Risks

I read something on Tumblr, or was it Twitter? Anyway, it was along the lines of "if they constantly put themselves in a position where losing you is a possibility, lose them before they lose you." Okay, so maybe I made the last part up, I don't remember what comes after the first line but it was something like that. The phrase made sense to me because if you do cherish one person, if you do think the world of them, the last thing you'd want is have them walk away right? You'd give everything you have to make them stay, to prevent them from disappearing out of your life. You'd do that for them because they matter to you. They matter a lot. So, you hold on to them.

Maybe it's different for her, I don't know. But for me, if I don't want to lose you then I'd make damn sure I do what I have to in order to keep you with me. I'd try to minimize the hurt I cause you because it's pain that drives people away. Pain is the ultimate deterrent, isn't it? I know that I can get bitchy sometimes. I can get emotional and unstable. But I never intended for anyone to leave. I still try to hold on. I know I've put myself in a position where I could be losing you before, but I never let it go too far. I'd always stop myself before it's too late.

But every time I look back at you and our last moments together, I get answers I don't want. I over-think, but I doubt that this is me over-thinking. It's true that you can love someone and still hurt them. It's true that you can love someone and still leave them. I think she's leaving me. This isn't the first time she's risked the possibility of me out her door. This isn't the first time she let me realize things and cry to myself while she played dead. It hurts the most, telling myself that this isn't the first time.

This is probably the 20th time. 20 times she threw me into a pit of fire to see if I'd still come crawling back in the end. For the last 20 times, yes. I went back to her. I crawled back into her warm, passionate, familiar embrace. Is that going to happen again this time? Or will she have her arms crossed? Will I let myself burn out in the flames she started?

I don't know. But I need some music to get through the day though.

2016 Basically

I don't think I can do this. This living, breathing thing that everyone is trying to do. Some of us are making it work; I'm not the lucky few. I used to think that having someone to love takes away the pain of being alone, the pain of not knowing how we'd end up.

It doesn't.

You can be in love and still feel lonely. You can be with someone and still end up alone. Alone. I don't want to be alone. My family and friends, yes they do make me feel less lonely. Yes, they do fill some spaces in my soul. A lot of people are telling me that it's possible to fill the rest by being on my own. That it's possible to feel contempt, at peace with oneself even by being alone. I don't know about others, but I feed off love.

Not familial love or friendship love. Those kind of love make living possible, but they hardly make it worthwhile. And I'm not out to live just because I was given a life. I'm out to live because I want to find something, someone worthwhile. I'm out to find the live in alive. Does that make sense? To desire something worthwhile? Worth the effort of trying to live. Worth risking everything for. Worth all of what I can offer?

I'm thankful for my family and friends. I can't ever describe the amount of gratitude I feel for the love they pour on me, time and effort invested on me. I spent my teenage years worrying about disappointing them. I'm stepping into the adult life soon and still, I worry. I panic. I scream.

I scream with everything I'm not made out of. I scream with every opportunity I let slip. I scream with the sadness from not being able to be the person I wish I was. I scream with all I have and all I don't.

Every night, I scream. In my head. On my bed. Under the sheets that never seemed to bring enough warmth to my skin. Next to my grandmother whom I know I'll always let down. Tears made of sickening thoughts soaked my pillow and wet the bed sheets. I'd drown myself if I could cry faster than the tears evaporate. Once they're off into the air, gone is any trace of the previous ordeal, apart from the dry sensation on my lips and the fatigue left on both my eyes. Finally, I go to sleep.

I go to sleep to have the darkest dreams.

What am I? Biologically, I'm female. Spiritually? Mentally? I have no fucking clue. Either I'm deep under layers and layers of denial, or I really have like, zero idea. I know what I wish for though. I wish I was born a male. I wish I was born a little boy, so I could grow up into the man who falls in love with the woman with a smile made of everything good. Does wishing for something equal to how I want to identify myself as? Confused, I'm so fucking confused. And I'm so fucking depressed. I'm so fucking sad all the time. Is this what living is all about?