You Used To Write About Me

You used to write about me. You had a blog and on it were love letters you created from the beautiful words in your mind. I cried when I read them, and they made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.

You used to make me feel special. You would kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear and treat me how no boy had ever treated me before.

You used to make me feel loved. You stared into my eyes and held me tight and told me how you felt.

You used to make me feel needed. You made me promise to never leave you, you told me you would always love me. You were scared.

Now you’re not. You’re not scared, you’re not sweet, you’re not romantic. You got used to me and now you don’t need me. You may love me but you don’t show it.

Now I’m a burden.

Now I’m a hassle.

Now I’m not needed.


The Truth of That Awkward Curly Haired Boy

Little things frighten me. When my boyfriend drives too fast, or when I see a spider, or when I’m alone and my house makes a noise. I’m not, however, afraid of many big things. Reality doesn’t scare me, because I’ve been through enough of it. But you scare me. You, with your twisted compliments and your manipulative ways.

I met you officially six years ago. You were an awkward preteen with a lot of pent up rage and anger issues. You got in fights and you ran your mouth, and you were punished. We weren’t friends, but I knew who you were. Everyone knew who you were. That never changed.

We went to high school together, and soon we were inseparable. You channeled your anger onto the stage- the same place I channeled out my depression. We quickly became king and queen of the drama department. Our only competition was each other- we were constantly beating each other out for top marks, highest praise, the most remembered performances. It made sense that we became close.

That was five years ago. We were awkward teenagers who didn’t know up from down. We would flirt occasionally, and I thought it was funny because you were so awkward. You were my best friend, like a brother, so your flirting must be another in your long string of jokes. You began flirting with the other girls we knew, and it made us nervous, because a boy had never really said those things to us before.

As the years continued, I dated around. You were always single, and still you were flirting with everyone. No one thought it was a big deal, because it was just you. It was among the many other things you began to get away with in high school. Teachers thought you were charming. Girls thought you were awkward and funny.

You kissed me. Well, you kissed us. I think you almost kissed all the girls we knew. It made us nervous. You never asked permission, you just did it. You hit my head on the lockers when you did it, but I didn’t say anything because I was sad, and it was nice to have someone notice me. The other girls let it slide too, we made excuses for you, saying you never had a girlfriend, so you were just lonely. We were pretty naive back then.

Still, as time passed, you became more aggressive with your approaches. You sent texts out of the blue, and you were more up front about what you wanted. Every word out of your mouth was provocative and foul, and yet you still got away with it. It got you into trouble on occasion, and yet we stood up for you. We made more excuses for you, we told people it was a mistake. You were an excellent actor, and your best role was when you claimed to be an innocent man. You mastered playing the victim in all of these endeavors.

Now it’s been six years since I met you. I haven’t spoken to you in almost a year. You still text me out of the blue with something vulgar on your mind, and I ignore it, because I don’t want to be impolite.

That’s the problem. No one wanted to be impolite. We didn’t want to hurt your feelings, or make things awkward, or make things a big deal.

It’s been six years, and we’re just now realizing it is sexual harassment.

It’s been six years, and I’m just now finding out about the disgusting lies you told people about me and you.

It’s been six years, and you’ve gotten so good at playing the victim that we catch ourselves feeling bad for “leading you on”.

It’s been six years, and we don’t know how to stop you, because we are scared.

Society has taught us that no one will listen to the woman. No one will punish the man.

It took us six years to realize what you were doing; how you were tearing us down to create us from scratch. You were around every corner, and at the end of every sentence. You never left, you were always there. You told us what you liked, and we tried to please you. We fought each other for your attention. I wasted years of my life calling you my best friend, when all you did was try and get me into bed.

Someday, everyone will know the truth. Someday, we will come up with a plan. And when that someday comes, we will destroy you. And that awkward preteen from six years ago, he will never hurt an unsuspecting girl again.

Okay Writings for an Okay Day

The days we fight are the hardest. I am usually so passionate, so full of fire, so desperate to win arguments- but with you I can’t dig up any of that. I don’t know how to fight with you because all I can think about it how much I love you, and how I could never hurt you.

Whenever we fight, I read the letters you have written me, and they bring me to tears. I cannot picture life without you. I don’t want to. You make me absolutely crazy sometImes; you make me so angry and heart broken. But I love you. I love every part of you. I love the parts that drive me crazy, and the parts that frustrate and anger me.

Know this- no matter how much we fight, I will always be here. I will always still love you, and I will always crawl into bed with you at the end of the day. You’re the first person who has ever made me want to work through a fight, who has made me want to not just give up. I don’t care about winning fights anymore, because what is winning if it loses me you?

My love for you is desperate, all consuming, and everything I hold dear.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words


Last year, or the year before that, or the many years before that, I would have never thought it would be possible to capture happiness so perfectly. Maybe that is because I was never really happy, or maybe I was just simply more cynical back then. These photographs prove the past version of me wrong. Through out the past nine months, I have tried desperately to describe my love for this man, and I have failed miserably. There is no way of describing such an overpowering feeling. These photos, however, capture everything.



They capture all of the happiness in the world. In these photos, I look happier than I have ever seen myself. I’ve seen myself pleased, excited, content. These pictures are different; in these pictures I am actually exuding pure joy.

I never thought I could be this happy. Oh, what your love has done to me.

The Nightmares Are Getting Worse (unfinished)

That night I sat alone on sticks and leaves; I was afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, afraid to breathe. My heart pounded in my chest and my throat was dry; his voice echoed in my bones. My shirt was torn and my skin welcomed the harsh wind against it, because to feel the cold meant I was alive. There was a ringing in my ears that refused to spare me a moment of precious silence. I could feel the blood in my veins, as if my body was trying to convince me of the life I no longer believed was there. I could hear my breath- slow and cautious- but I could not feel the contractions in my chest. Bruises were forming on my wrists and my leg was bleeding. It was dark and it had taken me until then to realize. He was nowhere near me but I could hear his laugh. I felt sick. My clothes were drenched in the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and fear. I could not get his stench off of my skin and I wished I could tear it off to get the smell out of my nose.
I tried to stand. I was dizzy and I couldn’t remember why.
I collapsed and I wept.
And I wept.
And I wept for a lifetime,
a lifetime and a day.
And when the tears finally stopped, so did my heart.
I got up and walked away,
and I left my body behind
so that I could never fall apart.

Gillian’s Gourney

Two years ago I began blogging because a very dear friend of mine suggested it. Gillian and her boyfriend at the time were the only real friends I had, and they welcomed me into their world of writing with open arms. Gill and I grew up together- our mothers were friends when we were born, and as kids we could always be found getting up to some kind of mischief together. We went to church together, we went to each other’s birthday parties, we had sleepovers and braided each other’s hair. When we got older we taught Sunday School to a group of crazy kids. We took pictures and laughed and talked about boys and school drama. 149245_165947613427552_775107_nGill and I knew absolutely everything about each other. She helped me through my first heart break, and I helped her through hers. She was the person I depended on to be honest with me.
About a year ago, Gill had been complaining about a pain in her leg that she believed to be a torn muscle. Gill is the most stubborn girl I know, and she refused to get it checked out until after her dance season was over. However, her stubbornness could not convince her mother, so she went for some x-rays.
That was when she was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, an aggressive form of bone cancer that had resided in her femur and lungs.
When I heard the news, it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be true- Gill was the strongest person I knew. She had always eaten healthy, she was very physically active, she was happy, she was successful, she was intelligent, she went to church every week. She was and continues to be a genuinely good person. In this past year, I have received a lot of news that has turned my world upside down. This, however, was the news that shook me the most.
A lot of people have told me that I am incredibly brave for shaving my head. 971058_10151374734185286_971903417_n A lot of people have told me they could never do the same. I beg to differ. When someone you love gets news like that, it isn’t even a decision anymore. I didn’t have to think about it, I just knew it was something I had to do. I had to contribute something.
I will admit, Gill and I have grown apart since then. But she will always have a very special place in my heart.
These past few months have been filled with good news and joy. We all believed she was on the mend.

I’m not entirely sure what is going on right now, but I know that Gill has received some sort of bad news. From May 8th-19th she will be going on a trip to Greece, on May 21st she will be graduating, and on May 31st she will be marrying her current boyfriend, Michael.

I am so incredibly happy for her. She is living life to the fullest. But at the same time, I am terrified. I know what this kind of rush means, and it does not mean something good. She looks tired and sad all the time. It breaks my heart to see someone who has always been so full of life, collapsing. It is like watching a strong brick wall collapse.

I don’t know how to react to any of this. I don’t know how any of us are supposed to react. I am so happy, and I will always support any decision that puts a smile on her face.

It just terrifies me to see such an inspirational woman look so afraid.

Quit your day job. See the world. Fall in love. Find yourself.