoned me weeks ago. i was diagnosed with depression, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. turns out, i’m a hell of a lot more than just depressed but it took a bottle of ibuprofen and a lot of puking to figure that one out.

but this post isn’t my failures (or my successes, depending on how you want to look at it). i’m on spring break. i started watching 13 reasons why because i loved the book and truthfully i needed a new show. well, today i watched the last episode and i bawled. first, the image of hannah slitting her wrists is burned into my mind. how many times did i play that scene over in my mind but i was hannah? i couldn’t watch the whole scene, i had to close my eyes. but what really broke me were her parents. i was so selfish. my parents almost got divorced because of the shit i put them through. and had i not failed at killing myself, who knows what would have happened. i wanted to hold her parents and love them. and her friends. and alex. and clay. i guess i never thought beyond being dead. i would be happy, as happy as you can be when you’re dead, and life would move on. i was a burden out of the way now. i’m so fucking glad i puked. that i chickened out because i’m scared of blood, and that the time i wasn’t scared of blood i’m thankful as fuck to have been interrupted. i’m thankful i had the chance to grow and recover to be the person that i am today.

but even beyond hannah killing herself, it was the sexual assault that bothered me too. something i push back into my deep dark corners and try to forget exists, is that i had a bryce. i dated a bryce. no, he didn’t rape me the way he did hannah and jessica. but the actions and the inability to recognize wrongdoing and sexual consent.. it was all too eerily familiar. it scares me. it worries me. i just want to curl up in a ball and keep crying but i know that i have to be stronger than that because i refuse to let shit like that define me.

but i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that i regret watching 13 reasons why. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that my own mental health is more important than a tv show. i’ll gladly be defined by the fact that if they make the awful decision to make a season 2, i’ll be damned if i ever watch that shit. don’t watch 13 reasons why. it’s not worth it.