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To any extent.
A few months ago, I broke up with my boyfriend. For what seemed like obvious reasons I cried, couldn't sleep, and for days after that went into what one would call a bipolar state. Going from laughing and joking with my moms and friends to yelling at them for the simplest thing, it was obvious my emotions didn't stay the same for too long. But it's not until now, weeks after it happened, days after I should be over it, that I truly understand how I felt that night. I had always questioned my love for him but my doubts were always cloaked by this seemingly perfect relationship, or, to be more fitting to my self-esteem, that I was loved back. But as I said I doubted myself throughout most of what could be called a relationship. And as I doubted myself it has become evident that my tears that night were less for the death of a relationship or the loss of a lover, but that this idea I'd always had of what love felt like was nowhere near close to what true love actually is. I was delusional, and can't yet say whether I've now seen reality. What I do know is that I was wrong. That my idea of love was obstructed and that it needed to change, which it has. I am almost scared to say I am in love again for fear it is not true, for fear I am again sheathing my emotions to what is real so that they can fit what goes on around me. Is it not fair to say that if my friends have found love that I should be able to as well? That love need not be different for everyone but have a universal standard as to help those ignorant or innocent to its arrivals hints? I can do all but wish that the way I'm feeling now is true and the purest love there is.
The Day After.
We walk down the hall side-by-side, not touching, talking about nothing really. He drones on talking about some new dubstep artist and as much as I enjoy the bass drop, today I just can't handle it. It's amusing how he thinks he can break up with me and not think anything of it. Doesn't he know it hurts?
We find a room to sit in and he gets quite. What's wrong, I ask. He broke up with me yesterday and now he wants to talk? I didn't mean what I said yesterday. I'm sorry. I was wrong.
I've heard it all before and I'm not in the mood to hear it. I tune out and look around the room. My eyes land on the window and I notice three birds fly by. Two were together, circling each other and chirping with a strange happiness. The other flew a few feet behind them head down, not letting anything get in its way.
Oh, so you've stopped talking?
Did you hear a word I said?
No, but was it really important? He storms out of the room. Does he expect me to run after him?
Lying to Myself
I'm not sure what they expect from me or how to make things okay. Nothing I do is ever right and no matter how I look I never look good enough. My hair's too thick, my legs too long, too stocky. What do they expect me to do? I've tried losing weight, does it look like it's helped? No. The boys don't notice me and the girls act as if I'm nothing. There's no one to lean on, no one to comfort me but I need comfort. Just because I'm strong on the outside, doesn't mean I can hold myself inside.
A Justifiable Reason.
I wake up instinctively touching the scars I've made last to make sure they’re still there. This having been a habit for weeks now I'm not quite how to stop. I know what I'm doing it wrong but it’s the only thing that helps. I've been trying to stop, really I have. I make the scars only sporadically, when there isn’t anything else to soothe the pain.
It’s funny though, I live a seemingly great life. I have a good family, great friends, a loving boyfriend and go to a great school. What could possibly be wrong? Only the superficial problems of being a teenager. I struggle with my weight but no one seems to understand me. They say I look great, say it’s only because I'm tall. I'll grow out of it, but that's not what I want to hear. I want someone to help me with my problem, whether they believe in it or not. But that doesn’t happen. So I'll just have to take care of the problem myself.
My Daily Life.
Roll the dye, advance 2 steps. Land on roll again. You roll. Take 4 more steps. You come across an obstacle, doubt. He is strong, hard to conquer but you use your tricks and blind Doubt! He has fallen. You move on. It's my turn now, oh how I'm never good at this. I roll, take one step. I am still a ways behind you, stuck behind Regret. I am not like you. I cannot fool Regret as Regret is constantly fooling me. He's closing in on me. Getting to close. He has me. I'm about to lose myself and the game but all of a sudden I am safe. I am ahead. Standing on the corpse of Doubt. We have switched places and you have saved me- again. And the cycle repeats… And that's just it, a game. Love is a game, either you win or you lose but no two people win together. They lose together, and try their hardest to look like they enjoyed it.
The Night Before.
First thing I see is the blood. Next, I feel the pain. But it's a sweet pain, pleasant almost.
Then I hear the cry, deafening. I realise it's my own. Stop Angie, STOP. Do you want your mother to hear?
I turn on the water, let the cold feeling creep down my arm. Something comes down along with the cold. Something unintelligibles at first but then I realise they are the smaller parts of the one thing that's kept me whole for so long.
The nightmares, they come and go but always stay the same. Drifting in and out of my subconscious, never straying too far from their host. They feed on my terror, live on my fear. Never knowing whether one night I just might snap, I prep myself every night. My dreams, nightmares more accurately, are things no one should ever see or live, and certainly not over again; but I, I defy gravity. Rules don't apply to me, here, or in my dream world. With all the power I have, sometimes I
wonder if I can control the nightmares. Maybe I know how to stop it , and just don't really want to.
The fragments of my broken heart permeate my skin, staining my hands red as I try to put it back together. I look down, searching for love once so bright that will never again shine.
I've sat here for hours, waiting for him to call. Click, "Oh, this is a funny video." Click, "Why am I watching this?" I end up doing the same thing he probably is. Watching videos on the internet until he finally dials my number and presses the talk button. Don't get me wrong, I could always call him.
But I am a nuisance, and as a nuisance I am not supposed to. Even if not hearing his voice is killing me on the inside. She says it's a bad habit Always wanting someone with you. But she doesn't have self-esteem issues does she? Nope. The snap of the keys on my computer keyboard, all mocking me, representing every second I have to live without him. And the worst part of this all, I can't even tell him how much this hurts because He is You.
The one thing I'd hate is for you to get tired, of looking at me, or talking to me. Or maybe of thinking I was special when everyone else knew I wasn't. So please, I'd hate to beg, and it's too embarrassing to plead, but please just don't leave. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.
I know I said that about him too but that was then, and feelings change. And since I know feelings change, I know yours soon will. But please be honest about it. Tell me, I'll understand. I might not like it, and will probably know why. But just tell me first.
With no one else around, they took each other's and I took my own. They walked away, with smiles on their faces and I continued to walk in circles, resisting the urge to run after him. In this moment, this second of feeling of being defeated, I knew I was right. I am delusional, never knowing what true love feels like.