En route to the grocery store a very nosy woman-a friend of my dads presumably- told me to smile. “Smile, let me see that big gorgeous smile of yours”. And I really tried to please her, truly, but no matter how much I tried to make my mouth form into a pretty smile all I could do was scowl and grimace. And she asked me again to smile and I told her, “Please I don’t want to smile right now”. To prevent her from getting upset I began to walk away and she called out to me asking me if I was okay and I didn’t answer her because I didn’t have the energy to. Once I got into the grocery store and was surrounded by fresh fruits and vegetables and meats and treats I sighed and realized that I didn’t want anything. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. And so I walked back home and my dad asked me if I had gotten anything good from the store and I just handed him back his money, all $50 of it and he just looked baffled and said “you haven’t eaten all day, you didn’t eat last night, and you had juice and toast for breakfast yesterday morning. And you’re telling me you’re not hungry?” And I shook my head no. “Not even in the least bit?” He said. And again, I shook my head no.
Because today i realized something. I realized that no amount of money or food or cute fluffy animals can change the feelings inside of me-the shit that’s burried deep, deep, beneath all of those fluffy, giggly things that I push out. No matter how happy I am at certain moments, no matter how much I give, or how kind I am, I will always be unsatisfied with my own life, secretly hating myself for a million and one things that I want to change. I don’t even cry anymore, its so unnatural how I’ve reprogrammed myself to swallow my sadness, my fears, my sorrow, even my physical pain to become this girl who just wants to give the happiness that she will never truly feel or receive back. The fucked up part in this is that I internalize everything. I know I’m my own worst enemy. One day I think I’m strong, and the next day I realize how weak I am. One day I think spreading kindness without the expectancy of reciprocity will make things better, and the next day I’m not so sure.
Is this normal? Are there other people like me who seem happy on the outside but on the inside feel so, so small? How come I feel so warm towards others but so cold towards myself? And, mostly, in a room surrounded by people that I love and care about, why do I feel so alone? These are things that I keep to myself. I tell people that I’m just “a little stressed from school” or that I’ve got “cramps”. When the truth is that I hardly get stressed from academic work, and that I don’t ever get cramps or bloating or other symptoms—these feelings and pains I’ve learned to internalize and ignore, as well. I will never understand how it feels to care for someone unconditionally and not feel like they are forcing themselves, not even a little bit, to care for me. I will never understand how it feels to eat a small meal and not feel the need to add something— a spice, a dash, a tomato, an entire salad. I will never meet people who don’t understand what it feels like inside of me, and still try anyway because they love me.
I love. I’m not perfect. I fuck up a lot and I feel as though my mistakes are always the ones accounted for. But I always refuse to be the burden. To tell the ones I love that I’m in pain. Because I’m so good at telling people what happened, but not exactly telling them what’s wrong. Even now, I’ve done it.
And people always say to me “Aarianna, I didn’t know you felt this way about your life”.
To which I say, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.
To which I believe every fiber of that statement.
you make me mad but i still want you; make love to me make love to you let me; touch you;
to rock back and forth against you this feverish instinct to violate your space don’t you dare make me wait; give me you; don’t act like i can’t tell you want me too; you want me to, what do you want to do?
take me through the stars, a voyage, a milky way that i reach through your arms; i climb on top and we rock; the waves are high; you enter me, you fall in deep i shutter beneath your cold fingertips; i feel your ribs brush against my skin; brisk; you make love to me
so well; welcome; well come into my fantasy; dance with me; i’m wanting you like we’ve already done this before;
you give me;
you give me familiar memories;
While Race can be argued as being a conceptualized and imprecise theory based on the premises of skin pigmentation and distinctive physical features, Ethnicity is a more tangible and precise entity that proves its own validity via tradition, culture, and custom. Ethnicity shouldn’t replace Race in a way in which they are interchangeable, but rather, race should be a terminology and notion that is dismantled entirely, simply because Race is confusing. It comes at no surprise to me that the human mind has trouble digesting the implications of skin color in relation to genetics—e.g. the theory that a human being can both be genetically different than another human being, as well as genetically 99.9% the same. We know that there exists disparities between us, however aside from qualitative entities such as personality, identity, hierarchy, and cultural disparities, it is incredibly difficult to definitively and accurately pinpoint what makes one human being totally different from another. Ethnicity IS the branch of variation which allows us to study these qualitative disparities between us. Perhaps we can argue that these differences are all socially enveloped and influenced by our ever changing socioeconomic circumstances. There is no quid pro quo between Ethnicity and Race-fortunately and unfortunately they are two dominate attributes of humanity that will probably never cease to exist. However, Ethnicity is more relateable—one can partake in an ethnicity even without being fully accepted by the ethnicity. One cannot partake in a race even if they somehow figure out how to make themselves “biologically compatible”
In regards to Louis’ and Harry’s friendship:
Whether you’re a new fan or have been a fan of One Direction since 2010, there is no doubt that you have heard rumors of a 'secret romance' between Haz and Lou buzzing around through the fandom. This rumor has been proven to be highly detrimental towards the continuation to Harry’s and Louis’ friendship. P.R. and management want to portray One Direction as a group of handsome, foreign, talented, heterosexual young men. Anything challenging these goals forces management to become even more deeply rooted within the boys personal lives e.g. who they are seen with, how they answer questions on interviews, right down to how they interact with each other and other people. Homosexuality is a beautiful thing and, in my eyes, is as natural as heterosexuality. However, the politics dealing with the fame surrounding One Direction forces these boys to put up a facade and an image that they may or may not necessarily agree with. Louis and Harry are best friends. Their sexual preferences is not our business. Whether they are blatantly girl-crazy, or even secretly smitten with other men shouldn’t affect how we see them, how we react towards them, and especially not the music. Nor should anyone feel the need to push the boys into scenarios or relationships that we ‘think’ should exist: e.g. Lourry. We understand the concept of having a 'bromance' but pushing Louis’ and Harry’s relationship any farther than that is not our job. Think of it like forcing your sister and your best friend to be in a relationship with each other:
Leave the boys love lives alone. We already deeply rooted within their family lives, their careers, their success, their happiness, what more could you want? These boys love and appreciate all of us with every fiber of their hearts and souls. Why can’t we allow them to have at least ONE aspect of their lives private?
On Zayn and Perrie’s engagement:
A lot of people are saying that Zayn and Perry are too young to get married and will soon become bored of each other.Quite frankly I believe quite the opposite. Love is not an applied science or a mathematical equation. Young age plus being married does not necessarily doom the marriage. IF you are a true fan of Zayn and/or Perrie you would be hopeful that their love remains ardent and everlasting and happy that amid all of the heart breakers, cheaters, and liars in the world, they were lucky enough to find each other.
Their engagement is also NONE of our business, quite frankly. I personally find it incredibly invasive to ask them when the wedding is, when they plan to have children, and so on, especially when they may not even know the answers to these questions themselves. The way outsiders ruin relationships is by knowing too much about the couples business.
Whether or not you believe Perrie and Zayn belong together or not is not up for discussion. Your opinion does not change the engagement, nor does it destroy the ring that’s on Perrie’s finger.
The engagement has nothing to do with the music, right now. And we’re fans, so our primary concern should be the music.
Regarding Niall and Ellie & Liam and Sophia:
How dare you. There are times where I want nothing to do with this fandom, and if leaving it completely meant that the boys got to love who they wanted to freely, I’d sacrifice that in a heart beat. Do you really think bullying and bashing Sophia is going to scare her off, or make Liam love you, instead? In fact, that ruthless tactic does the exact opposite. It makes you look cruel and heartless and it makes Liam sick to his stomach. Liam is a kind and gentle soul. He deserves happiness. He deserves love. Whether he finds that solace in dating a dancer, an old friend, or a fan is none of your business. We are allowed to have opinions, yes, but having an opinion doesn’t always mean that you have to voice it, especially when it hurts other people.
A lot of One Direction fans need to grow up, change their mentalities, and learn to accept the truth.
Similarly when it comes to Niall and Ellie, that’s their business. If Niall didn’t want to comment on the nature of their friendship or relationship then don’t force him to. If he doesn’t want to EVER speak about what is happening/may happen between them then he has a right not to. Again, when outsiders know too much about a relationship, the relationship falls to pieces. Allow Niall the time to establish himself with Ellie, whether as a friend or a potential suitor, and stop meddling before ‘something that could be’ turns into ‘something that can never happen’.
Regarding Harry Styles and his ‘many’ relationships:
First and foremost Harry is allowed to date, kiss, fuck, and hang out with whoever he wants to without being seen as a ‘pretentious womanizer’. He is a very popular young man, and sadly the media focuses more on him than on One Direction as a whole. Because of this high concentration on him, it causes everything that he does to be underscored and highlighted within the lime light. If Harry just so much as brushes his hand against a girl by accident, suddenly their dating and she’s four months pregnant…do you see where I’m going with this?
Don’t feed into everything that the media is throwing at you.
If you’ve ever listened to Harry Styles talk you’ll realize that he is a wise young man. He was raised by his mother and with his older sister. He has the utmost respect for women. I’ve never seen him call any of his ex-lovers bitches or ho’s. I’ve never heard him divulge his sexual activities with the women that he’s been with, and when asked he seems very uncomfortable. He’s a gentle soul. And while he understands the nature and the politics of being in the lime light he doesn’t abuse it. I believe when he loves, he loves genuinely. Why can’t he be allowed to fall in love and make mistakes like the rest of us without us feeding into the bullshit that the media shoves in all of our faces, including his?
If you love Harry, truly love him, you’ll support him by dismantling and ignoring any claims of him being ‘manipulative’, ‘womanizing’, and ‘pretentious’.
Harry is himself and always has been. Let’s focus on how genuine he is. He deserves to be recognized more as a gentleman and a kind friend and person than as a player. And in order to destroy this stereotype that many people have of him, we have to stop believing everything we read on the internet.
We’re one of THE most powerful fandoms in the world and yet we use our power to spread hatred, and pick apart precious friendships. The boys are not stupid; be their support, their friends, and let them figure life out for themselves. Let them live.
I’m scared about my life and my decisions. I’m afraid that I’m caught in between two constants; both the inability to express myself, and the fear of truly living my life. I’m afraid that the decisions that I make aren’t good enough to secure a future that is deemed socially and financial acceptable. I’m afraid that I’ve no security in my career and that excelling in school isn’t good enough. I’m scared that I’m 19 and that I’m too young to be afraid. And then I’m scared that I’m too afraid to be young…I worry about my friends and family; if I’m imposing on them too much, if I love them enough, if they love me. I worry about the earth, if it’s rained enough or if it’s too hot for the trees and the bees. I worry about drunken nights and sexual encounters, and why I haven’t had any. I’m scared that I’m not normal. And then I’m scared that I’m too normal to be an ‘individual’. I’m afraid of my thoughts being too powerful, and my voice being too weak. I’m afraid of money, and if I’ll ever have enough, if it will ever change me, if I’ll ever be destitute or rich. If you’re not scared of your dreams then they probably aren’t big enough, thus, I’m afraid of them, too. I’m afraid that I love too much, and that I’m too nice, and then I’m afraid that I don’t love enough, and that I’ve become frigid. Most of all, I’m afraid that I’m too afraid, or maybe…not even afraid enough…
Once when I was 15 I remember when my grandmother insisted on dragging me to a department store to help her decide on a new bed sheet and duvet set for myself. And I remember that all I could think about was how could I help her make a decision for me if she has already decided and declared that, despite my input, her decision would be hers and not mine. All of it was confusing and I didn’t open up to anyone about it because I hated to have a fuss about my wants and my dreams when I thought the matter trivial. I mean, it was bed sheets, and if she so desired to have control over which sheets I laid in every night then so be it. But as much as I rationalized with myself about how silly it would be for one to perpetually get worked up over bed sheets, I recognized that I still couldn’t help but feel very, very angry. Because she said red was too bright, and blue was too masculine, and black was too dark, and white would get dirty too easily. “How about a nice pink, ooh, Ella, look at these nice lavender ones,” she mused, and at that point I asked her why would she drag me along if she was only going to allow me to choose between two colors: a sickening purple, or an even more nauseating shade of pink? And she chuckled in her delicate manner and said that it was only proper decorum that ladies spend their days conversing over quandaries of tea, linens, and literature. I liked the literature part, and nothing could quite beat the taste of a steaming cup of Earl Grey, however I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that in the presence of my grandmother I would always be given the illusion of choice while having to face the pushy, clandestine reality that the choice had already been made for me. Understanding this put me in such a depressing mood, because I felt that I knew nothing about my grandmother, which was obviously very sad, but what was even more distressing was that because of her need to control my decisions since infancy, she in turn knew nothing about me. So, in a meager attempt at a silent protest, I wandered off from my grandmother while she jabbered on about the differences between silk and satin and I quickly found myself in the wood flooring department. I knew absolutely nothing about floor treatments and wood staining. All I knew was that there was a beautiful, dark auburn wood sample that beckoned me. In my hands it felt as smooth as baby’s skin, or what my grandmother believed all women’s legs should feel like, all the time. It was so easy to get lost in the dark reddish tones of the wood, and I imagined the wood in my room, only mine, and I’d sit there and would close my eyes and feel as if I’m laying amongst an abundance of ripe black cherries. Behind me someone cleared their throat and interrupted my odd daydream. I turned around to see a boy who looked around my age. “Are you in need of any assistance, ma’am?” he piped. I laughed at being called ma’am, and then laughed a little harder at the thought of actually one day becoming a “ma’am” or a “mrs.”. Then our eyes met and I heard a small clicking noise, whether external or internal to this day I do not know, but it almost felt that looking in his eyes I was understood, and that my opinion mattered. And I thought to myself, “wow, he must’ve went through a hell of an intensified training session to get this job”. Even though most of me now laughs at that notion; you weren’t there but one couldn’t have faked or even rehashed the amount of chemistry and comprehension that boiled between us. So much so, that he started to blush, and the green in his eyes seemed to intensify, almost as if his inner most self was communicating his amusement to me. Or his satisfaction. “The dark auburn is one of my favorite selections from our wood samples,” he continued. “Yes, it’s entrancing,” I murmured, while thinking to myself how wonderful it was to finally meet someone who not only let me decide but also agreed with my decision. I placed the wood back and faced him once again. “Shane,” I said, glancing at his name tag, “you’ve helped me a lot today. Thank you.” And again he blushed and smiled at me and said “I hope to see you again.” This time I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I hurried away. The universe mustn’t like me very much, or mustn’t have liked me particularly on that day because the first person I bumped into when I turned the corner was my grandmother and she patted me on my right arm and told me to come along because we were leaving.
A few weeks later my grandmother had decided that she wanted to replace the chandelier hanging above the dining table and I asked her if I could tag along with her again to the department store and she said we probably wouldn’t be returning to that place again, and I told her that we absolutely should, and she said “why, you aren’t thinking about that boy I saw you chatting with, are you? He wasn’t even your type.”
My face flushed and I cleared my throat and said, “no, of course not.” But he was. And I never saw him again.
Hold a photograph of the past which I wish I was still apart of. The night I was prom princess and everyone wanted to touch my hair. I remember telling you how all I wanted was to hold Jack Matthews’ hand and I saw the look in your eyes saying to me the things you would never speak. But I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help that I didn’t want you. Jack Matthews was standing by the balcony, just soaking in the music. My 6” Louis Vuitton’s made piercing noises that reverberated off of the shiny marble floors. Jack looked up and greeted me, and told me congratulations. I smiled and congratulated him too. Then the silence separated our voices. His brown curls spilled over into the crystal green sea of his eyes. He asked me to hold his crown and then he dipped his head and shook his locks, forcing them back into place. When his eyes rose to mine once again I crowned him and he stared intently into my eyes and kissed me right there. I heard cooing and “aww’s” from our classmates and I thought that it was perfect how him and I came to prom with different people, and ended up together. I didn’t question why suddenly the cutest boy in my graduating class had finally noticed me. I didn’t question when after prom he took me back to his hotel suite and took my virginity. I didn’t question a week later when I hadn’t heard from him. 10 days after prom I shot Jack a text that said “Hey….?”. A mixture of longing, confusion and sadness. He responded quickly with “Elanour, I think we should both take a few days to clear our heads”. I remember how tight my chest felt after going over that text. It must’ve been a million times. And I thought about how I bled for him, pressed against him in between those Egyptian sheets, and decided that silence would be the most hurtful response. Now, I’m hear with you, and we’re dancing around the living room of our new apartment. And all I can think about is the look in your eyes on Prom when I ditched you for Jack, and how I still wonder why him and I never contacted each other back, and how, in some twisted, fucked up way, I hoped that our love petered out just like how quickly me and Jack’s flame seemingly both burst and dwindled out in the same finite stretch of time. I wanted to belong to neither of you, yet if I had a choice, primarily to Jack. But mostly, I wanted to be free…
Writers block. I start a sentence, I erase. I get sidetracked, I stop writing. And then I think about how people fall in love. How they learn about each other, how they breathe their lovers flaws, and study their movements. The gaze in their eyes, the way their heartbeat seems to calm down right when they reach the peak of their excitement. And I think about how I love and how different it feels. I think about how the more I know about you the more I hurt. I think about those chilly summer mornings we spent at your mothers’ house in England. I remember waking up next to you, our bodies laced in your borrowed white silk duvet. I looked out the window. Your room overlooked a beautiful botanical garden across the path. You turned over in your sleep and I peered down wondering if you ever bothered to wake up this early, to watch the sun rise and cast golden rays on the narcissus’s. And I thought that you probably didn’t and would never. And I thought about how you said you couldn’t be bothered with those things. And I thought about how you laced up your shoes so tight and talked about life, like it was a schedule. And how you slowly killed me with deadly phrases like “be realistic”. And I thought about how the more I knew about you, the more I felt like I’ve made a mistake. And I thought about how I didn’t love you. And suddenly, you woke up, and you stared and asked me what I was doing up so early and I just sighed and said “nothing”…
I don't think I was created for a reason, but rather a purpose.
Her: What's the difference?
Him: Well, for one, a reason requires an explanation, a purpose does not.
he was going to join the royal air force and he thought that he was doing me a favor breaking up with me now instead of having me endure future heartache. according to him, the RAF has their soldiers deployed 6 years a rotation. So lets say him and i were to have a long term relationship and even get married, he would miss our kids growing up, he would miss 6 wedding anniversaries, and my 30th birthday, too. But even if you don’t go that far into the future, statistically he said its very likely for him to die in one of those 6 year rotations because of the countries that he has to fly over. I don’t know much about the Air Force but I do know that I can make my own decisions if i damn well please so when he kept telling me that “i’m doing you a favor, trust me,” it made me upset because if i wanted to stay with him in my own intentions then let me figure out the consequences on my own.
Moreover, what broke us up was his own insecurity. He said he was bound to mess up with me anyhow because he was never “good with relationships” and that he didn’t want to hurt me in anyway possible. So to avoid that he decided to just end it all. He felt like his life was meaningless and that I was too smart, pretty, and amazing to be with him: he felt like he didn’t deserve me. He said I was the first girl he ever loved, the first girl who ever fought for him, and the first girl to ever make him feel like this.
But i told him that the distance wasn’t going to be forever and that, in fact, 7 months from now we’d be together but he said it drove him crazy because all he could think about was kissing me or holding me in his arms and it tore him up inside when he couldn’t even hold my hand. He said he knew the distance wasn’t forever but that everyday his feelings for me got stronger and everyday it got harder for him.
Then there’s the biggest part of our breakup in which he told me he’s made huge mistakes in his past that he doesn’t want reflected onto my life. He told me he can’t tell me why he can’t be with me but that i needed to “trust him” that i would be “better off without him”.
We video chatted and he wouldn’t stop crying which made it harder for me because I, in turn, couldn’t stop either. We said Goodbye for literally 35 minutes and I told him that he’s obviously making a big mistake because it shouldn’t be this hard to say goodbye. He said he knew he was probably making a mistake but that it would be best for me and that he just couldn’t do this to me.
He wanted me to say “goodbye” back but i saw nothing “Good” about our parting.
I’ve literally been crying for the last 6 hours and I have the worst headache ever. I actually haven’t cried this hard since my mother passed away.
The thing is I know in life there are multiple people who could be “the one” and there are multiple people that you can fall in love with but once you’ve truly truly fallen, and have lost that person, it’s like an experience that’s incredulously hard to bounce back from. Jack was that guy where, naively, we read about in story books when we were younger. He wasn’t perfect but his soul was pure, he had a beautiful heart, and he was incredibly charming. Because of him, I may not date for a long, long, long time. Not because he ruined dating for me, but because it will be hard to date anyone else who treats me even a miniscule amount worse than Jack did. And i’m not putting him on a pedestal. In actuality, i recognize that Jack treated me with the utmost respect, honesty, and love and it will be incredibly hard to find a guy as genuine with his feelings as Jack was.
He wasn’t afraid to cry if he was sad, punch something if he was mad, or even laugh until he fell off of his bed. And I’m going to miss every single aspect of him.
I think what hurts the most is completely losing someone that i didn’t even completely have yet. I think it’s one of the cruelest things that life has dealt to me and I know that I will forever struggle with why it had to happen this way. For me, I had finally found a guy that I felt completely comfortable around, and I had finally been in love, real love, and it seems to me that the universe found it funny that It just wanted to snatch it all away from me.
To see Jack sobbing, trying to hold back tears, and then just bursting out crying again, was more painful than to see my own self crying. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost and I honestly feel like I’m 100% done with anything involving anyone outside of just friendship. I don’t think my heart can take another heart break like this and I honestly don’t even think I will be lucky enough to meet someone as amazing or even more amazing than Jack. I know it sounds sad, but he was the only guy i’ve truly ever wanted, the only guy that i could realistically see myself with years from now, but No..the universe snatched him away and wouldn’t let me have him.
We swore to each other that we will never forget each other, and In my head I will always hear him repeat the words “I love you,” because he is the only boy that I believe has ever truly loved me.
I was sitting on the edge of the building, watching the neon of my socks swing back and forth while my untied laces swung freely in the damp morning air. The sun had risen but the sky was still grey with a foreboding morning shower that could happen at any given moment. Risky me. Had I been sitting anywhere else, a bench, a swing, a couch, it wouldn’t be as bad. Yet here I sat, on the edge of an 8 floor, apartment building that, with the slightest amount of push or slip, could send me hurdling to my doom. But all that seemed to worry me was if my mismatched neon socks looked stupid, if my bra would give me lines on the skin under my rib cage again, and if Luke would stay.
Luke’s foot steps hadn’t startled me. My senses were at their peak because I was at maximum arousal. Every time I looked down at the startling height below my feet a shot of adrenaline bolted through me. I sat back and took it all in, arching my back and turning around to speak to Luke just as his lips parted.
“Hi,” I whispered to him with a small smile forming on my lips.
He sighed, shook his head and sat down next to me. His body was shaking. I knew he had loved me when I asked him to take me on the Ferris wheel that night of my 19th birthday and he told me he was afraid of heights but took me anyway. I knew he loved me when he took me to a pool party just to introduce me to his friends despite the fact that he had watched his little brother drown when he was 14 and still didn’t know how to swim. I knew he loved me now, too, because he always talked of how much he loved life, despite how much it sucked sometimes. So to be so close to the edge like this; literally, in a physical limbo between life and death, just to convince me to stay here with him, I knew it was love.
I also knew that I was letting him down. That every time he looked into my eyes and wished that I saw a future in us, but couldn’t, he clenched his jaw in frustration. But yet he stayed with me, in this dead end relationship, even though I drove him crazy with my crazy. And to me, I wasn’t even beautiful enough for him to suffer like this.
“look at yourself,” he whispered to me. He clenched his jaw, the universal sign of his anger, and turned to me. “look at what you’re doing. You’re too far now,” he whispered. “and I don’t know how to help you this time.”
A shock of cold wind blew through my long auburn hair and slightly cut off my breath. I reached out to hold his hand but he snatched it away and dug his nails into the asphalt.
“no,” he growled. “I need this. You’re not taking me down there with you. I said I’d go with you anywhere. But not to hell.”
There was a long silence that passed between us. I could hardly believe the indifference, the negativity that was spewing out of him. I wanted to shake him and tell him to get back to his senses. To be my better half again. To save me. But he wasn’t interested anymore.
He turned to me, his eyes mirrored a world full of hurt. “I can’t keep helping you kill yourself, Rory. I can’t keep helping you drive yourself to the edge. If you’re really going to do it, then do it this time. but stop taking the people who love you for a ride. Stop scaring us, thinking you’re fine one moment but really you’re not. You’re just planning when you’ll hurt us, for sure. When you’ll take yourself away from us. Its selfish.”
He swung his legs over the edge and put his feet on solid ground. As I faced backward towards a cold and shaky plunge, he faced forward towards a cold but unknown walk. And the difference between his options and my options at this very moment in time, was knowing. Because I knew what would happen to me if I jumped, if I ended it all. But I didn’t know what would happen if I decided to work it out, to try harder, to push myself, to take a risk. And that was the scary part. That was the fear of committing suicide. It wasn’t the pain, or the people that I would lose, that would lose me. It was, as I lay dying, wondering if I had made a mistake, if , maybe, had I of waited longer, would things have turned around.
Luke ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go to your funeral. I’ll tell people how much I loved you. How much I TRIED to save you. But I wont continue to let you kill me in the process. I never said that doing the right thing would be easy. If you would have just tried to make an effort to make things better I would have never let you turn back. But you didn’t try. That’s why, little by little, I stopped trying, too.”
I gritted my teeth, “why do you keep talking about me in past tense. I’m still here,” I murmured.
“because you’ve given up on yourself, Rory. You are a minute away from ending it all and I cant stop you. I feel like a failure, I swear to god I do. But nothing in life can ever make me choose the same way out that you are. Nothing.”
There was more silence. Silence that I couldn’t handle. Silence that I didn’t necessarily want to break. So I closed my eyes. It started as a light drizzle at first, and then the clouds parted for a momentary lapse which led to a steady rain. I was getting drenched and when I looked up Luke wasn’t there. I guess when you see the person you love in front of you, healthy, alive, young, talented, trying to dream of ways to throw it all away you would give up , too. Because its frustrating loving someone who doesn’t love themselves. Its hard to try to go through life, battling your own demons and someone else’s, too.
I used to think that I was doing a disservice to the people that I loved by being the way that I am, by being so defeatist. But I wasn’t doing any disservice to them, only to myself. Because in some odd, obstructed, fucked up way, I was right. These things do happen. People do give up life. And then life does go on, for everyone who did and didn’t care for that person. So no matter how much I hated myself, no matter how much I cut myself, or cried myself to sleep the person in the room next to me could never possibly, completely know my own individual struggle.
That was enough to make any person want to kill themselves. But it was also enough to make you want to live. So that if you did make it you could say to someone else who is struggling, “I don’t know you very well, and I don’t know what you’re going through, but I went through rough patches and made it out even when I didn’t think I could. I hope you make it, too.” Something as simple, and as unapologetically raw as that could also serve as something therapeutic and motivating.
It was then at that moment that I realized that I didn’t want to die I just didn’t want to live for anyone else. And that’s different than not wanting to live at all. I wanted to continue my life without feeling guilty for not being happy. But I wanted to live knowing that if one day I tried hard enough I could be happy. I think what Luke wanted me to realize was that no one ever expected me to turn around and to be happy all of a sudden. To wake up loving myself and to realize that I’m this “beautiful, talented, strong” individual that people tell me that I supposedly am. I think what he wanted me to know, and to realize was that life almost had nothing to do with being currently happy and had everything to do with finding happiness. That’s why we continue on this never-ending quest. Because we want to be apart of that circle of happiness that others have worked hard to find. Gaining happiness might be like gaining muscle. You have to do things that will bring you closer and closer to your goal. How you want to be.
And if you’re dead you cant compete. You cant work towards anything. You’ve checked out and you have no option of ever checking back in.
I shivered and swung my legs back around to solid ground. My mascara ran down my pale face and I sneezed and snot dripped down my soaked blouse but I left the roof and climbed down the stairs. When I got outside to the first floor the rain stopped but I heard it in pitter patters over my head. When I looked up I saw Luke standing over me with an umbrella. He smiled which set his green eyes ablaze with laughter.
I looked disgusting, and I was shivering but he held me close to him and said, “I knew it. I knew you could make the best out of things.”