Sometimes I’ll dream about sitting on your passenger seat with yellow, green, and blue blurs beside me. We’re looking at different directions, but moving in one. And it’s weird because it’s my dream but you have total control, just like you have total control of this car you’re driving. In my dream, we aren’t talking, neither to each other nor ourselves, but the fact that we saw different things says enough. We will never see the same things, just like I’ll never get to sit in the driver’s seat and finally have some sort of control. But this is only a dream.

When I wake up, you don’t exist. And when I think about it, you didn’t really have a face in my dreams. You don’t exist, and yet I am left feeling like I miss you.

it’s weird that when you’re searching for something to pass the time, time itself seems to run slow. but when you’re not searching, shit flies out of hidden places and suddenly there just isn’t enough time to handle anything.

i used to sit in my room in silence, doing absolutely nothing but thinking. these moments become the longest and slowest for me as i torture myself with things that don’t need to be brought up. i can’t help myself. i don’t like the pain but it comes natural to me to just feel it. 

to be honest, i feel like i’ve been suffering for years that i don’t know another way of living. i’m almost fatalistic in my thoughts, destroying anything that could pick me up and giving home to things meant to kill me. it wasn’t until recently that i realized i neither had to think these things nor this way. but it’s what i’m used to.

something good entered my life recently. i hope i don’t fuck it up.

Ever just sit there and think about what paths you’ve taken that led you to where you currently are, what reasons there were behind your decisions to take these paths, and what in your mind said that these reasons were good enough? Were you sad when you made that right turn? Were you amazed at a particular stop that it made you want to stay in that moment, and what had happened to have made you leave it? Are you dodging rocky steps because you’re still trying to recover from the last rough moment? Or are you charging through?

As for me, I don’t know where I am. I’ve been walking around, vaguely aware of my surroundings, but deep in my thoughts, in my pain, in this hell that I need to leave behind. Occasionally, I’ll stop to look around and question the foreign area, and then go back to my thoughts.

I don’t remember what paths I’ve taken, and I’m not sure if I’ve left a trail for others to find me in case I’ve wandered too far. Sometimes I catch myself wishing for a conclusion, all the while ignoring the solutions to problems. I think I’ve been hurting for too long that I’ve grown impatient. I want an end.

But I’m still stumbling, creating twisted turns that I’m sure no one would bother to explore, paths that people avoid.

I think I’m lost. I’ve become lonely.

suddenly they’re coming around, searching in me something that i’m not certain of, but it’s driving me insane the way they seek answers and company like i’m supposed to know what to do in such a situation. i’m new to it. is it not obvious in my shaking legs, my refusal to hold eye contact, the way i stand far enough for them to barely touch me with their arms stretched before them… i’m not trying to push them away, but i am afraid to reach out for them. i don’t have faith in myself enough to think that perhaps they see pass what i show and instead look for what i can offer, what i can give. and i’m too scared to give it to them. i’m too scared to give my trust. and despite their willingness to wait, i hold on tightly to myself, afraid to let any part of me slip, afraid that if i let one thing go, i will crumble.

i can’t break apart anymore. i don’t know if i can fix myself again.

I overheard these two guys talking about me in class this morning. One of them couldn’t see what I looked like because there was a divider between, so he asked his friend what I looked like. His friend, who sat directly across me, with no divider, simply said, “She’s fat.”

And I know I shouldn’t care what strangers think of me, and typically I don’t.

But the fact that he said that as a way to determine who I am kind of hurts. Like, I could have a bomb ass personality but they wouldn’t know, or ANYONE for that matter, simply because I’m fat.

This is why people are so obsessed with their appearances. No one wants to be alone so in order to attract people, lovers or friends, we use the way we look rather than the way we are because we know that’s what others rely on, that’s what determines whether people want to get to know us or not: physical appearance.

I need more friends. I need to get out. I feel so trapped. I can’t breathe. I need to leave. I want to leave. Just fucking get me out of here.

So I’m enrolled in a philosophy class. A lot of the work has to do with reading these really old passages. I fucking hate it. I’ve never been so frustrated in my life when it comes to simply reading anything. For one thing, their sentences are so long that I begin to forget what the actual fuck I’m reading. The sentence structures feel like a maze to me, and there are all these words that I think serve no other purpose within the sentence but to simply add words or make the writer seem more intelligent. “Oh, look at me! I know all these useless words that don’t necessarily help readers understand what the fuck I’m trying to say! But don’t I look like I know a lot!”

I literally want to rip this philosophy book in half. If it had eyes, I’d want to scratch its eyes out and hear it scream.

somewhere between one and three, when the sun hadn’t risen yet, i had gotten that call.

they pulled the plug on him. they had to, giselle…

a part of me died that night. i couldn’t really cry. i just felt so numb.

i just didn’t want to believe it.

and now it’s been two years, and i still have a hard time believing it every now and then. sure, i’ve accepted it. but it still hurts. when you know someone for a long time, they don’t only become a part of your intimate life, they become a necessity, they become a part of you.

now that he’s gone, a part of me is gone as well. i loved him. with all my heart. and i regret not telling him every single day.

I hate you. You came into my life, built something beautiful, and then destroyed it before you walked out. Fuck you and the things you did, and still do, to my heart. Next time I see you, I will break your face, then mend it into something beautiful so I can break it again.