Stubborn Love

I haven’t published a post in a while because I haven’t been able to finish writing. I keep starting to write, starting to develop a story, some mediocre plot, but it falls apart just as I begin to pick up some steam and I never follow through. School began two weeks ago for me, and I feel like I haven’t had time to even breathe.

My goals for this school year are to become completely independent and to eat healthier. I’ve been eating salad whenever possible and trying (sometimes miserably, sometimes bravely) to stay away from heavily processed and all around unhealthy food. I’ve seen a dramatic change in my blood sugars since I changed my diet, and I have much more energy than before, but I know that the road ahead is long and foreboding. I’m determined to stick it out.

I keep feeling like none of my classes stimulate me or my mind. I’m taking mostly Advanced Placement, AICE, or Dual Enrollment courses, and yet I feel like I’m hardly in a Gifted class. My appreciation of intelligence and learning is quickly being depreciated as my teachers seem to have given up on educating seniors before we can even begin to lose our willpower. I’m not ready to take a break or stop learning; I want to be challenged and tested and pushed to my limits so that I can keep breaking my limits. It’s upsetting that my teachers seem to not share in my passion.

I’ve made friends in unlikely places and people, but I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve been in months. Ex-Boyfriend still rings a steady pang in my heart, but I’m learning to live in memory of him instead of for him. I’m learning to be my own person, and most importantly, to be a better person. A few days this week have been particularly difficult, and I’ve had moments where I’ve wanted nothing more than to pick up my phone and call him, but I power through. We watched a short movie once from Disney; the moral of the film was perseverance in the face of adversity with the catchphrase “Chin up now, pip pip” repeated throughout the film. When I would be having a bad day, he would kiss my forehead and tell me the phrase, and just the silliness of the “pip pip” would make me feel better. I tell it to myself almost every day.

I’ll be okay. The more I say that to myself, the more likely it is to be true. At least, that’s how it works in theory, right?

I’ll be okay.


Shade and Light

Scrolling through some pictures in my photo roll, I stumble across a few from my freshman year of high school and I’m dumbfounded. It’s hard to believe I was that broken and lonely person just 3 short years ago. Since the time that those pictures were taken, I have grown in ways I never before realized. I am a stronger, more intelligent, and more charismatic human being; in many ways, however, I am also more sensitive and frail.

I hate that I have allowed the events from the past few months to affect me so severely. I am ashamed that I allowed myself to feel weak. I worked for so long to be more than that, to be better than that. I lived a life of hiding in the shadows, and I was tired of not being myself and I vowed that I would not allow myself to be put down by anyone again, but I forgot to include myself in that. I put myself down, I was my own worst enemy. I deserve better than how I have treated myself.

I miss Ex-Boyfriend. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him, or needing him, or loving him. I think he will always own a piece of my heart. But eventually, sooner rather than later, I need to start moving on. I need to learn that it’s okay to be alone, that it’s okay to need someone, but that I’m all I need.

I don’t know how to be alone. I never have. In those moments of solitude, I forget who I am and I forget how to live. I feel weak and battered down and like my existence is meaningless.

I lived a life of hiding in the shadows and Ex-Boyfriend brought me into the sunlight. He taught me courage and bravery, and I can’t let that go to waste. I owe him my life and my happiness. I need to learn how to be alone and be okay. I owe him that at least.

My Happiness and Depression

People talk about happiness as though it were something that could be turned on or off with the flip of a switch.

My happiness resembles a hypercoaster. I could be doing fine and going steady until I come to the drop. Suddenly, I am engulfed in waves and foam and I don’t know which way is up or down. I am drowning and I never learned how to swim.

This feeling of impending doom only retracts when I’ve stumbled across leveled ground and an angel comes to pull me out of the water. But angels have other duties and eventually must go.

I often worry about being a burden to the few who claim to care about me, and for this reason choose to refrain from telling them when I feel ill. That is depression. Not only feeling like you are a burden, but knowing you are a burden. It is wanting to lay in bed all hours of the day and wanting to sleep but not having the energy to. It it realizing you have truly hit rock bottom when even sleeping has become a hassle. Depression is sucking the life out of everything you once loved and abandoning you in a dark room where your only company is the voices reminding you of everything that led up to that point of you feeling drained.

Despite all of this, I still have my moments of being content. I have two pillars who keep me standing upright and push me along, neither of whom let me straggle behind, wallowing in my sorrow. It is with them, and only with them, in which I feel what it is to have motivation again. I am renewed with energy around them and begin finding pleasure in the small things, such as her pointed nose or his never-ending babble. And it is precisely because of these people that I am still writing this, and I have not relapsed to the calls of self-harm again, and I am not waiting out my time in the psychiatric ward where I almost landed myself two years ago.

I have come a long way from the person I was at that time, where I lived for the razor that was hidden in my drawer at home, and I had written up countless suicide notes and formulated a multitude of plans for ridding myself of the pain that was infecting every cell of my being. I still have a long way to go, but I am making progress. A wise man once said “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way” and on my way I am.

My Problem

My biggest issue is that I care for the broken people. If someone is hurting, or in a low place of their life, or just generally do not like themselves, I tear myself to pieces in order to piece them back together.

I figured this out with the last boyfriend I had before I came out. I toiled with him for five months before finally giving up. I tore myself into smaller and smaller pieces until I was almost entirely inexistent solely to try to help him become a better person. I let him take advantage of me because I thought it was what I deserved and I should let him, if it makes him feel better.

I am currently facing a similar struggle once again. I want her to be happy. I care for her happiness more than I care for my own. I try to show her that I love her with every inch of my being, but my efforts seem to be in vain. She doesn’t understand that she is valuable and has more meaning to me than the Bible does to the most devout Catholic. Nothing I do can get her to understand this.

The worst part is I can never be mean to the broken ones. I let them walk over me and abuse me, but I always keep myself from hurting them. I can never bring myself to. They don’t deserve it.

I do it to find love. I hope that by bringing someone happiness, I will be repaid with their love. Until now, this has been far from the truth; however, I would still give up my happiness if it earned me an ‘I love you’.