It's your write |
This group is based on creations, and whatever you can think up in your head. The mind is a beautiful place to be and a lot of us don't use it enough. So, for a quick release of feelings, to share a little apart of the world you have Your Write. Click here to sumbit an entry! Run by Ashley! |
April 9th, 2010.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. I’m worse than before. I wake up smiling. I go to school at 10 in the fucking morning basking in the golden sunlight and the knowledge of your love. I hear birds sing and think of you. I see pictures of animals cuddling and I think of us. I look at you when you’re sleeping and I’m over joyed. I degrade myself over and over for you verbally, physically, sexually, and emotionally because you’re like a spoiled child who just takes, and takes and gives back grudgingly with excuses and manipulations to make me doubt the voice in my head that says “hey wait a minute”. Is it all my fault? Do I love you too much? Doesn’t almost everyone deserve the chance to be loved like I love you?
In every boy I’ve dated with the exception of my first boyfriend, I have come to see parts of my father, and this depresses me more than anything. I feel needy and expectant and terrible and like my desires will push you away. I am scared to love you too much. I am scared to love you too little. I am scared to put myself before you because you never take kindly to it when I do so. There’s always an attitude or a comment. I am scared to ask for things in fear of hurting your feelings or angering you and pushing you away. Posting this blog in private but making it so you can read it pushes my anxiety all over the place. You probably won’t read it. You have too many followers. You don’t check my blogs anymore. You don’t talk to me about them. You saw AW CUTE and move on with your day. My biggest fear is that you don’t really love me, that you’re only dependent on not being alone. But I’ll never accuse you of that. I can’t handle even entertaining the idea that its true and not just textbook speak.I’m a mess. I’ve lost myself to you and my passion for us. I have written for it, hurt for it, cried over it, screamed about it, sang more than a 100 songs in dedication to it, bragged to too many people about it, lost sleep over it, slept in it, smiled at strangers because of it, built hopes on the knowledge that they might come down. I can’t even decipher if you are actually the reason for all of this or if its just my fear talking. My brain gets in the way. And all I can think is how sorry I am to have me speak of you in such ways, but no, no I can’t be wrong because I know what I deserve.Submitted by the admin.
