A Poem of Sorts

I want a girl.
I want a girl
who’ll hold my hand when we walk sometimes.
Who understands me even half of the time,
and knows when I’m joking.
A common bond,
I just want to be recognized.
I don’t need a serious relationship,
but someone who’ll
accept me for who I am
would be nice.
Someone who wouldn’t just see
my outside figure,
but past the awkwardness
to my sense of humor,
my biting wit,
and my horrible self-consciousness.
I wish I were that humble.
I need someone to share stuff with.
Companionship would be great.
I’m not asking for a soulmate,
although that would be wonderful.
I just need someone…
to be there.

Feb. 4

Since I cannot discern as to why I haven’t given up yet, I’ve decided this is necessary. A list of all things bad:

• I snore
• I’m obese
• I’m lazy
• Walk too slowly
• No boobs
• Little friends
• No more relationships
• Kind of stupid
• Talk too much
• Whine too much
• Emotionally detached
• Asshole
• No tact, little concern
• Lame in groups
• Pathetic
• Can’t dance
• Not a good listener
• Always late
• Lack the ability to fit in

I serve no contributive purpose at all. Might as well not even be here.

Jan. 22, 2011

I keep causing myself conflict. Self-hatred and acceptance makes me believe in the fact that I will be alone for the rest of my life. However, every once in a while, that concept loses grasp and I slip back in my make believe world of rainbows and acceptance and start to think like I used to, “when I have that…” You will NEVER have that.

You’re ugly: irreversibly so. You’re not fun to have around. People can barely stand you for more than a few hours. At least I’ve stopped letting my heart feel like it’s been ripped out whenever I think that. You can only beat down your soul for so long before it surrenders and freezes into some self-protectant creature, which is very similar to your “heart” freezing inside your body. No tears, no tears. I refuse. Cried my self dry over “Prayers for Bobby” at three this morning, and I swear, no more.

I sometimes have those moments during which I wonder why I was born at all. What purpose do I serve? I am kind of just a blob on the map; a blemish on an otherwise green and blue masterpiece. I’m glad the spec is too small for anyone to see. Me, a

Friend or Foe?

Tonight, I’ve realized the lack of respect someone has had toward me. For months. I had already known this, of course, but yet now I know that it can never be gained. I cannot prove myself in the eyes of someone who doesn’t see people, but only things. Shallow and insecure, the girl lashes out at anyone she can find fault in. She refuses to change, and quite frankly, now that I know her actions against me, I am no longer able to let slide the small pieces that piss me off every time she speaks. Vanity is doomed to those too insecure to have confidence in themselves, and although she puts on a good show, this is how she lives. Full of doubt and self-loathing; constantly cutting others down to improve her self image. And though I thought her to be a true friend some day, I fear that the disrespect she has shown me as well as some of my close friends hinder that process. Perhaps even make it impossible. I am not placing blame on her entirely. I am not perfect, either. But it’s also her lack of self-acceptance of these attributes that makes the situation so infuriating. Refusing to let go and accept the mutations and quirks that everyone has makes you someone who is socially unacceptable. At least, around me that is. I cannot stand those who cannot falter. Even then, the plastic-wrapped humility she supplies makes me want to scream, rip her throat out and throw her lies onto the floor in front of her. Maybe then she would see; she would see that very little that spews forth from her mouth is fact. The fiction could fill a novel’s worth of time and still leave pages for an epilogue. I cannot take it and I am saddened that this may not be resolved. I value friendship and the idea that I may not want the empty, shell-like pretense that it was to continue, makes it even worse. I feel like the bad one, even though I have very little to apologize for. No longer can I just stand idly by and let these things continually happen. I hate gossip; I left high school hoping that I would never have to deal with backstabbing and drama again, but it seems dreams do not come true. Very little is able to surprise me anymore. No more. It has to change; I just wish I knew how it all turns out.

Misunderstood

It is amazing how no one can simply understand me when I tell them something. It really isn’t everything I say, just when I tell people that I will be alone, or perhaps the question comes up of dating and I brush it off. Do they not see? I am not…I can’t even think of a word. “Dateable” sounds so cliché and I just can’t simply put a definition to what makes me “doomed to the eternal fire of spinsterhood” for the rest of my life. I guess they see something I don’t.

Here’s the problem, folks. If you’ve been in that type of situation multiple times over, you understand how it works. You can comprehend another human being desiring you. Even if it’s not love, there’s some type of attraction involved. If you have never had that experience and you’ve been around for a while (i.e. me) then you’re that much more prone to giving up. The predestined cards, fates, whatever anybody wishes to think about how and who they will end up dating/falling in love like a bunch of saps, is not destined for me.

Why, you may ask? Well, because—*insert fake smile here*—I don’t see it. I can’t envision myself catering to a woman that I can actually stand to share part of my life with. I do not see anyone ever thinking of me as someone they would like to know intimately either and I sincerely cannot blame them. I would never feel anger over their queasy thoughts toward the idea of me in that situation, because I feel the same way. It even disgusts me more than words can say sometimes. The basic truth is—as my freshman English teacher told me—there has to be some type of physical attraction. It’s a basic necessity and one requirement that I cannot meet. Some would argue that she was wrong to tell an impressionable 15-yr-old something like that. Words like that could be forever imprinted in their self-esteem. The truth is that I would believe them now whether she had said them or I had been told in other mediums.

Personality is apparently a large utilization in achieving a likeable and approachable disposition. However, I fail at this as well. My mind and mood do not make me someone that people are clamoring to get closer to in any way. I have a general outlook on life that even the most enthusiastic would call cynical and I approach people as if they hate me before even having a discussion. I’m not loveable. I am just me. Alone and slightly away from the spotlight, as far away as those around me will let me go, because it’s easier than having a daily heartbreak.

I had a chance in high school. I was 17, she was a cute, sulky brunette with deep brown eyes who hated almost the entire world, but for some reason, we became friends. (Shocking, I know.) That girl broke my heart six months later and kept on smashing it for the better part of a year. I’m not one to go into a detailed discussion, but considering I am namely writing this for myself, I’ll put it simply; there was a first kiss involved, further actions were taken (solely by me), and I found out that night one of the simple truths about me: I am not “touchable”.

I guess you would use that term. Not much else to say. I know that no one is supposed to let something like that influence thought processes, but I have never had any evidence to disprove what was already laid out plainly in front of me. I have accepted who I am and I know that I’m an alright person. Hell, I even have good friends now, better than I had in high school in fact. They don’t know everything either, but I can share secrets that I had to keep to myself for years. You could imagine how hard I had it for the first few months; being a teenager nursing wounded pride and being completely confused not only about my sexuality, but also dying a little each day because the person you’ve been with several times will never acknowledge you as any more than a friend in public or a useful tool behind closed doors after she had too much to drink.

Admittedly, I was used, but I let it happen. I was stupid and a lot of the time I still feel that way. Hoping I know better now does not give me ideas about any kind of future. I don’t want to think about it anyway. I can’t, really. It isn’t something I want to imagine. Nothing will happen for me again and part of it is because I cannot let it. If I did not protect myself even the world’s best cardio surgeons wouldn’t be able to repair the damage left behind.

"I’ve always lived like this, keepin’ a comfortable, distance.” --Paramore

Refusing to Play The Fool

Lately I've found it gets harder to slip into that dismal place. I find it strange. It used to be so easy to just accept what I said to myself about not being good enough and eventually ending up all alone. Which was fine. It still is where I believe I will end up, but there is my new family and they just will not let me accept lesser of myself.

I know it's weird to say because I've had family and friends all my life, but it's completely different. I've just realized today that I have no idea how to deal with myself. I have a different family now. I have friends that accept me for who I am completely and don't leave me out of anything. I really never had such a support before. Growing up with verbally abusive parents, as well as abandonment issues because of an absent father for half of your life, there is a tendency to doubt self-worth. But, yet again, there's these people. I have no idea what to think of myself anymore.

They tell me they love me on a daily basis. They care. They find me funny. My "team" doesn't let me doubt myself. My friends at school completely accept me and actually enjoy my company, and honestly...I'm boggled. I do not understand why. They instill confidence in me. For the first time in a while I've thought of being able to--I don't know--be completely myself.

I decided a while ago that I could care less what other people thought and eventually shut out everything. It was like playing a role, never the true self, only what people wanted. What they expected, because I could not share with anyone what was truly bothering me, so I pretended throught the last two years of high school. The details of why are stupid, I realize that now.

Now, hatred bears less, towards myself as well as the world. Because these people, they keep their promises. They genuinely care. The dark secrets that whispered in my head to keep protected from hope seem to lessen. The linger no longer. I do not want to let them go, though. This whole, new thing worries me. Hurt should never find its way in again. How does the old saying go? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..."

I Give Up

I will never not be alone. I will never be within the norm. I will never change my habits. I will never stop pitying myself. I will never stop feeling. I will never try again. There is no more "one more chance". This is it. In grief for oneself it is easy to realize that giving up is so much harder than trying. Attempt takes bravery, forfeit requires failure.

The acceptance of the failure is what takes courage. There is more valor in loss than there ever could be in triumph. I officially announce my acceptance of failure, my faults, my utter incapability to find what truly makes me happy. The gallantry of defeat is something I will take pride in, realizing that so many are weaker than I because they give into the desire to try again. I stand tall in my decision and will no longer waver.

The pride is one thing to endure, the agony of repeated failure is another.