I haven't written in over six months.
It's been so chaotic this year. I've given into peer pressure while resisting the urge to feed my addictions. Christmas Day is Sunday... it's the first Christmas I feel sane. I don't think I'm supposed to feel the excitement I do. I am so excited to go into a new year without any silly obsessions or stupid confessions. I've danced a little more this year, laughed a little harder, found a new range of songs I'm in in love with, attracted the wrong guys, competed for attention, found a new favourite phrase, food, scent, hobby, look. I've understood I can't sing for shit but discovered a passion for acting. Set a mindset for tomorrow rather than next year, because why next year? Why not now? It's all the same... it all collides together does it not?
I've been really good at controlling myself recently, I've replaced my wants with needs. I have goals again. I have started building a body that will never be touched in the way it has been before. Under the layers of dark oversized clothing, I take advantage of the fact I have two legs, a working body that can take me anywhere. The house is a little colder than usual, a little quieter but a lot happier.
I'm working so much on myself, it's become painfully lonely. I'm dying to tell someone about my day, or trace my nails over their skin. I want to craft kisses on their neck and be hugged so tight it hurts. I've become obsessed over calories, even though I am in such high numbers. I do so well until six o'clock and then my body craves amounts of sugar that dishonour my hard work. I countlessly feel sick, it ascends the want to throw it all up, all the good food I'm supposed to be grateful for. I am bipolar as can be. And I'm somehow fascinated by the fact my face lights up on a train filled with strangers more than it would in a room full of treasures. I find myself creating stories unwillingly just for the old man that smiled at me. I find myself happy enough to find the time and space to scream hard enough my voice is nothing but frail, I want to cry so bad my eyes light red. I try to convince myself I'm okay. But I am so fucking lonely. So fucking lonely. I'm so fucking lonely.
Even my rings have started parting from my fingers.
Sugar makes me depressed yet I crave it. Maybe that's just it, maybe sugar is the replacement. Maybe sugar is like him. Crave it enough to keep going back for more.
I've learnt, best person to ask for advice is your body. I didn't realise how clever it was. For instance, sex isn't supposed to hurt, you aren't supposed to be in pain and feel injured afterwards. Your thighs aren't supposed to burn and your insides aren't supposed to scream. You aren't supposed to feel bad, you aren't supposed to feel unsafe, unsupported and out of control. You aren't supposed to please. Not every single time anyway. I have learnt to stop looking for happiness, and be more self-aware, be kinder to my heart, my body, the skin around my nails and the skin on my lips. I still pick my lips, badly. So maybe I haven't let go of the anxiety but a year can only fit in so many lessons. I am still learning to manage my sugar intake, be productive, be balanced, keep controlled and calm. All while fighting the insects inside my head, that creep and crawl and itch and bend and wriggle and scream. The insects I can't seem to rid of, the insects that aren't really insects at all.
This year I fell in love again. I can't quite depict what sort of love it was, I am just entitled to sense that it was love. Any silly person could see that. I also fell out of love. Mainly with myself. I've had to build up some self love, some self worth, once more.
I remember the way you used to stare at me, my importance, my meaning. How I loved that feeling. We had potential, but we both know one of us was too invested. One of us was too blind sighted by the love I had deliberately displayed . I replay our memories. I used to want to call you and fall asleep in the journey of debating whether I should. I don't even look for your notification anymore. It was weak of me. It was hurtful. I was scarring my own heart. But then I'm reminded by my head.. of the way you used to love me. The way you used your hands to love me. The way you possessed my body. The way I'd wake up to you inside me. That was classed as our love. I am in no way describing you as a villain, you are everything but. Yet you still craved me, my body, you still craved our sex more than our relationship. I was something for you to use when you needed to, when you desired. I allowed that. We allowed sex to rule our connection.
Our friendship was desirable. The way you made me smile. I had a connection with you no one else could shape. But you aren't hard to love, loving you is easy. It isn't hard to love being around you, it's pretty impossible not to, when you're being you. I wasn't scared of consequences with you. I poured water over your head just to see you smile, I stared at you for longer than I should have, just to see you laugh. I touched your skin, just to watch you sleep. You were a reminder of peace, something no one knew you could be. Just me.
I quite liked it that way.
03:00
I gave in. I couldn't sleep. I texted him, Owen. It felt like deja vu, as if I'd been here before. He told me, in order for him to find himself... maybe he had to lose me. That hurt because the only time he was himself was around me. We both know that. Yet he degraded me for his own pleasure. I couldn't quite understand why he thought he was so on top of the world. He referred to himself as 'better' than everyone, and I was referred as 'no one'. I missed him, he felt superior after hearing this. I guess it was a surprise for the both of us, I mean this is coming from the boy who threw a bottle at me in his stolen car last month. He missed, but the intentions were still there unfortunately.
He never used to want to hurt me. He never used to want anything but to love me. I wonder when it changed. He called me a slag, he called me a slut.
When I got home, I cried. But it also sent shivers down my spine memorising the day he broke in to my home, the day he threatened my little sister, the day he hacked my Instagram and changed my passwords. All the things I thought were just messages of his love became signals of what I should have been looking for. Signals that looked like flags; big red flags.
I erased the messages, deleted the number. There's no need for me to forget him, or who he was to me; only accept that he isn't that same person anymore. He's moved on.
So I save my tears
and speak to the moon once more
confide in its ashy silence
about your eyes under it's beams of light
although we won't end up
I have faith
that we look up at that moon
at the exact same time
at the exact same point
and in some other universe
I am yours and you are mine.
It's soon to be a new year. I want to give myself the strength I've needed for the past five years. The strength to love the right people, at the right time. That same strength to carry my weight through the loss I have endured, the loss i may endure. That same strength to allow me to move forward. That strength to fight even when weak. It takes a strong woman to do so and that strong woman will be me. I was foolish to miss him. I was foolish to miss her too.
As much as I'm lonely, I do love it. I love the silence when my mind can be as still as snow. I love it as much as I love dancing in my room or writing. I am still discovering how to reach my inner child again, heal what I thought couldn't be healed. I am still learning to find maintenance in life.
There's a rumour my mom is getting better. I keep being asked the same question; would you ever want to see her again? My response still remains unanswered. I can't seem to move past all the hurt she's made me feel, what she still does make me feel - the disappointment I have for her. She took my smile and she used up my time - just to beckon me for more of the drug she craved. She bullied me with her jealousy. She wasn't brave or strong. She wasn't what she created. I am strong for having the will power to say 'no more'. I am strong for quitting. I am strong for cutting her off, I am strong for having no mother at all. I am brave for letting go of a lost cause. I am beautiful for loving again. Not shutting off, not allowing all of my flesh to mould, or cut into my bones. I will stop picking at myself to be better, but to embrace how what makes me honourable. I love how I control my anger. How I will always choose skincare over makeup and red roses over lily's. Dancing over drinking and rain over the sun.
I deserve the world. I'm going to make a beautiful life for myself to look back on, not as a distant memory but an unapologetic presence.
