I feel stuck
Everything slipping away
Too fast, so confused
I am progressing more
What will it take?
In just a few short months, look at how far I've come.
I love you.
For the first time in my life I know what I want, and that's you. But that commercial is right. Valentine's Day is an opportunity to celebrate "us," to say that I love "us."
Lately...I don't. I love you, and you have helped me love myself too. I wish that we were greater than the sum of our parts, but we're not.
I am a jealous, insecure person. I try to hide it behind the bigger, better parts of me - the loving, eager, dedicated, vivacious Heather.
You are amazing. Everything I've ever wanted. Smart, funny, handsome, and independent. You can be so sweet, so romantic.
I need you. I need you to love me. I need the romance. Sweet text messages, or supportive Facebook comments. Showing up randomly with flowers or waking up to a romantic email. I don't think you can give me those things.
Well, I think you can because you used to. I don't think I am the one for you. I don't think your heart beats faster when you see me, I don't think the thought of losing me breaks your heart. I don't think you care whether or not you hurt me, only if there are consequences for hurting me.
You won't chase me after you read this. Even if I told you you could change my mind. You know I'm right. You aren't in love with me. In your own words, you love me because I entertain you.
I love you, and I want to be with you. I want to marry you and have a life with you. My life began when I met you.
Nobody has ever changed me so much for the better. I am so grateful to you. I hope one day you are happy with your life, and you find a partner who is good enough, and strong enough, for you.
As for me...I deserve to be loved completely. When I'm sad, when I'm fat. When I'm lazy, when I can't be calmed down. I'm trying to be happy - with my life, and myself. I need to be with someone who loves me and needs me as much as I love and need them.
It breaks my heart that you don't. I would have married you tomorrow had you wanted. My life is yours, and it always has been.
I'll miss you. Be happy.
You are loved.
|The Thousand Petaled Lotus, perhaps.|
I don't want to be rich.
I don't need to be famous.
I don't want everything to be given to me.
I would be so mad if my boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife got me jewelry for Valentine's Day/my birthday/Christmahanukwanzaa. I want something practical like an oil change or a blender!
I may have had it easy in college, and be rich and healthy and have a house overlooking the ocean, but I'm just like you, you fat lower class loser. Really. I'm just like you. I had a hard time with shyness, so naturally I can relate to traumatic experiences like obesity and poverty.
I used to be shy, and while I was naturally thin, I just wasn't healthy.
I believe that if you can't laugh at something, then it wins. If you can't laugh at tragedy, disaster, misfortune...then horror wins, and I refuse to let that happen.
Finding humor in a shitty situation is not the same as accepting it, or agreeing with it, or contributing to it.
I hate stupid people. I hope your family members or loved ones are brutally murdered. So I can laugh at it. You insensitive prick.
I've never wished death on anyone.
Who is insensitive? The one who finds light in the darkness, or the one who actively wishes tragedy to befall someone?
"If we can't live together, we're gonna die alone."
Bullies, violent criminals, teenage runaways, drug addicts.
When I was a teenager, I had to go to what I will call a "behavioral unit." My parents’ messy divorce was the catalyst for my Bipolar, and I was a mess. My mom admitted me so I could get a sense of what was going on, and get on medications and learn coping skills for my anger and suicidal tendencies.
While I was there, I got to know teenagers just like me, and some completely different from me. At night, new kids would be brought in, completely high, and taken to solitary to sober up before they could join the rest of us.
Kids arrested for assault were also brought in, in addition to, or a substitution for, going to juvenile hall.
Everyone was always so tough. So cruel to people outside, and within, especially when they first got there. They pretended to be apathetic about their parents’ struggles, or that of their victims.
Every night, though, we had to go to "Relaxation." It was a dark room, with windows that opened up. We could see the fireworks from Disneyland through them. We would listen to mellow music. We could sit in there as long as we wanted, until we were ready for bed.
All of these bullies who acted so tough would cry in the dark, because nobody could see them, and there was no way to tell who it was that was crying.
I won't be too mean to anyone here, because I'm willing to bet that those of you with vicious socks, those of you who stalk posters just to insult them, or make them feel bad...
You're crying too. We just can't see it.