New Romantics

***written November 2014 but I forgot to publish it oops…I still stand by it though. Newer posts to come soon***

For the past 6 months, almost exactly, I’ve been wanting to see one of my best friends but not been able to. I’m honestly not even sure why. And the other day I finally did, and I’m happy, but the results were not what I was expecting.

I’ve been saying lately that I have no expectations of anyone, which is more or less true, but I still have expectations of myself. I expect to feel certain ways and say certain things in different situations.

And that didn’t happen.

I was so just beyond anxious the entire time, partially because of the setting but partially just because I didn’t know what was happening. And then me feeling that way scared me even more, making me even more anxious, because that normally doesn’t happen. Normally I feel at peace. He’s my oldest friend and one of the only people I feel truly safe around.¬†I don’t want to lose that feeling.

I also don’t remember that night that well, even though I was completely sober and it was THREE DAYS AGO. Maybe that’s an anxiety thing? Who knows. I’ve been noticing that a lot lately with important moments. I remember bits and pieces but not nearly as much as I want to. Continue reading

Writing Lines

I sentence myself to write the following lines on a mental chalkboard as punishment for briefly forgetting again:

His opinion does not define you.

His opinion does not define you.

His opinion does not define you.

His opinion does not define you.

(rep: x infinity)

I am more loyal and more sincere and more real and just generally more permanent than most (possibly all) boys can handle. This is because boys are flighty and indecisive by nature, always trying to have it all because the world has told them they can. And I do not put up with that, at least not without a fight.

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I finally saw The Fault in Our Stars a few weeks ago, and as I’m sure everyone knows, this is a very famous quote from the book. I’ve always loved this quote (along with all the others) but it means something a little different to me now.

I’ve referenced my former boyfriend ¬†several times – I have two, but I usually only talk about this one. I talk about it all the time but never about how it ended or why. And I’m not going to tell you now. Partially because I don’t know how myself – I know more than most people, but I still don’t know. The only person who knows is him – he may not have figured it all out yet, but somewhere deep inside himself, that information is hidden.

And I’m not going to tell you because I just don’t want to. I am rarely at a loss for words, but this is the one thing that simply causes my brain to shut down. I tend to just explode into a puddle of tears and frustration and anger and grief. I can make self-deprecating jokes about it, but it is very difficult for me to talk about seriously. I’ve been through a lot of hard things, but nothing like this. Nothing else has felt so final, so permanent and life-changing.

But recently I had to say goodbye to this person, so this I guess is my way of saying ‘goodbye’. And no one is ever going to ask me for my side of the side of the story. But I want it to be out there, to exist in some shape or form, because I was a part of this too. The part that no one wants to think about. And the consequences of all of this for me will be just as far-reaching.

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One Year Later

It was this time last year that I restarted this blog (August 1st to be exact). Not on WordPress, of course, but in its original form on Tumblr as what is now known as Bird & Cage. I felt broken. I spent way too much time in my bedroom alone, sweating in the humidity and binge watching Modern Family. I sat around and did that and sometimes I would amuse myself by driving to the mall, or Target, or the grocery store. And it was at this time that I first discovered that writing helped. It didn’t really make me feel less alone, like it does now, but it made me feel like I was being productive, and not just a sad loser living at her parents’ house.

I didn’t start with the blog; I started with an article that simply attempted to tell my story in some sort of linear manner, which later became the article I published in The Varsity (which I still do not love). I never would have thought to do this if my friend hadn’t randomly told me that I was a good writer, apropos of nothing (given that I hadn’t written anything in years, other than cards and emails and notes that were all essentially love letters). There was never some sort of hidden drive that I felt within myself to be a writer. It was just something that people told me I should do, or assumed I already did, because I’m an English major. But I started that article, and at the time I was in love with my first couple of drafts. My counsellor at the time pointed out that my face lit up when I talked about it, and I was super embarrassed but now I’m not – passion is a good thing.

When the article was done, I was bored. I wanted to write something else but I didn’t know what. And I remembered that I had a blog when I was in first year that I never knew what to do with. I still didn’t know what to do with it, but it was something. I asked my friend again what he thought. He’d admitted to reading my old blog back in the day, as a way to see what I was doing I suppose, since we were no longer in contact at that time, so I knew that he would be a good judge. He said go for it. I didn’t think I’d keep it up – maybe only for 2 or 3 months at best, like the first time. But it’s a year later now and I’m still going strong. That is incredible to me, because I don’t stick with ANYTHING. Now I actually sort of have a hobby. What can I say, I can only write what I know (also the reason why I still don’t consider myself a “real” writer). It took me a couple of months to figure out what I wanted this to be, and I still feel like it’s shifting but I have a voice now. Continue reading