I have a big thing for the moon. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, readers, but I do. I always have had. I could stare at it for hours. It’s beautiful. And still. And quiet.
It’s like being watched over by something so bright and so calm when all else in your life is dark. Its beauty is so exquisite and ethereal…
Third life post in a week without a fiction in between, right? Must mean there’s something up. I don’t know. There isn’t really. But sometimes I need to write things out so they aren’t cooped up in my head, pulling my mood deeper and deeper down.
I don’t know what to do. I feel all this confusion and loss. And I don’t know what to do with it. How can you hurt this much? It can’t be possible. Really, it can’t. I don’t want it. I want it gone. But I don’t think it will go…
I almost threw up this morning and yesterday at work. I’ve lost a lot of weight again. It isn’t good, but I can’t help it. I am eating. I make myself eat, even if it’s not what I want to do.
My nails and fingers are a mess from biting them. I stopped doing that so much a while ago and now I seem to have started again. It’s really irritating because I do it without meaning too and I’d lasted so long before. Maybe it’s because I want to do something but I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. There probably isn’t. It’s probably a waste of my time writing this, never mind thinking it.
I could do with a hug, but I’m not a very huggable person. I have hug issues. There are very few people I can hug and feel comfortable with, which is why I don’t do it so often. If you get a genuine hug off me and it lasts more than ten seconds it usually means I feel comfortable. It doesn’t happen very often. I don’t trust people enough to hug them, I think. It feels too vulnerable and too open.
Trust issues, eh? Everybody has them. I’ll admit them. Anxiety issues too.
Major anxiety issues.
I worry almost constantly about other people. Like I said in my Rabbit Hearted Girl post, I put other people and how they feel before myself. I’ve gotten to the stage where I try to put my own feelings first, but that’s not always possible. I’m too mindful of others sometimes.
I even worry about showing affection. Maybe that’s silly, but that’s just what I do. I stress over showing too much affection, because I know I have a tendency to. I know I can make myself seem clingy and too touchy feely, which is a big thing because I’m not like that with anyone except the person I’m in love with or I care about. I guess it’s the want for a physical connection. I’m happy to hug them, brush my hand against them, twine our fingers together and kiss them…
But I try not to. As stupid as that sounds.
I panic. I think they don’t feel the same or that it will be too much and it will just make them not want to be with me. It’s stupid. I know it is, but the thoughts are still there. I worry so much about what they think because what they think matters more than it ever does from anyone else. And I can’t help that.
I give my whole heart. Nothing less.
Stupid me. I’m tearing up writing this and it’s not as if it’s really anything sad. It’s just thoughts and stuff and insecurities that I need to get off my chest because there’s no one I can be this honest to.
I mean there are. There are people, but I can’t tell them. I can’t tell them quite how much I hurt and how everything stupidly sorts itself in my head because the anxiety is there. And I worry what they think. I worry I can’t say everything because they’re going to judge me and then they’re going to tell me what to do and make me feel smaller and sillier than I already do for caring so ridiculously much about one person when obviously that wasn’t how they felt.
I mean, I didn’t even get the courtesy of being told to my face. My last memory of him is a kiss goodbye and three words I never want to hear again. Never.
And I really mean that. I don’t think I can feel it. I don’t think I can bear it at all. Not this time.
This time it’s like everything is gone from me. It’s all just ripped out and empty.
You’ll have to excuse any typos. I can’t seem to think or speak of any of this without shaking. And the stupidest things make me cry. Adverts and wildlife documentaries and the things people say to each other in the street.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m such a mess. Such a stupid stupid mess. I’m so stupid. I’m just a stupid stupid girl. And I hate myse;f for being such a fool.
I mean, what normal person sits on their own crying and typing everything they feel into a computer?
There’s no way to make this right. I get up in a morning despising the fact that I’m awake again. I don’t want to wake up. I hate waking up. It means thinking and not being somewhere I want to be, where everything is alright and there’s not this mess, this horrible hole in my heart and nothingness. Nothingness where I wish I had some hope, but I don’t. I don’t have any hope left for anything. I’m clinging to my WIP like it’s some kind of float after this shipwreck even though I know I’ll never reach the shore and my arms will give up long before anyone can rescue me.
Such a stupid girl.
I thought it was all true. I thought it was all true and I was so wrong. It was just a game. It had to be just a game.
A stupid game where you make a stupid girl believe that you love her, that you do want to be with her and no one else, that she was always the one you wanted. And I believed it because the signs were there, the hints and the indications. They were there since so long ago. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe that was his stupid charm and his stupid need for everyone to love him because he’s such a fucked up wanker that he needs that from people. He needs to think he’s loved by everyone. He chases all these people and tries to make them like him because somehow he thinks that if they like him then he can like himself and feel less alone, but he won’t. He never will.
It doesn’t work like that.
And I wish. I wish I was the only one who’d noticed so I could convince myself I was wrong, but I’m not. I’m not the only one it’s obvious to.
And I can’t listen to him. Even if I understand. Even if I know exactly what he’s talking about and I know how he feels. I can’t. I can’t do that to myself. I can’t let him blur the lines when I love him. I love him so stupidly. And I hate him and I hate myse;lf for loving him. Because it’s not fair.
It’s not faoir at all.
I want to be sick. I want to be nothing. Because I did it. I shot for the moon. I believed I’d reach I’d reached it and then I found out it was all faked and the world fell apart.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this post. I’m sorry for everything in it. I’m sorry for everything.
I’m just sorry.
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